Trip Report: Stage 3 - Southern Mexico

California to Patagonia: A Cycling Expedition
Trip Report
Stage 3 - Southern Mexico
April 10, 2008

* Pictures from this part of the trip can be found here.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
--
Mark Twain

Today, I gazed across the aqua-blue waters of Lago de Atitlan in Guatemala as my bicycle odometer measured 6,000 kilometers of cycling across Latin America. A series of misadventures and life-whizzing-under-my-two-wheels feeling prompted me to take a moment and reflect on the portion of the journey I had thus completed through Southern Mexico and Guatemala. It was by far, the most exhausting experience I have ever immersed myself in: physically and mentally. And by far, the most rewarding.

On February 26, I bid farewell to Martina and my newfound family in Colima after nearly a month of experiences off the bicycle.

Riding through the picturescape beaches of Michoacan was a dream. In a rare display of common sense and reason, the coast highway actually followed the coast, and there was a distinct absence of traffic and cities. The only settlements were small villages, none of which appeared on my map.

I ended my first day of riding in Maruata, a tiny Pomaro Indian village. It didn't have much in the way of tourist infrastructure, and I was happy enough to pitch my tent under what passed for a palm palapa overlooking the steep bluffs of rock that lined the coast. I struck up a conversation with one of the villagers, Pablo, and we spent a long evening exchanging stories of our entirely separate journeys. He had no idea where Nepal was, no matter how much I tried to explain, which included maps drawn on the sand and images of rugged mountains, he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that I was not from Mexico. In the end, I walked away with many new words in my Nahuatl lexicon (the principal language of the Aztecs, and of numerous indigenous groups in Mexico today).

In fact, I also learned that a majority of the communities along the Michoacan coast spoke Nahuatl, and as such, that section of the Pacific coast was righteously bestowed the title, "Costa Nahuatl."

After leaving the solitude and tranquility of Michoacan, entering Guerrero proved to be a shock! Giant cities appeared once again, and the traffic grew considerably until it reached its climax in Acapulco, where it was the worst I had ever experienced in the trip thus far. I also had my first collision with a car, but thanks to my helmet and rear-view mirror, both Bucephalus and I walked away with nothing more than a few scratches.

In Acapulco, I was shocked at how much the tourist economy had affected the city. Spring break was only a week or two away and all the bars, hotels, and restaurants had giant signs welcoming the imminent onslaught of thronging college undergrads from the US. Just for kicks, I stopped in a tour agency and inquired what an average tour package for a week of partying would cost for most students. It turns out that it was just about the same amount that I was spending for my WHOLE trip! This made me feel great!

Campsites along the coastline are also worth commenting on. From meadows along coastal estuaries with iguanas and hundreds of tropical birds, to beach camps, to coconut plantations, I found no trouble each night finding a place to call home.

My spanish improving, for the first time, I was also able to connect on a deeper level with the people I encountered. The further South I rode, the more I met people whose lives had been drastically affected by globalization and economic interdependence with the US. Many folks shared stories of working in America supporting their families in Mexico. The ones that had returned to their native villages seemed to radiate much more happiness and satisfaction being surrounded by their friends and their family rather than being in a distant country without a supportive community network where they were treated as second-class citizens.

I was shocked to find entire villages with a distinct absence of men, most of whom had gone off to America for employment. It is incredible how often, a handful of relatives working in the US can support their families thousands of miles away. This was not just in one or two places but everywhere I went. If you´re reading this from the US, check it out yourself by striking up a conversation with a Latin American service worker - at the local fast food joint, or your personal gardener, or a family nanny. As long as you don't have convictions of turning them in to the Department of Immigrations, I'm sure you can gain their trust. The story of their illegal border crossing alone will blow you away. Remember that although in the US these folks may just be a lowly Taco Bell bathroom cleaner, but in Latin America they are idolized like rock stars as the $300 to $500 they send home per month can support an entire village.

Entering the state of Oaxaca, I spent my first rest day in over two weeks in Playa Mazunte. I crossed paths yet again with Jesse and Sherilyn, two original members of the Pleasant Revolution crew. Our second encounter was promptly celebrated by a night of peaceful camping along a hidden cove in the beach with bicycles, musical instruments, and local vegetables strewn mercilessly around. It was a wonderful feeling to be surrounded by music in my life once again after such a long time.

After the Oaxaca coast, I decided to take a major detour by heading into the Sierra de Miahuatla to visit some mountain communities and the magic of Oaxaca City. Climbing to a height of 2800 meters from the coast, I spent a whole day spinning very slowly up grinding hills until I reached San Miguel Suchixtepec, a mountain-top Zapoteca Indian community. While searching the nearby woods for a campsite, Arminio and Alfredo, two young men living in the village invited me to set up camp under their watch behind their house, which commanded a grand view of the entire Sierra and the local cathedral! Random acts of kindness such as those expressed by my new friends definitely rank high on the most rewarding aspects of this journey.

The next day, I continued climbing the Oaxacan mountains until I reached San Jose del Pacifico. This village is known for its indigenous usage of hallucinogenic psilocybin mushrooms. As soon as I pedaled into the main drag of the village, old señoras in traditional garb with baskets would ask "¿hongos? ¿hongos?"

Following the advice of a friend I had met in the Distrito Federal, I asked them where I could find the residence of one Doña Catalina. An elder Española lady, Cata, as she preferred to be called, was well known in the village as an eccentric character - perhaps much more well-weathered teacher, musician, poet, astrologer, shaman, and healer than anything.

I found Cata sitting in her front porch engaged in a lively conversation with a few others. She welcomed my bicycle and I before I could introduce myself. My original plan was to spend a night in the village then continue on, but after a few moments with Cata, I decided to chain Bucephalus up to a nearby tree and do nothing but share storie with her and the folks at her home for 2 days.

Thanks to Cata's unique way of making everything seem profound, I left the magic of San Jose del Pacifico with a healthy proportion of confusion and illumination of my journey ahead.

After negotiating the requisite traffic of the city, I soon entered Oaxaca City. Cycling along the cobblestone streets of the Centro Historico with no clue as to where to go, I saw of youth hostel where I decided to check in for the night. After not having paid for a night of accomodations with hotels or hostels on the whole trip thus far, it was incredible how comfortable a real bed felt!

Before I could get very comfortable, I said my farewells to the quick friends I had made at the hostel and rode the short distance to the archaeological ruins of Monte Alban. In a dazzling feat of luck and word-play, I somehow managed to trick the security guards into thinking I was a local student and got in for free!

Overlooking the entire Valley of Oaxaca, the mountain top ruins of Monte Alban were breathtaking! An ancient Zapotec ceremonial center, Monte Alban was one of the most powerful of religious sites in its heydey. Largely a warring expansionist empire, the Zapotecs were aligned with sites as far north as Teotihuacan, near Mexico City and the mountain-top site gave them a particular dominance over the surrounding landscape.

As ruminations of ancient Pre-Columbian life criss-crossed my mind, I struck up a wild idea of camping somewhere near the ruins. It was largely deserted and the few security guards present seemed to be very lax with their duties. Moreover, inspired by my friend Eric's recent accounts of camping along ancient ruins he had discovered on the side of the road, I had a burning desire to do just the same. I reconnoitered the environs and struck up a friendly conversation with one of the security guards, who informed me that during the night, only one or two vigilancias (voluntary security guards) patroled the area, giving me an idea of the kind of hurdles I would have to navigate.

Turning along a dirt bend off the main road connecting to Monte Alban, I found a rough dirt hikers trail that I followed with my bicycle. At times, I was forced to walk my bike up the steep dirt track, but I eventually found myself at the periphery of the site, where I gained easy access to a plaza surrounded by several ruins. I selected a patch of grass to erect my tent and spent the fading minutes of sunset gazing across the Valley of Oaxaca.

Just then, a rough looking man with a large machete scared the crap out of me and asked me what I was doing. I delivered a well-prepared speech about how I had traveled half the world on my bicycle to fulfill a life-long dream to visit Monte Alban. He paused and said nothing. Turning to see my bicycle, he disarmed himself and relaxed a bit, mumbling a few words about how as long as I didn't burn the place up or litered trash, he would allow me to stick around for the night. Ahh.... fortune does indeed favor the bold.

The first day out of Oaxaca, I rode into Matatlán. Unbeknownst that it was the Mezcal capital of Mexico, I was stopped on the side of the road by a man with a large sombrero harvesting specimens from an Agave field. A friendly roadside conversation blossomed into an invitation to his family Mezcal distillery to sample hand-crafted Mezcal. Largely overshadowed by its close cousin, Tequila, Mezcal is an alcoholic spirit brewed from the Maguey plant (a type of agave). Unlike Tequila, however, Mezcal still reflects strong traditional roots from the Pre-Columbian era. Hand-crafted in small family farms, it was the kind of drink that prompted me to drink more and more of!

My new friend Neu, an indigenous Zapoteca, walked me through the entire production process and after a few healthy swigs of the good stuff, I stumbled back to my bicycle with a canteen full of Mezcal.

Continuing along, I eventually rode into the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, the narrow strip of land that forms the skinniest portion of Mexico between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Devoid of high mountains, this region is infamously known for being plagued by extreme winds, dust-storms, and intense heat. I saw semi-trucks and large passenger busses on the side of the road tossed flat by the winds. Fortunately, the three days I spent crossing the Isthmus turned out to be a mild spell, with the winds measuring on average about 30 miles per hour. Occasionally a gust would prompt me to lose balance, but I was lucky that it was never quite strong enough to cause significant danger.

Arriving in Tuxtla, I was greeted by the hospitality of Rodolfo and Irving, my couchsurfing hosts in the city. I spent a few blissful days getting to know them and being entertained by their wonderful collection of stories and music. We visited the requisite tourist destinations: el Cañon del Sumidero, Plaza Marimba, and even a run-down Chiapan cantina, where every town drunk seemed to have made a permanent encampment.

After warm hugs and a million farewells, I said goodbye to Tuxtla and pedaled up into the mountains again, reaching the beautiful colonial city of San Cristobal de las Casas. At the central plaza, I saw a familiar face and immediately recognized my friend Damian Lopez, a fellow cyclist heading to Patagonia whom I met in Baja California, almost three months earlier! Comparing our notes on the road ahead, we decided to tackle the remaining distance in Mexico together and head into Guatemala as a team. I was exuberant meeting up with him again and it was a wonderful feeling to connect with someone who had already taught me so much!

The road from San Cristobal de las Casas to Palenque blessed Damian and I with amazing mountain scenery and literally no traffic! However, at the same time, it also cursed us with some of the most hostile experiences we have ever experienced on the trip. We had officially entered Zapatista territory, and perhaps the most politically unstable region in all of Mexico. The Zapatistas are an outspoken anti-globalization, anti-neoliberalism social movement that is based largely on indigenous communities seeking autonomy and control over their land and resources.

Most of these communities are currently on the margin of poverty. Every person we passed either warned us against being attacked or robbed on the road ahead, or, if they were little kids, accosted us for money.

"Regalo me un peso" (gift me a peso), they chanted, to which we would reply with a hearty smile and offer besos and abrazos (kisses and hugs) instead of pesos and regalos. The looks and stares from locals were often unfriendly and we felt very tense riding through the mountains of Chiapas.

I was finally able to unwind as I reached Palenque and resolved to make the most out of enjoying the ruins. From Chiapas onwards to Guatemala, the ruins reflected the remnants of the Maya, perhaps the most famous of all the Mesoamerican groups. The ruins were well preserved and the jungle setting made this my favorite of all the ruins I visited in Mexico.

Throughout Chiapas, I also forged a friendship with a fellow traveler I would cross paths with serendipitously at the most unexpected moments. Denise, an Austrian backpacker who was also taking time away from the first world to learn about herself and her path, had a similar goal of reaching Patagonia. Farewells and encounters seemed to be the theme with Denise; first, we got to know each other in Tuxtla, then we met up once again in San Cristobal de las Casas. By the time I saw her out of the corner of my eye as she was hiking along a forest meadow near the road in Palenque a few days later, I started wondering how often crossings like these happened.

Over the course of watching the rain drizzle over the Chiapan forests, exchanging life-stories, dreams, aspirations, and plenty of long sighs southwards, I felt the now-familiar joys and sensations of friendships realized grow ever stronger. During my last evening in Palenque, as howler monkeys growled sinister noises in the jungle and the rain drenched everything in a foliage of rich green, I invited Denise to share my campsite under a comfortable palm-palapa. Drenched in the warmth of candle-light, I gave her a soft kiss and we decided to part ways one last time, unsure about what the future would hold for both of us.

My last few days in Mexico were spent navigating through the Lacandon rainforest with Damian towards the Rio Usumacinto. Strapping our bicycles on a river boat, we said our final farewells to Mexico... after nearly 4 months, 5000 kilometers, and a spicy river crossing, we entered Guatemala in fine style.

Echoeing the Mark Twain quote I began this section with, I felt myself sailing away from the safe harbor. And it felt good.

Explore. Dream. Discover.

Until next time

Expedition Statistics

Distance Cycled: 5267 km
Days on the Road: 120 days
Days riding: 65 days
Average daily riding distance: 84 km
Maximum Speed: 71 km/h (downhill out of Acapulco, Guerrero)
Maximum Altitude: 5,636 meters (Citlatepetl - El Pico de Orizaba)
Flat Tires: 13
Maximum heat recorded cycling: 122 deg. Farenheit (50 deg. Celcuis!) - nearly each day between 11am and 4pm along the Pacific Coast.
Masked men with machete sightings along rural roads: too many

Acknowledgements

Geraldo, Gina, y Mario: for the excellent company and beers at Maruata, Michoacan.

Gerard, Linda, and Pierre: for nourishing me with dinner and breakfast at the most unexpected encounters all along the Michoacan coastline.

Chris and Marie-Ange Bujian: for the wonderful anecdotes about Nepal and inspiring me to finish the hill that almost killed me!

El Marveloso: for being at the right place and the right time. And for helping me recover, physically and mentally from my accident.

Hilario Hernandez: for re-affirming the goodness of people in Playa Azul with the free drink!

Sol y Fernando: for the good info on the road ahead in South America.

Remy and Luis: for sharing your campsite with me in Acapulco and for treating me to large portions of tacos and beers!

Fabrizio: for stopping by on your motorcycle to see how I was doing in the hot and musty road to Oaxaca.

Jakub Holecek: for all the laughs we shared in Puerto Escondido!

Chandra, Federico, Jo, Alejandro, and Sam: for music, for friendship, and for sharing all of these things to beyond their capacity!

Jesse and Sherilyn: for the wonderful welcome in Zipolite and all of your buena onda!

Duglas: for helping me catch up with all the local happenings and slang in Zipolite.

Arminio y Alfredo: for providing me with a safe place to sleep in San Miguel Suchixtepec and for all the new words in Zapoteca!

Antonio y Aurelie: San Jose del Pacifico would never be the same without your smiles and good vibes!

Doña Catalina: for all the transformations and learning you inspired in me during my brief stay in San Jose del Pacifico.

Shalui, Ben, and David: for the encouragement and well wishes as I was riding to Oaxaca.

Juliane: for regaling me with wonderful travel stories and for the good company in Oaxaca.

Omar y Luisa: thank you for treating me to an unexpected and delicious meal at the Buffet Economica in Ocatlan, Oaxaca.

Michael and Pia: for the wonderful travel advice across the Panama Isthmus.

Cesar Hernandez: for the giant pollo you packed up to the ruins at Monte Alban to share!

Pedro: for not killing me when you found me camping atop Monte Alban, and for protecting me from the burglars and bandits instead!

Neu and the whole crew at the Tacho Mezcal Brewery: for the delicious mezcal, the tours, and the unique camaraderie that alcohol can inspire.

Raquel and Kobi: for the unforgettable campfire we shared in the Tehuantepec and for everything we shared that evening!

Rodolfo Robles y Irving Niño: for hosting me in Tuxtla Gutierrez, and for all the good vibes in the casa de Irving - all the music, the beers, and the buena onda helped me recharge for the last section in Mexico!

Victor Manuel Hernandez: for your hospitality and kindness in Tuxtla Gutierrez.

Cluud and Manu: for all the adventures throughout Chiapas!

Denise Ellensohn: for sharing your beautiful spirit with me, and for re-affirming my belief that the best connections are realized when we least expect them.

Ame Ramos: for getting me even more excited about riding the Chiapan highlands and for welcoming me to San Cristobal de las Casas.

Michaela and Tómas: for the bongo bashing, fire-dancing celebrations at the plaza in San Cristobal de las Casas.

Proteción Civil de Ocotsingo: for the brotherhood and camarederie you shared with us in Ocotsingo, Chiapas.

Don Israel: for your kindness in helping us out with your Lacandon lodge in our last night in Mexico.