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| Mo wasn't running so well again. We drove a couple hours from Jalcomulco and camped higher in the mountains above a cement factory near Huatusco. Back on the road the next day. Nice views of the 18,000 foot tall Volcan Orizaba. Had some muffler work done in Fortin. The exhaust system had loosened up a bit on our 4x4 adventures and I thought maybe the engine wasn't getting enough back pressure. Sound good? I really know very little about fixing cars. I just threw a dart and it was a cheap fix. Mo sounded better, but still lacked power. On up into the mountains. We stopped for lunch at a road side stand. We were informed that two years ago two Germans on a motorbike stopped here for lunch. Mom and her two daughters were cooking meat and tortillas (some with black beans embedded in them) on an oversized lid over a charcoal-fired oil drum. They had it dialed in, rotating everything around, cooking it to perfection. They mixed in pumpkin blossoms with salsa and meat for some really tasty tacos! We picked up a hitch hiker with a guitar on our way out--he had a gig that night at a restaurant on the other side of the mountains. He and some buddies were saving money to go to Tiajuana to work this summer, chasing a dream, like young country singers in the States going to Nashville. The road up over the mountains was steep and unforgiving. The valley just came to an end and the road switch backed straight up. Lines and arrows were painted on the road giving uphill-driving trucks the right-of-way in the outside lane around the switch backs, disregarding if that was on the left or right side of the road. On the first half of the climb we had to pull off a couple of times to let Mo rest and then rally again in first gear up the steep grade. By the time we were half way up it was obvious we weren't going to make it at our current weight. I gave Nathan and our hitch-hiker the boot and coaxed Mo up the rest of the way, sometimes in 4wd low. Whew! Made it to the top at "Puerto de Aire". Nathan started hiking up as soon as I left him. Our hitch hiker was a bit bewildered and didn't know what to do. Nathan did not wait for him. Shortly there after Nathan was picked up by a bus and dropped off at the top. We tried our luck finding a mechanic in the following towns, but everyone was out to a late afternoon lunch. We pushed on towards Oaxaca and pulled off in a trickling stream bed just out of view from the highway to camp for the night. We would arrive in Oaxaca early in the am and find a mechanic. We saw an old lady herding up goats and asked her if it was OK to camp here. She said it was. A couple of guys in a dump truck hauling gravel out of the stream bed stopped as we set up camp. They said this was not a good place to camp. They said, "You are in Oaxaca now. Here the men are Cabrones." Cabrones is Spanish for "bad men". This did not make us feel very good, but we thought we'd be all right. We cooked up a nice dinner and went to bed. I camped near the car and Nathan wandered off into the bush. Somewhere near by there was a party going on. Sounds of a Mariachi band wafted over on the breeze; tubas, trumpets, drums and wailing voices. Later on as I drifted off to sleep, a set of head lights came down the hill from the other side of the valley. Instead of turning up to the highway, they came slowly towards me. I could hear voices, and it soon became obvious that there was a large posse in tow. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a swarm of 30 Mexican men and boys, all holding sticks and shovels! I hid in the bottom of my sleeping bag hoping they wouldn't notice me. No such luck. Things were not looking good. A man told me I could not camp here. I explained my situation and that I planned to leave early in the morning. He repeated that I could not camp down here. It was dangerous. He said I could come up and camp at there village. Turns out there was a village on top of the hill on the other side of the creek. There were on signs for it. I coaxed Nathan out of the bush. He was hiding. He told me if things got ugly, he was going to survive to tell the story. We packed up camp and the mob escorted us up to their village. There we sat in the middle of our 30 new Mexican friends, all the able bodied men and boys of the town, while the elders in the group decided what to do with us. We exchanged some awkward conversation. Turns out the Mariachi music I heard earlier was the village band practicing for their Semana Santas parade. After much debate, they directed us to sleep on the side walk in front of the municipal building. We rolled out our sleeping bags and the crowd slowly dissipated over the next half an hour. I slept pretty well. We got up early and were anxious to get to Oaxaca and have the car worked on. As we packed up, some guys told us we had to wait to talk to some officials before we left. We talked with some of the local kids. Rumor had it that they were trying to assemble the band to play for us. Eventually, some of the elder men showed up they led us into the municipal building. We sat in chairs opposite a desk in the room. A Mexican flag hung in the corner. A nervous young man sat at an old type writer. The mayor of the town sat at the desk and shuffled a few folders around. The typist rolled a piece of an old poster into his machine. And the mayor spoke. He explained that for our safety and their safety we shouldn't camp out like we were. We were an unknown threat to them, and we were vulnerable to Cabrones down by the creek. Next time, we should just come into town and we would be taken care of. We agreed. An awkward pause followed. The typist was nervously wadding up a piece of paper and apparently did not know how to type, so I wrote them a message on a scrap of paper on the desk of the mayor. "Nathan Sullivan and Brad Yule passed the night in Santa Maria Tinu, March 19, 2002." This seemed to please everyone in the room. On our way out, a ten year old boy grabbed us and insisted we have breakfast at his house. We followed him over to their one room mud brick and tin roof house and sat at the table with his father. Mom was cranking out warm tortillas off the stove, and the boy sat on the bed. Candle holders made of bamboo hung all over the walls. The family made these and sold them for holidays to make a little extra cash. Two burlap sacks full of grain sat in the corner. For breakfast we had a spicy broth with tomatoes and zucchini with the tortillas and sweet, runny oatmeal to drink. The father put on his Billabong hat and left in his VW Bug to work for the government as a surveyor. We thanked everyone. They wanted us to stay a while, a few days, a week, a month. We got in Mo and the mayor came up to our window with a plastic Coke bottle half full of a clear liquid, and a few small plastic cups. "Mescal?" Sure, why not! We all took a shot of home-made tequila, then waved goodbye. It was 8 am. We rolled into Oaxaca without a problem and found a VW mechanic. He thought all Mo needed was an oil change and new plugs. He was right--Mo was better than new! Had a few tacos for lunch. Saw beautiful old buildings made of a green volcanic rock. 300km to Puerto Escondido. A long 300km! Continuous winding mountain roads. It was more work than paddling the Barranca Grande in Veracruz! Had to wait in a small town as a parade passed. Marching bands played and lots of people were carrying palm fronds. A man took the opportunity to try to sell us some chickens. We ended up giving him a banana. Rolled into Puerto Escondido by early evening, found a cheap place to camp, and I went kayak-surfing on the "Mexican Pipeline", what they call the tubular waves down here. Nathan met a couple of other kayakers from Minnesota and they knew of a really cheap hotel just off the beach. We moved in--we were ready for a break from camping. Went out for a BBQ dinner with the Minnesotans. They were on a similar trip as us. Unfortunately, they had everything but their kayaks and paddles stolen at Isla Mujeres off the Yucatan Peninsula and were on their way back home now. I met a Mexican while unpacking the car. He asked, "Where are you from?" I said, "The United States." "Oh, you're American." "I don't like that name," I said. "What should it be?" I did not know. He said, "It's a good name. You guys embody the 'American Dream'. Many Americans have helped me out a lot." This was refreshing to hear after traveling in Chile and Argentina. People were always friendly to me down there and excited to meet an American, but their opinion of what the United States stood for was often less than positive. The next day Nathan and I lent the Minnesotans our extra kayak skirts and we all went paddling in the surf. Big waves! At 10+ feet, they packed quite a punch! Once I had my paddle ripped from my hands and my skirt popped. I rolled up with my hands, but this did little good as I had no paddle and my kayak was half full of water. I climbed out of the kayak and swam it to shore to regroup. A surf competition was happening and we got to meet a few of the competitors. They were friendly (many surfers do not care for kayaks in the surf), but they were a bit scared for us out there in the big waves. They encouraged us to tape up our paddle blades to reduce their chopping potential when we got trundled. Had a lazy afternoon. Hung out at the "Sand Bar", right out front of our hotel. It is run by a 57 year old toothless wanderer from San Francisco. He has passed most of his life traveling; Mexico, Hawaii, Thailand, etc., and been coming to Puerto Escondido since '69. He rents the bar from the hotel owners and rents a cheap place up in town with everything he wants (including internet). His business philosophy to keep it simple--beers and lime. He has a couple of fridges behind the bar which he keeps very cold (he has to rotate the beers to keep them from freezing). No music. No matter what you play, someone is not going to like it. No food. Street venders come by regularly selling baked plantains, tamales, tacos, peanuts, etc. Joe just wants people to come drink cheap beer and talk. You can get 2 beers for 15 pesos ($1.50) and a lime if you want. He figures he has to sell 120 beers a day to make his business float. This was his first week open. We did all we could to keep him in business. It was darn hot, and beer went down pretty easy! There was a rave on the beach that night. What a show. A local bar recently started by a couple of American girls put it on. The d.j. and drummers traded leads all night. Fire dancers performed intermittently with flaming balls on chains and flaming devil sticks. Drinks were sold out of a cooler. Lots of home made lights and visual effects. Natures show was the most captivating, however. The crashing of the 10+ foot waves a hundred yards out always overplayed even the strongest base lines and phosphorescent algae in the sand sparkled green when you danced on it. A half moon slowly set crimson across the bay over town. We took a few more days to relax and absorb the Puerto Escondido vibe--great surf, mellow people, cheap beer, beautiful women, and a lively night life. Semana Santas was getting into full swing. On to Zipolite, a Euro-hippy nude beach. Found a cheap hotel where we were taken care of by Sandra and her family. Good surf here too. Had to dodge naked people playing in the surf while riding the waves in. Unfortunately, most of the bathers I would have rather seen fully clothed. There were exceptions, however. One morning I came out to find Sandra's son standing on Mo's bumper yanking on the rubber shark tied to the grill. I understood his enthusiasm, but had to reprimand his activity. He conceded, though was a bit confused why a toy should be attached to the front of a car. A family sold clothes on the beach in front of our hotel. One of their daughters seriously asked me to be her boyfriend. She wanted an American husband and to have American children. She knew I probably wouldn't be interested, but that didn't make her want that for her future any less. After a couple more days of beach relaxation (surfing, showering, resting, and drinking beer because you are hot and sweaty and it is cheap and cold and tastes great with lime), we headed on to the state of Chiapas and the river at Agua Azul. Camped out in bone-dry pasture land for a night before making it there. Lost my temper with a window washer in Tuxtla. Every time you stop at a light in this country someone washes your windshield. You give them a few pesos and all is good. I just didn't feel like having my windshield washed. You can't just tell them no. They will wash it anyway. If you have no change, it's OK, you can pay next time. They would rather wash your windshield for free than be told not to wash it. I tried to tell this guy not to wash the wind shield. He ignored me. I turned on the windshield wipers. He was a bit confused at first, and then he got mad. He called me a female goat (referencing my goatee) and then told me I would crash because I could not see clearly out of my windshield. Who imagined a windshield washer could take his work so seriously and be so offended by someone who did not want his services! I felt bad. I had started some bad karma for myself, new to Chiapas, the state in Mexico where you hear the worst stories about. It's easy to say, "Go get a real job!" But the fact is that there aren't enough jobs to go around. If you have a car, you obviously have a lot more than most of the people in Mexico. You have to share. This guy worked hard. The window washers of Mexico do an amazingly good and fast job of washing your windshield with a cup of water, a squeegee hand made out of a piece of scrap rubber, and their t-shirt. They are filthy from washing the soot of dirty Mexican roads off of windshields. Other Mexican motorists looked at me disapprovingly and gave us false directions getting out of town. Everyone has to share. Not just in Mexico. Everywhere. Made it to Agua Azul just before dark. What a mob scene! We'd bought a BBQ chicken on our way in with all the fixin's. We found a place to camp and a momma dog with huge tits sat in front of me while I ate. I gave up my stance that one should never feed dogs. And that you shouldn't feed dogs chicken bones. Dogs down here can digest nails! Here, at Agua Azul it really does seem that "all of Mexico comes here for Semana Santas." Thousands of people. This Semana Santas thing is like the 4th of July or Mardi Gras, but it goes on for two weeks. I think they love it because it is the hottest time of year, before the cooling summer rains, and they all make retreats to the beach or cool swimming holes in the rivers like here at Agua Azul. Our guide book says that Mexicans do not like to camp, but it sure looks like they do here, for Semana Santas. Here the river is what is called a Travertine river. This means that the river water is over-saturated with dissolved limestone and precipitates it along its path. Instead of carving a valley, the river spreads out over a wide area and creates pools and vertical waterfalls rimmed by the deposited limestone. We hiked up to the top of the park, past signs warning against tourists going any further for danger of getting mugged by a Zapatista, a local Indian. People said not to worry. It was Semana Santas now and there were too many people around now. In Mexico, the masses protect you. The trail ended where the river surged from springs out of a slot canyon. We put on the river and paddled down. I portaged many of the crazier looking drops, some up to 40 feet high. I took pictures. Had to be careful not to land on any of the Mexicans cooling off in the pools below the falls. I felt a bit embarrassed carrying by boat through the throngs of people. Nathan put on quite a show. Got on the road that afternoon and left the Semana Santas mania behind. On to the Mayan ruins of Palenque. We found a cheap hostel to camp at just outside the park. Cool and restful night in the mountains. Up early and made it to the ruins for the 8am opening. Walked around the ruins for an hour and a half. Read some placards. Saw some cool carvings in plaster. Admired the well preserved buildings. The place filled up quickly with tour groups filing off busses. Blankets were set out everywhere for locals to sell there wares to the flocks of tourists. We got out just as it was getting crowded and hot. On the road to Guatemala! |
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