March 11, 2009

I feel like time is going by faster than I can take note of it. I close my laptop and the next time I open it so much has happened that the idea of documenting it in some comprehensive, or at least coherent way becomes overwhelming. But I continue trying.

Annie came and I met her at the airport. We went to Antigua immediately as to avoid further exposure to the unsavory Guatemala City. Despite her reputation as a library creature she agreed to hike up Pacaya, the active volcano where you can get up close and personal with some lava. 3 weeks before, 3 woman had become too personal with the lava and had to be med-evac'ed out with some molten burns. We were part of a big group and didn't get as close as we had hoped, but it was still pretty impressive. The clouds, which had limited visibility to 20 feet or so, parted just as the sun was setting to give us an over the clouds look out and allowed us a better view of the lava careening down the next ridge. On Pacaya we met Reuben and Tom, who, you just wait, will reappear later in the story.

Annie had made it clear that her intention was to be on a beach, and so the next day we headed to Monterrico, where a guy we had met at Finca Ixobel owns a hotel. Great little town, good cabana filled compound on the beach, and overall a nice place to spend a few days. Between slack lining, beach volleyball, almost nightly games of poker and lots of hammock swinging, we were all kept pretty content. Reuben and Tom were there, too, and we had a massive night of cooking and good times hanging out with them. After buying a fish from the local fisherman, I asked if they might need some help the next day. They said that they would be happy to have me come along and the next day I set out on the choppy seas to help them pull their nets. The first fish we caught was a 25lb catfish looking thing called a tacasunte. It was pretty extraordinary in size, and so they agreed it must have been my luck and thought that I should be called James Tacasunte (which replaced the James Bond that we had agreed on just before).

Annie managed to find her way back to the airport, Rory was busy looking into real estate in Sweden, and Tom was headed to Guate to meet up with his fiancé, so Reuben decided to saddle up and we took off the next day for the famous, high-altitude, volcano-ringed Lake Atitlan.

After some bumpy buses we arrived to Panajachel, the largest lake town, and got on the first boat to San Marcos, a couple of miles (est.) down. San Marcos is an idyllic little place, the lower half traversed only by walking paths under a canopy of avocado, coffee, and tangerine trees. It's known for its homeopathic hippy scene, and apparently we weren't the only ones to find it agreeable, as all of the cheap accommodation options had filled up. As I was walking to scout out what we thought was out last reasonable hope, I met Sara and John Spring. Instead of having me hike up the hill to see if there were any beds available, they immediately offered a house that they were building, warning that it did not have electricity. Pressed for options, I jumped at it and after reconnecting with them, finding the key, etc, we were shown our house for the night. A cool little house in the woods (of fruiting trees), Reuben and I were happy to settle down on the plywood floors for a game of set and a slumber.

Bony hips of hard floors always make for a less than restful night, but the next morning I was more concerned with something that I had eaten. Still not sure what it was (although I have a list of suspects), I was not feeling so hot in the morning. I knew I wasn't too bad, though, because I felt well enough to thoroughly enjoy a projectile vomit from the second story door (to a porch that had not yet been built). It must have soared ten feet and would have made a great video, I remember thinking, prideful.

A full day in bed at the hostel we had moved to and I was back on my feet the next day. Then, as if competitively mimicking, Reuben got sick the next night and outdid my sickness in every measurable category. If we were competing in a triathlon, he ran faster, jumped higher, and definitely threw longer. Except by winning, he definitely lost.

He's still limping back to health, and he better hurry. I say that because we have left cliff jumping, coffee growing, murder happening (didn't mention that, did I!) Lago Atitlan and are now in the higher highlands of Quetzaltenango (Xela). That in itself is not motivation to get better, but the full moon ascent of the second highest volcano in Central America is. We've met back up with Rory and plan to scramble up this mountain tonight. From the top we will look down on the most active volcano in Guatemala (erupts every hour) and will be privy to a pretty spectacular sunrise, clouds permitting. The top is right around 12,000ft and gets damn cold + windy, so should make for a good adventure. On the form you fill out to sign up there is a box asking whether or not you have travel insurance. After checking “NO,” I thought that might be a good thing to rectify. After climbing the volcano, of course.

February 25, 2009

Finca Ixobel was a dream. But we are on a schedule of sorts and because we weren't participating in much of the guided tour stuff we decided that more more days of lazing were probably not necessary, despite the great setup. So we helped the Canadians pop their clutch, unfortunately didn't get a chance to say goodbye to George, and we were on our way.

In order to meet my friend Annie that is coming to visit from the States, I need to be in Guatemala City by the 28th. Before then, our goal is to knock out the Eastern part of Guatemala, so we can focus on the rest of the country after she leaves. Based on our reading of the guide book and advise that we've received, it looks like there are a quite a few points of interest worth hitting in this part of the country. We've known it as Rio Dulce, but more specifically it is Finca Paraiso that has hot springs flowing from waterfalls. I know, so cool. So that has been our main purpose for coming this way, but then there is Livingston which, on the Caribbean Coast, boasts the only Garifuna (descendants of a marooned slave ships who were never themselves enslaved) or black population in Guatemala. Only accessed by boat, Livingston is a cultural island separated by a seemingly very wide gap from the rest of Guatemala. Although, really, Livingston is not an island at all, merely a peninsula and it is confusing to me as to why there are no roads that connect it. My feeling from talking to people is that Guatemala keeps their black people at arms length—a German guy, Chris, who has lived there for four years actually thinks that the place is un-developing, if that's possible.

I digress. From Livingston we'd read of another Finca, this one called Finca Tatin. And after Ixobel we were ready for some more Finca life.

From Finca Ixobel we had planned to make it in one day to Livingston, but the travel gods were not hastening our trip that day and our broken down bus had yet to arrive to Poptun. So, along with 3 Guatemalan girls, we took local commuter (short distance) buses to get to Rio Dulce, and from Rio Dulce we would head to Puerto Barrios, where likely we would get stuck for the night. 5 buses later and we had made it to Puerto, but indeed there were no more ferries to Livingston.

Puerto is a dumpy Port/Border town, but (other than our room), we liked it enough. The next morning we got on the slow boat and headed to Livingston. From Livingston you can walk to the “Siete Altares,” a series of waterfalls that cascade towards the Sea. 3 hours walking there and back was plenty and the waterfalls were cool enough. After working up an appetite we decided to try what looked like the cheapest eats in Livingston to try a local seafood stew called Tapado. If you can see a problem with this combination (cheapest place + seafood) then you have a greater capacity for foresight than I and I congratulate you. At 3 in the morning I was having contractions and I didn't even know I was pregnant. Even while on kill all antibiotics, I managed to get food poisoned (even though my mantra had just that day been “I can eat anything, I could see myself abusing antibiotics for the pure recreational joy of it). The next day was spent largely in bed and I had my third serious illness in that many weeks. (Funny thing, we saw Ray, the funny 60 year old guy we had met in Tikal. Do not know how he fared, but amazingly Rory was spared..)

From Livingston, Carlos, the Argentine owner took us in his boat to Finca Tatin. The ride through the Rio Dulce canyon was incredible. Green jungle rising straight up from the river and filled with white crane/kingfishers in the trees, flying above, or fishing. It was as if we were in a prehistoric scene from Jurassic Park, pure jungle and amazing creatures. Finca Tatin, is a cool, albeit pricey little spot on a tributary to the Rio Dulce. Built on stilts above a swamp, it was a really nice place to hang out with amazing jungle sounds and rain every night to lull you to sleep. Yesterday we rented a kayak and had a good day paddling and trying to climb the cliff walls that came up from the river.

Today we took off and have landed at another stilted, jungle hangout spot. We'll leave tomorrow as we've had enough of this scene and these inflated prices. Plus, I'm looking forward to finally getting to those hot spring waterfalls. The day after it'll be to Guatemala City to await Annie's arrival!

February 19, 2009

Yesterday, Rory and I arrived at some sort of Utopian summer camp for adults. In so many ways it reminds me of my own childhood summer camp that I can't help but to be giddy by the tin roof and screened windows or by the wonderful (and oddly similar) smells that come wafting through as the cooks begin preparing breakfast.

It was merely a whim that brought us here but it doesn't look like we will be leaving right away. For the past 5 days or so we have been in Flores, Guatemala, in the Northeast, after arriving from Belize. Flores is a little island 500m into a big lake. It serves as a tourist haven from Santa Elena, which had been unanimously described to us as a pretty nasty place. Flores is nice enough, but pretty boring and with a definite feeling of segregation. We were staying at a very comfortable, jungle themed hostel with good people, decent food and wireless internet (which has become a prerequisite). We finally made it to Tikal, which is said to be the most impressive of all the Mayan ruins. Not being ruin buffs, we were expectedly underwhelmed, but it was nice to see and there were impressive vistas of the surrounding jungle basin. We met a hilarious 60-ish year old American atop one of these ruins and after taking our picture he posited that the Mayans must have derived great strength from rising above the canopy and seeing what to them was the extent of their world.

In Tikal we ran across our Australian buddies and their Scandinavian acquaintances. They were clean shaven and looked very whipped into shape. They both seemed torn as to whether to make a run for it or if they actually had an ideal situation and just couldn't quite realize it. After 4 days being together, the girls had already had two “girl nights” and they were all sleeping in one room! Foolish. Rory thinks that they're content, but I don't buy it.

My infection from a couple of weeks back has returned and that is the main culprit for us staying in Flores for as long as we did, but yesterday, armed with antibiotics, we hit the road. We didn't decide where we were going until we arrived to Poptun, the town that is 5km away from Finca Ixobel (where we are staying now). A tuk-tuk brought us and all of our gear (just barely fitting) out to the Finca. We were given a nice long introduction and shown our rooms by Pablo, an Argentine who has been here for 6 years. To try and paint some sort of a picture of this place, it's a 400 acre (although we've only explored about 10) farm that has a fairly basic central lodge (from whence comes anything but basic food!), several tree (stilt, really) houses in the area surrounding, a nice large cabin for a dormitory (nicer, but so much like Camp Virginia), and a more conventional, stucco motel looking building with private rooms. It is the perfect mix of basic and luxury, of summer camp and country club. 200 yards away from the kitchen a path takes you to a swimming pond (that looks like it could be anywhere rural East coast, States) that has a bonfire pit next door and a little bar (where you give your number to charge drinks, a la country club). It's like Fort Lewis or Cheat Lake Club, except my bed cost $5. And the dinner last night was amazing. They grow many of their own vegetables (on the path to the pond) and so we saw beautiful leafy green lettuce for the first time in a long time last night and the eggplant parmesan coupled with the wonderful fried chicken put both Rory and I into an almost instant food coma. We were kept conscious by the conversation of a beautiful Canadian couple, she a TV personality and he the new owner of a hotel on the Western Coast of Guatemala (who we plan to visit). They are going to organize a poker night tonight, but in the meantime have gone on one of the cave trips offered by the Finca (also possible are horse riding trips, river tubing and rafting, hikes into the surrounding hills, etc..summer camp). Warm in the day, cool in the evenings...we have found a great spot. And have met great people, and so I think I'll go join Rory and kick around the soccer ball with some of them..

February 14, 2009

Been a long time.

In the last month and a half since leaving San Blas we have been to two more countries and seen and done lots. Most all of the details have all but disappeared but I will try to recount some of the things we have done. And with a bit more time elapsed and places experienced I may be able to more clearly discern between what I liked at the time and what places really stuck with me.

From San Blas we headed back through Tepic and onward to Guadalajara. The drive was gorgeous, through plantations of blue agave as the sun was setting. Guadalajara is in..I believe, the state of Jalisco, and Jalisco is to tequila as Champagne is to, well, Champagne. So the liquor distilled from agave that is made outside of Jalisco is called Mezcal, not tequila. At least this is my understanding and it is probably wrong.

We got into Guadalajara in the evening and decided that we would try to bus it into town instead of springing for an expensive taxi. After mysteriously being passed up by some buses, we were picked up and on our way. Guadalajara is an interesting town and honestly I can't remember if we liked it at first or not. It's the major university town in Mexico and the major destination for people studying abroad in Mexico. The hostel that we chose was in the center or town and our arrival coincided with the start of a new semester so there were many newly arrived students acclimating themselves to Guadalajara. Australian, Canadian, Panamanian, American, Dutch and Chinese, we met some some really cool people and had a good time running around with them for a few days.

Although the center of the city was dead at night, we were only a few blocks from the central squares and cathedrals that were bustling during the day and filled with families on the weekends. Guadalajara has more public art than any city I've seen in any country, abound with bronze busts to funky modern pieces and street performers. It's a great place to bumble around or sit by a fountain and watch the people bumble around you.

On a recommendation from our friend James who we met in San Blas, we headed to bar Santa in the more posh, student hangout part of town. All white interior with good electronic/lounge being spun and funky fluorescent Jesus murals, Santa was where we suspected the children of drug lords (anyone with money we assumed was somehow connected to the drug trade) hung out. Awkwardly interested in our waiter's physique, Rory asked him if he climbed and he told us that he didn't, but that the owner of the bar did. We were quickly introduced and we had a date to go climbing the next day.

Unfortunately we had just begun climbing and had absolutely no edurance in our forearms. So it was pretty embarrassing when we went climbing with Gabriela and her friend Daniel, but nevertheless it was our first day of hanging out with Mexicans and I was high on the fact that we were speaking Spanish the whole time. Plus, Gabi and Danny were really fun and didn't seem to mind too much that we couldn't climb a very easy wall.

A couple of crazy consecutive nights at Santa, America, then the after-after party place were enough and we decided to head out. The next stop was either Guanajuato or Morelia and at the last moment we opted for the rooftop bars and grand cathedrals of Morelia that we had heard and read so much about.

In Morelia we met an extremely friendly cab driver who helped us find the hotel we were looking for. He had lived in Chicago for years and still had family there but had moved back to Mexico because he just preferred it. As we were driving through cobblestoned and colonial Morelia on the day of the Three Kings (a holiday that we don't celebrate, but apparently it is the day when the children get their Christmas gifts) we could understand why. We were greeted by a parade and pageantry as children were receiving their gifts in the main square. Morelia is gorgeous, set atop a hill with over 300 churches and an appreciation for colonial architecture it looks like a picturesque Spanish or Italian town. In fact, we learned as we were about to leave that it was so nice that many of the big time drug lords had moved to the hills surrounding town and that only months before there had been grenade attack clashed with the police that had killed several tourists. Comforting.


Rory was on the ball and before we had arrived he had already found us a climbing gym. Morelia has some very talented climbers and they were all so interested to meet us and find out how long we were staying, with several offering to take us for a climb in the following days. We ended up going climbing with Fernando, his Canadian wife and their daughter (who reminded me so much of little Mary Pippa) and two of their friends. It was an eventful day as it was quite a drive out into the mountains, then quite a hike to the routes. We ended up only climbing once each, which was pretty disappointing but it was nice to get to know the people who were kind enough to take us out.

The rooftop bars overlooking the cathedral weren't all they were cracked up to be and the charge by the hour type hotel that we were staying in was easy to leave behind, so after a couple of more days we took off from Morelia. Our cab driver to the bus station had also lived in the States but offered, completely unprompted, that he had been deported after going to jail for something gang/drug related and let us know that his vice was “piedra” (crack). While constantly telling us stories interspersed with the stereotypical “ese” and “word, dog”, he took us on a seemingly circuitous route to the bus station (although it must have been a short cut) that took us on dirt roads that looked like they would dead end (and that we would too). We were relieved to make it to the bus station and Rory gave him an extra big tip I think because he was thanking him for not robbing and killing us (as his cousin was still in jail for that very same crime!).

From Morelia we were headed to Mexico City and unlike Morelia we had heard very bad things about Mexico City (DF) and the people who lived there. Even the admitted gang-banging convict and crack addict said that Chilangos (people from DF) were thieves and liars. Coming from him we were especially convinced.

Arriving in DF, we reluctantly stepped off the bus and immediately sneered at everyone. In our minds they were all sizing us up and preparing to take us down. We bought our taxi ticket inside the bus terminal, not wanting to get in a taxi that might rob us. We were relieved to find that our driver was an amiable older guy from Guadalajara—not a born and bred Chilango. He took us towards our destination until we decided upon arrival that we would try another spot. We ended up in a great little hotel that was an expensive place to stay but a great scene. With all of the great sites to see in Mexico City—like the world's preeminent museum of natural history, the impressive central park, the Aztec ruins just outside of town that boasts the highest pyramid outside of Egypt (and third highest in the world)--Rory and I managed to see none of it. We went out every night, spending way too much money and lazed around during the day. We did manage to see the main square with what must be the world's largest flagpole and flag and the famous mural in the Supreme Court and the Presidential Palace...but that was about it. Nonetheless, DF was wonderful. We met nothing but great people, we walked home at 5am without any problems and we found another climbing gym that we could get to using the wonderful metro system. All of the warnings although I'm sure worthy and true just didn't seem to apply to us and we had a great time.

We finally tore ourselves away from DF intent on getting out of the cities and back to being active. We took the late bus to Oaxaca on Saturday and got in time to rally and try out the night life. It was a fun town and after landing in the great “Banana Magic” Hostel, we got out and mixed it up. Oaxaca is a great place that would be worth a return trip. It's also unique in that it must have the highest per capita rate of old VW Bugs. It looked like all of the hippies had caravaned down in the 70s and left their cars...and according to my Uncle David that is pretty much how it went down. Seeing as climbing gyms had become the best way for us to meet good people and we had finally started getting better, we found a good place in Oaxaca and went out a couple of times. I didn't feel like we accomplished much in Oaxaca, either, and it felt like a bit of a pattern was forming. But really with these cities there are only so many cathedrals and squares that you can see before you feel like you've seen it all. And we were meeting the people, which I feel is the best thing you can do when you are traveling so I guess we weren't doing all that bad. Nevertheless I was happy to be headed back to the coast where the promise of more activity lay ahead.

From Oaxaca it took us six curvy hours through an impressively large mountain range to reach Puerto Escondido. Famous for being the best surf spot in Mexico, it felt like the driver of our bus was late for an appointment as he was driving as if he were Mario Andretti and passing sports cars in our over sized van. Home of the Mexican Pipeline, Puerto Escondido is a cool spot and after 2 nights in a prison like RV/Cabana complex, we moved out to the Point to a hotel right on the beach. With great rocks on the beach to climb, almost constant surf, and the reunion with our friends from San Blas—Puerto was probably my favorite place on the trip so far. Our hotel was full of a diverse group of cool people from Italy, Argentina, Canada and Mexico and there was always something fun to entertain us, whether it was a game of ping-pong, cards, beach soccer, climbing or surfing. With good people and such a great set-up it was the perfect spot. The day our Australian buddies arrived happened to be Australia Day which is always an epic holiday and dressed up like the boy band that we would soon become (Cuatequis, we all wore tank-tops and ridiculous hots) we hit the town hard. 5 shots of Mezcal later we were having dance offs in the local bar and were all rocking out as if we were Aussies.

Great breakfast, cards, ping-pong, soccer, climbing, go out and repeat for the next several days, and then, unfortunately, it was time to push on.

Within hours of their arrival I had told the boys about our plans to head to Belize to meet up with my sister Lindsay and within seconds they were on board. We decided that we'd do a quick stint through Chiapas in southern Mexico and head to the famous ruins at Palenque, then we would make it to Belize in time to meet Lindsay as she got off the plane.

In Chiapas I came down with a solid 102 degree fever and was pretty much out of commission for a couple of days—being nursed back to health. Being sick on the road is never fun, and especially when you're with such a great group. I started getting better just as we were heading to Palenque but didn't want a relapse of the debilitating fever. The boys did a good job of conquering foreign lands without me and after a rather boring visit to Palenque we were finally headed to Belize.

The trip to the island was almost too easy and Belize City was not worth the wander so we camped out in the ferry terminal almost the entire day so we wouldn't arrive too much before Lindsay. It rained all day and finally cleared up as we got on the 4pm ferry. Armed with only a street name on an island that doesn't name it's streets, I was immediately impressed by the locals who helped us by first calling the phone number that I had been giving, getting the name off of the answering machine, then sending us to another set of people who were sure to know where Warren and Deb lived. With the sand streets, the azure waters and the anticipation of meeting up with Lindsay, I was excited for Caye Caulker. We found where Warren and Deb lived and as we were walking towards their house we saw Lindsay, recently arrived. We were staying in a great place and were looking forward to good times. 9 days in the sun came and went and before we knew it it was time to say goodbye and take off again.

Rory and I left the Aussies with their new itinerary and their Scandinavian mistresses and decided that instead of going back to finish off Mexico (backtracking is never a popular idea), we would save the Yucatan for later and head directly to Guatemala. The direct bus got us here late and after a little skirmish with the bus driver trying to sell us tours, we made it onto the island of Flores. It's great to be back in a cheap, Spanish speaking (Belize is English, Creole and Spanish but mostly we operated in English) country. My outlook looked way up as we crossed the border, despite reading about the violence and dangers of Guatemala. From what it sounds like, gangs like MS-13 have free reign over Guatemala and violence against foreigners is frequent and can be pretty extreme. It's an amazing country as it just recently ended a 37 year civil war in which 200,000 people were killed and 1 million more fled. Despite the warnings, the people are very friendly and we will be sure to be extra vigilant—like not taking buses at night or wandering around the streets late. The warnings remind me of what I'd heard in Venezuela and although precaution is necessary it is not a place that should be avoided. We will be bumming around the north for the next couple of days and will head to one of the most famous Mayan ruin called Tikal tomorrow or the next day. Guatemala (and the rest of Central America) has so many amazing things to see and do that Rory and I were both salivating after a quick perusal of the Lonely Planet. Hot spring waterfalls, verdant canyons, Garifuna drummers, beautiful colonial towns, towering volcanoes to climb, and virgin coastline are just some of the things that we are looking forward to.

More to come!

January 1, 2009

Jan 1

We said goodbye to 2008 with what was one of the most fun days of the year for me.

Our crew of folks we're hanging out with had swelled for the past day as a group of American girls had rolled into town and we decided that before they take off we were going to go on a 3 hour boat tour, a la Gilligan's Island. They were headed to Puerto Vallerta in the afternoon but couldn't find a hotel room in the whole place, so they ditched and headed to PV early to sort themselves out a place to stay. So Rory and I met up with the core group of people here as they had planned to go on a much more ambitious hitch hiking journey to a waterfall an hour and a half away. Rory and I were skeptical that a group of 7 gringos would be picked up on the side of the road and were happy to find out how wrong we were. 7 different pickup trucks picked us up to take us to the next town or the next intersection where they had to go another way. We never waited longer than 5 minutes before we were picked up. And the few cars that did pass without stopping all made some hand gesture explanation, either that they were just driving around town, were heading the other way or that they regrettably had no room in their truck. One of the trucks on the way there, though, stood out as being the most memorable. We were waiting at a speed bump in the second town we'd made it to and this little red low-riding truck nearly bottomed out as it crawled over the speed bump, coming to a stop. It was not a road worthy truck. Over a blaring Bone Thugs n' Harmony, the driver told us to hop in the back which was already partly occupied by his most recent catch on ice. Riding with the fresh catch, there immediately was a horrible screeching sound coming from underneath us. We were a little more weight than the non-existent suspension could support and the tires were rubbing against the wheel wells creating a painful screeching that sounded like the precursor to a blown tire and a bloody accident with 7 gringos thrown clear. We shifted around the bed with every turn, recalibrating our tenuous situation while I tried to measure tread depth in my head. Huddled together we thought to get the attention of the seemingly deaf driver who didn't seem to mind and we agreed that we would get out at the next town. The next town came and went (“oh it's not that bad, right?”) they reached their destination and we could collectively sigh with relief. I didn't see it, but we also managed to hit a rotweiler while riding in that truck. We weren't going fast and I think we just clipped him but still it added some Mexican authenticity to the experience.

The waterfall itself is incredibly isolated and gorgeous. Up in the mountains where mango and coffee are the main crops it felt like we were a crew headed towards “The Beach” (minus Leonardo DiCaprio). An Australian named Yannick who has been in San Blas for a week had made the arduous trip twice already and he immediately jumped in and climbed up behind the waterfall. I've never been to a place where you could do this but it was amazing. It wasn't easy to fight the pounding water and there was no air to breath as you started the climb, but you could manage to pull yourself up the rock and into a little area where you could sit and hide yourself behind the falls. It was pretty amazing and fun to see someone jump out of the waterfall.

Headed home we continued to be blessed by the hitching gods and that time it only took us 3 rides as the third truck was a couple who live in Denver but were home for the holidays and happy to take us the whole way.

To make the day even better we arrived back to the beach as the sun was setting and a couple of Argentines were grilling (an asado) up a New Years feast that we'd planned a couple of days back. Our American contribution to the evening was beer pong, which everyone enjoyed. Then we braved the explosive laden streets to head to the central plaza where all the young folk had congregated. There was a drum/dance circle in one corner of the plaza and random explosions pretty much everywhere else. One of the most popular fireworks was something like a cherry bomb that gave off a forceful blast that you could actually feel if you were within 20 feet. Those shot some sort of plug, randomly and I got shot in the chest which left a nice little welt. Better than my eye. Also, Rory and I had to duck a bottle rocket that someone shot through the center of the plaza. But we met some great people and made it back to the beach just in time to catch the tail end of a bonfire that someone had left and the first light of 2009.

December 30

It was not a traditional Christmas. In fact it really didn't feel like Christmas at all and that, or maybe the beginning of a little cold, kind of put me off.

But it was a beautiful sunset that descended upon Mazatlan that night and just before dinner Rory and I headed up to the top floor of the Best Western which had an amazing view of the coast and the city behind. Just down the road (and also on the beach) from our hotel was a restaurant that had a band and a gregarious owner happy to wish us a Feliz Navidad. The good music, food, company, and general scene sent my spirits higher and then we got into the spirits—which also helped. After befriending the bar staff at a busy place we stumbled upon, we were given, to our definite detriment, some shots that were on fire and others that could have been. The next day was not fun, but we were in one piece and with Rory handling the motivation we were heading to San Blas.

San Blas is a little fishing/navy/surfing village just west and north of Tepic. The Lonely Planet had highlighted it as a great spot and we've settled into it nicely. Unfortunately we had to go through Tepic, where the people almost unanimously sneered at us, for reasons still unbeknown.

In San Blas we're staying at a place on the beach, a ways out of town called Stoner's Surf Camp. There's a great group of people staying here and it's a quick bike ride to town to stock up on more Cabrito (our favorite tequila).

The first night here we were put into a cabana on the beach. Nothing but sand between us and the ocean, it was a pretty sweet spot. The next day, though, it was booked and we were moved into another cabana which is one of the coolest hotel rooms I've ever stayed in. Sitting above the staff trailer and the kitchen area, our cabana is like a mini a-frame in the sky with a sun room coming off of one side that faces the ocean. A hatch door leads down a ladder 12 or 15 feet to the ground and when you look out from our sun room (that has a mini-couch and lounge chair (where I now find myself) you can see ripening coconuts within reaching distance. At the moment I'm keeping an eye on the sky. The clouds are now a dark purple outlined with hints orange but should brighten as the sun makes its final salute for the day. Rory is out playing in the almost non-existent waves and will be back by the time it's dark. We spent a good part of yesterday on the water and had a ton of fun with some decent surfing success. Tonight we will likely head to what has become our local quesadilla (gringita) and taco stand. For 4 dollars you can eat enough amazing food to almost make you nauseous—as Rory set out to prove last night.

My cold that started in Mazatlan and was supported by our big Christmas night out is almost gone and I think tonight will be prime for getting back on the horse.

Welcome to Tijuana (t, s, m)

Merry Christmas from Mexico!

Just a week removed from San Diego and I'm fully back into the traveler's mode. In fact, it took about 10 minutes since crossing the border in Tijuana that I felt ready for the adventure.

Rory and I had done no planning apart from deciding when and where we would meet to begin our journey. We had a rough idea that we would travel down the Baja toward Cabo for Christmas, then take the ferry across to the mainland and go from there.

I had a wonderful visit with Barb and Larry (and Jodie, Apollo and James) in San Diego. Amidst an uncommonly rainy San Diego, Barb and Larry took me on a couple driving tours of some of the different neighborhoods. It's always so nice catching up with far flung family, and Barb and Larry are consummate hosts. On the last night before we took off, Larry fired up the rotisserie, my old friend Marie came over and we ate Cornish Game Hens and had a game of no hold 'em, which Jody (Jodith) nobly won.

The next day the trolley took us right to the border. The disparity is stark. From the trolley you can see the border fence climbing up a distant hillside with houses on the Mexican side and an oft patrolled road on the other. In the span of 100 meters life changes drastically.

Without incident, we walked across and through a turnstile. No need to mention to anyone that we're going, no necessary paperwork. We decided to go back and grab a visa that we knew would be an unnecessary expense, but would give us the peace of mind of knowing that we are in the country legally. Crossing the border seemed to bring back our language skills, and the immigration officer let us know that we could grab a bus to the bus terminal from nearby, rather than getting ripped off and possibly robbed by a taxi driver. It was good advice, as there had been 200 murders in Tijuana in the last month and gringos, although not as likely as the police or carteleros, are targets.

The bus station was full as the flash flooding in San Diego had been snow in the high mountains between Tijuana and Mexicali and the passengers from the day before had been stranded. The buses to Baja were not delayed but were slow nonetheless and about twice as expensive to go the same distance as on the mainland. If the buses were twice as expensive, everything was bound to be incredibly touristy and it didn't take us long to alter our plans.

The sun was setting as we crested the snowy mountains along the U.S. Border between TJ and Mexicali. Children had what must have been a rare opportunity to throw snowballs at their siblings as we crawled by with the sky spitting pinks and purples towards to the plain below. The traffic was bad and it was almost exclusively California and Arizona (one Oregon) license plates that we were stuck behind at the tolls and drug checkpoints. Everyone going home for Christmas with children's bikes and other gifts strapped to their roof or even towed behind. And so a 20 hour trip to Los Mochis became 30 and all the sudden we were back. On the road.

From Los Mochis, we read en route, we could get on the famed FerroMex through the Copper Canyon. This railroad, which took decades and 400 lives to build, navigates a canyon that is larger and deeper than the grand canyon (although admittedly less spectacular from the views we saw). It was an amazing trip, and we arrived to a tiny village on the canyon rim near dusk, called Posadas Barrancas. We were greeted by Armando, the owner of the guest house where we had planned to stay. After a quick jaunt to check out the canyon as the sun set we came back to a hearty Mexican meal and retired to our room to build a roaring fire and finish both of our books.

The next day we took off for Creel and found ourselves hustled by Miguel (probably 10 years old, very cool kid) into Casa Margarita. We were planning on staying there anyway, and so had no qualms with allowing Miguel to lead the way. From Creel we had a massive day of walking which was not so good for my injured achilles, then, after missing our train we stayed an extra day and climbed boulders, of which there was no shortage. In fact the area around Creel is smothered with rock formations and incredible climbing opportunities. We found one rock on a bluff above the town that had a particularly intriguing "problem" as tricky routes are known in climbing speak. It was a bit of an overhang and we worked on it for hours, not able to quite get it. The next morning we headed back (with a professional climbing guide from Arizona that we'd met) and he and Rory both took it down, but my arms were too shot from the day before and I wasn't able to pull it off. Good times, though.

We managed to catch our train the next day and we headed on what was sure to be a long journey towards where we now find ourselves: Mazatlan. The sun had set and I was sick of my book so I decided to turn on a movie on the iPod. Rory went to the bathroom to put some of the tequila we'd acquired into a water bottle in the interest of being discreet. On his way he ran into Ivan Beltran, who came back with him to our seats. Ivan told us quite a story, but by the end of it we weren't up to the adventure of being his buddy. Ivan lives in Oklahoma, but was coming home to visit his family in Culiacan. In his Tulsan, thugged out (sounds oxymoronic, I know) dialect, Ivan told of his family, some of whom are in prison and others that work for his father who is a prominent drug lord. With his gang tattooed hands in his jacket pockets, he emphatically told us stories of his fathers weapons cache and of his trips back to the states—walking for three days across the desert with nothing but 20 kilos of marijuana strapped to his back.

Fatima also kept us company on the train. The cutest 4 year old possibly in this world, she wandered the train and would stop to chat for a few minutes, then, mid-sentence would be bored with us and gone.

We arrived to Los Mochis after midnight and took a taxi with Ivan to whichever bus company would take us south. We found a bus that was leaving at 1am and were happy when we reached his town as his requests to borrow money had steadily increased throughout our short relationship. Even with Ivan gone and the worry that he might demand instead of ask behind us we couldn't sleep and arrived to Mazatlan as the sun rose, but without having any quality shut eye. We checked into Hotel Belmar and slept the first part of the day. The second half was mostly spent in a daze, loathing our fellow Americans as they bumbled around town with their loud English and disinterest in assimilating to the culture.

After a few Christmas Eve tequilas we headed out to get some food but managed to time our arrival with the closing of every restaurant. On our search we gazed, stunned, as an old Cadillac convertible with Oregon plates (again?) and several 60-70 year old Santa-clad ex-pats idled through the plaza, their sled adorned with Christmas lights. Their chants of "ho-ho-ho" brought into clear contrast the American patrons of the several restaurants at one end of the plaza, clapping, and the Mexican families waiting for midnight mass in the cathedral at the other end of the plaza. We ended up with half of a chicken, some beans, rice and potato chips. Not your traditional Christmas Eve fair, but it worked just fine for us.

Today was our first glimpse of the Mexican Pacific and as the sun set we got our first taste. Our plan is to stay here through Christmas and then to head south to San Blas where hopefully the waves will be bigger and the tourists fewer.

Merry Christmas!