Monthly Archives: December, 2009

Antigua  has been and continues to be a great place to live.  My Spanish is getting to the point where I can carry on a conversation using past, present, and future tenses.  When all else fails, Spanglish generally works too.  But at the very least I should have enough knowledge to get through the borders and ship my bike across the Darian Gap.  I have not done too many touristy things since being here aside from visiting some churches and seeing the sites of the town so I thought is was time for a bit of adventure.
My housemate (James) and I decided we would do a weekend trip the the Mayan ruins of Tikal.  On Friday evening we were picked up (an hour late) at our house in Antigua by a little shuttle.  The driver clearly had some trouble finding us.  After an hour of waiting I was beginning to lose hope that our shuttle to Guatemala would arrive at all.  Thankfully I looked way down the road and saw a man beside a shuttle waving his arms in the air at nothing in particular whilst yelling something to the likes of ” KEETON, KEETON!.”  Yup that’s me (My name seems to be very difficult for Spanish speakers.  I’ve had chenton, keto, chento, kante etc.  Even when I pronounce it slowly and phonetically ken - ton, no help).  James and I ran over, hopped on the bus and were finally on our way to Guatemala where we would transfer onto a tour bus for an nine hour ride over night to the town of Flores.  Smooth sailing from here on out.   Hopefully.
I was a little worried about our jumpy looking shuttle driver though.  His exuberant use the the horn during the drive though Antigua was just one of the indicators.  I was right.  The moment we got to the well paved highway it was petal to the metal.  We blasted past cars.  Houses, people, motorbikes, gas stations; all were blazing by.  The poor van had seen this all before however.  From the rattle of the worn out doors and the never-ending bouncing of the suspension I could tell this was nothing new.  Wait… gas station.  That must have been the last one for a while because the driver slammed on the brakes at attempted to pull a uey right into oncoming traffic.  No dice.  I guess the steering had been abused too.  Our driver managed to park right in the middle of oncoming traffic blocking two lanes.  As cars screeched to a halt and the horns started blaring and my life flashed before my eyes.  Our driver, seemingly oblivious to his passengers duress and the anger of other motorists, proceeded to complete a 3 point turn.  Tires squealing the whole way, we made it back to the gas station.  Apparently it was also necessary to park within an inch of a brand new looking car so the hose would reach the tank.
Gas in the tank and we got back on the road.  The ride continued to be exciting the whole way to the bus depot.  But we eventually made it.  Our driver told us he would be there to pick us up upon our return to Guatemala on Monday.  Yipee!
With the first stage of our journey over I had the nine hour tour bus to Flores and then another two hours on a shuttle from Flores to Tikal.  At around 9am the following day we had arrived in Tikal,  got a hotel in the park, booked a guide, and eaten breakfast.
Our guide was really great.  He spoke half decent English (which we learned he had picked up during a stint working in Texas), had a whole folder full of pictures to help explain things, and a super intense attitude.  We learned about the varying stages of restoration the park had undergone, the practices and traditions of the Mayan people, and even got a lesson in  social control techniques used by the oppressors within society.  We spent about 5 hours with our guide who, in that time, took us to all the major sights and temples to climb in the park.  After that, James and I were on our own.  Over the next few hours and next day we explored the rest of the park.  I took a whole bunch of photos and will have them posted on face book if you’d like to see more.
Tikal was awesome and I ‘m really glad to have gone.  Traveling by bus wasn’t so bad either.  It would have been difficult to do a weekend trip on my motorcycle.  And so here I am, in Antigua and amazed that Christmas is in like 2 days!
“Feliz Navidad.”  I used to think that “we wish you a merry Christmas” was the most annoying god awful song to ever grace the airways.  The never ending repetition of six words to a tune a two year old could get bored with.  Nope.  I was wrong.  The Spanish have created a song that relies entirely on the repetition of only two words. “Feliz Navidad.”  Not does this song lack creativity of any kind whatsoever, everybody and their uncle has their own not so unique remake of it.  Each remake worse than the previous one.
How do I know this?  The radio station that the kids in the house listen to ensures that a version of this song is played every ten minutes. Minimum.

So I will refrain from wishing you all a merry Christmas or a feliz navidad and instead stick to the all encompassing phrase of:

Have a good one!

Kent

One month on the road has come and gone quickly.  It really does not seem like that long ago I was feverishly packing and preparing for the unknown.  Looking back however, I have had such a wide variety of experiences and truly adapted to a mobile lifestyle.  Its remarkable for me to see the changes I’ve had to make from the first day on the road to my most recent day of travel.  I no longer just get on the bike and ride and make it up as I go.  I’ve managed to routinize things like meals, stops for gas and stretching my legs, and finding places to stay for the night.  Although I still rely on my instincts heavily for driving and directions, I don’t feel utterly lost in this foreign environment.  I didn’t really know what to expect once I reached Guatemala.
Truthfully, I almost envisioned myself having to hire a geologist to advise me on a likely place to drill for gas for my bike.  Okay, that’s not really truthful, but you get the idea.  Third-world definitely does not mean devoid of modern civilization and the people here are some of the finest I’ve met.
If I’d had a routine for a day on the road in the United States, the same routine would have worked just as well in Guatemala.  Its all about the formula you see.  My basic routine on the road is as follows:
This information is mainly for those budding motorcycle adventurists, but also for people that are reading this and clearly have nothing better to do. If you do have something better to do however, feel free to skip this paragraph as I will not be lecturing afterwords. I do appreciate the readership after all.
Assuming you’ve found a place to stay for the night,  wake up early, clean the hotel room/campsite of all randomly placed items, and pack the bike.  Ride for an hour without thinking about anything.  Once an hour passes, look for a cheap place to eat breakfast (food stand, 711 or similar. You know those hotdogs that can be bought from those mildy warm, greasy, rolly things.  They taste the same down here!), and most importantly don’t second guess yourself, ever (otherwise, you won’t stop, or I won’t at least). Eat. Gas up at next station.  At this point, it gets easy, so long as you know where your going (I don’t of course, but most people will need to know this).  Ride for hour and a half intervals, whereby once an hour and a half passes, stop for gas and stretch your legs at the first open station.  Sometimes it will take anywhere from an hour and a half to three hours to find this gas.  Why an hour and a half?  Generally speaking, for me, that’s about half a tank of gas, and well, you don’t want to run out.  Repeat.  If hungry, consciously decide to stop, and do so at the first likely dining establishment.  Try something new and that you can’t pronounce.  If there is no menu and you can’t understand your server.  Rub your belly.  This will let them know you are hungry and insure that you don’t end up ordering half a tortilla.  Don’t be picky.  Learn how the sun works.  Or buy a watch and figure out when you have about 2 hours of sun light left, but be generous with your estimate.  At this point, look for a hotel.  Hotels must meet this criteria: be cheap, have secure parking for bike, not be an auto-hotel (Mexico specific. Don’t tell people if you learn the hard way, or at least keep from those that may find it offensive or unamusing.  Feel free to embellish to those that do find it amusing), and appear to have reasonably safe surroundings.  Stop at first likely place.  Don’t second guess yourself.  Unpack.  Go eat.  Do whatever.  Really, it doesn’t matter, you just made it through the day, congrats!
Okay, Guatemala.  I crossed into Guatemala at the border in La Mesilla.  Crossing was a breeze thankfully and I had plans to make it to the town of Antigua that day.  I wanted to cross about half the country in a day.  And what a day.  Mexico can definitely be considered fairly rugged terrain, but Guatemala is something else.  The mountains here are big, like rocky mountain big, but green and less rocky.  Anyways, for five or six hours I don’t think I spent anytime riding upright.  This is where curve hugging motorcycles and motorcyclists come to die.  On a Sunday, the day I was riding, not much traffic is on the roads.  For the first couple of hours I was on a tight two lane highway, passing through villages, taking in the incredible landscape.
The farms here are really amazing.  Crops are grown everywhere.  Some of the slopes were near vertical.  I spent the whole day twisting through the mountains and gaining altitude.  The two lane highway eventually turns into four, but still very little traffic.  And here the fun really began.  The pavement was immaculate and I had two lanes, pretty much to myself, for four hours of corner after corner, toe dragging riding.
I eventually found myself in Antigua Guatemala and still haven’t found my way out yet.  Kidding.  I’m enrolled in a Spanish School, for 20 hours of one on one instruction a week, and living with my teacher’s family in a beautiful litte home right in the center of this bustling town.  Antigua is one of the main tourists destinations in Central America and the international vibe here is really cool.  It is also famous for its Spanish schools.  There are about 80 to choose from I’m told.
I love student life.  Especially when the homework is just as optional as it was in university back in Canada.  I drink way to much coffee and spend a lot of time cafe hopping.  I’m reading books, practicing Spanish with all the pretty girls here (in my head), oh and drinking coffee too.  I’m fed 3 meals a day, 6 days a week, all of them have been quite delicious.  So life is good.  Aside from a weird street fiesta, which involved a couple of trucks, plastered with what must have been advertisements, loaded with speakers and playing blaring Spanish music while some guy walked around with a microphone sounding mildly excited about something or another, all occurring on Sunday morning (my day off and free to sleep in) right at the front doorstep of the house at 8am, yea life is good.  Seriously though, this was ridicules.  One; sunday is Gods day buddy, two; its 8am, three; my room is the furthest away from the road and is shielded by four solid concrete walls: uhh, tone it down… maybe.
Next week… geography lessons. Some Mayan ruins.  Stay tuned.

Now, to translate this all into Spanish…

heh

Kent

I spent five nights with my gracious hosts, Doug and Lyn.  Each day I would wake up and make a good breakfast of oatmeal and coffee.  It was very difficult to decide which beach I would spend my day at and how much time I would spend lazing around in the water or going for a run, *cough* *cough*.  In the evenings Lyn and Doug would often invite me to dinner with them.  It was great to have some home cooked meals.  I didn’t really want to leave, but I eventually felt the need to get back on the road.  I wanted to be in Guatemala in a couple of days, so i could focus on learning Spanish.
After a good breakfast cooked by Lyn, I got back on the road.  Once again back on the Mexican 200.  This road is truly remarkable.  It twists through the rugged terrain, way up on the cliffs overlooking the water, through the lush green landscape, and quaint Mexican villages.  Once again, I was rewarded with some of the best riding I’ve ever had.
My first order of business was to get the bike serviced with a new rear tire and fresh oil.  Just my luck, I passed by a Honda dealership where I could get this done.  The labor cost me about 25 dollars, but my new rear tire was very expensive.  I think I got the gringo price, but no matter.  The tire was a good one.
After another day on the road I decided to stop at a town called Playas Azul.  It stands for blue beaches.  And what a beach it was.  The surf here was truly incredible.  The swells coming in were huge, and the Mexican surfers were out in droves.  For the younger generation here, the culture revolves around days spent in the the surf.  I decided I would spend at least a day here so I could get back in the water again after a long off-season.  Most of the guys in the water were quite talented.  But, they were more than happy to have me around and were calling me into waves.  It was a lot of fun, but i got dumped quite a few times, being rusty and all.  Again, I was perceived more or less as a endless supply of money.  Everybody and their uncle had a special deal just for me.  I decided I needed to keep going.  Tomorrow I would travel through Acapulco which would be the largest Mexican city I would go through.  What a shock it was.
So I’m on the 200 approaching Antigua, and its big, very big.  Every second or third car is an old Volkswagen Beetle and I’m starting to get nervous, in part from the noise of the city, but mostly from the sheer size of it all.  I thought to myself, “just do the same thing, follow the road straight on through, its worked every other time right?.”  Nope, not this time.  As soon as you hit the main city you go through a light, the sign says the Mexican 200 goes left here, but I didn’t really believe that because signs, like i mentioned before, are often just a waste of real estate.  Anyways, I kept going and then the road forks.  This time, no signs.  Oh great.  So I went left because it looked more friendly and was four lanes that were divided.  As soon as I turned the corner a mass of white and blue Volkswagen beetles appeared before me, all road markings disappeared and the horns were blaring.  Hmm, maybe that sign for the 200 was right after all.  So I pulled a uey and went back to that sign, took the turn, and was on my way.   Like i said before, waste of real estate.  This narrow little road goes up the mountain side loops through a maze of buildings and markets and people and eventually shoots you out 3 or 4 km back the other way on the 200.  Bah.  So I stopped and pull out my map, of Mexico.  No help, looks like the road should sort of bypass the city but its probably really more of an estimate.  Okay, who needs maps.  I decided to use my keen sense of direction.  About an hour and a half later I was back on the road with all the taxis, the bike had overheated, and the sign said i was going to Mexico city. So I pushed the bike through the taxis onto the side walk into some shade and sat down.  Maybe the traffic would calm.
At this point two ladies hopped on a motorbike parked next to mine and tried to started it up and get on their way. However, their clutch cable had broken off from the lever.  I spent the next couple of hours helping them out to fix their clutch, which I did.  Anyways, my had bike cooled down and the lady offered to feed me and show me the way out of the city because she was taking the 200 also.  Great.  Unfortunately, her bike’s gearbox wasn’t working either and she was stranded.  I asked for some rough directions, which I really didn’t understand.  But I got one important piece of info.  Follow the road I was on and when it forks go right.  Okay, so I did this, went through a massive tunnel.  Paid a toll, damn it.  And there it was, a sign for the 200. I took the turn and yup this was the right road.  I was finally on my way out of this death trap.
Needless to say, I stopped at the first village outside of Acapulco, San Marcos.  I was rewarded with finding a beautiful hotel which was cheap, a great dinner, and some excellent companions for the evening.  In the courtyard of the hotel there was a swimming pool which I decided I would enjoy after dinner.  I bought a few beers and was looking forward to a little relaxation.  Two other guests had the same idea it seems.  Although their plans involved significantly more beers than I was thinking.  So we got to talking, actually more or less we played sherades all night.  But it was good fun.  I had a good headache the next morning but a couple of Tylenol and some water cured me right up and I was back on the road.
My plan for the day was to make it to Salina Cruz which was about 500km away.  Not too bad.  Although I got on the the road a little late, I figured i could make it.  And make it I did, just as the sun was going down.  But when I got into town I got a really bad vibe.  I couldn’t find a hotel that met my criteria: small, and with secure parking for the bike.  So, I took off the sun glasses and decided I would keep going until I found something better.  Another, 80 terrifying km later of riding in the dark I spotted a likely hotel in the town of Juchitan.  It would do, but it was way overpriced and really dirty.  But oh well, they let me take my bike inside the entrance so it would be secure at least.
I was completely fried at this point, feeling a little home sick and alone, and weary from my long hard day.  Needless to say I was starving . The hotel I was at really didn’t look like it was in a place with any restaurants nearby.  Everything was dark and there was hardly a light to be seen.  I got my street clothes on and went to explore.
And there it was, right across the street, just behind view of the hotel.  A glowing beacon of North American gluttony.  A massive glass gallery filled with all sorts of colorful slides, tunnels to crawl in, things to climb; A eating area with powder-coated blue chairs and tables; and a counter, behind which sat three identical tills and the warm glow of the menu cast across it all.  Yup, Burger King.
“Quiero numero dos por favor,” “mediano”.  I want number 2 please, medium size.  A double wopper with cheese, medium fries, and a drink.  This cost me a wopping nine dollars.  Gourmet indeed.  I was immediately reminded of a paper I once read for a sociology class about the manifestation of fast food in different cultures.  In this case, fast food is really for the upper middle class.  A security guard opens and closes the doors to the parking lot which was lined with all very new looking cars.  A rarity for the most part in Mexico.  All ramblings aside however, my wopper was good.  I felt just the same after I do when having fast food in Canada: kind of like I need to lay down for a year.  I did actually feel better mentally though.  I was thoroughly amused to have found this place.
So the next day I rode to Comitan, which is about 60km from the border to Guatamala.  I took some back roads to get there, which I havn’t really done to much.  But it paid off.  The scenery was beautiful and I felt like I got a good sense of what rural life is like in the Chiapas region.  It is one of the poorest regions in Mexico.  However, the main cities were some of the cleanest and easily navigated I have encountered so far and appeared to be quite middle class.  An interesting combination.  But alas, I would say goodbye to Mexico tomorrow.

This is where I will leave off for now.  I’m currently in Guatamala and will update again once I get some good stories.

Since the internet is usually slower here I will be uploading most of my pictures to facebook as our server is a bit slow.  If you don’t have me as a friend, search my e-mail i_c_kent@hotmail.com.

Cheers

Note for Doug and Lyn:  I lost your e-mail, could you please send me a e-mail so I can let you know my impressions of the road to acapulco.

some pics: