With the blog being as out of date as the calm times by Atitlan in Guatemala, the weeks and experiences that followed seem a distant memory of the social isolation, and at times, extreme discomfort of life on the bike.

Of all of the countries in my trip, Honduras was probably the hardest, both mentally and physically.  The hills weren’t bigger than any of the ones I had encountered before, though the heat and constant steep undulation led to extremes of mood that I hadn’t had since starting in Canada.  Interactions with the locals were also cooler than what I had grown used to in Latin America, poverty was much more visible here and the people didn’t seem to have the patience for a random foreigner.

Despite the difficulties, Honduras provided the least touristy Central American experience for me, drinking endless cups of world class coffee and being surrounded by breathtaking mountain scenery.  The next few posts will be catch up picture posts to bring the journey to its conclusion.

After a peaceful and scenic climb from Panajachel, I was given a parting view of the lake before heading into the mountains.

Quiet, pine forested, mountain roads always make for beautiful cycling.

Taking my shoes off, I walked my bike through the forded river due to the collapse of the paved road.

Compulsory photo of a chicken bus in Guatemala. These are usually old American school buses which, probably hoping for a quiet retirement after years of ferrying rowdy children, escape the pot only to be thrown into a retirement of fire, hurtling around central america at breakneck speeds. Rarely actually stopping for such an unworthy reason as picking up or depositing passengers, a decrease in speed followed by passengers and luggage flying off onto the road is the usual routine.

After a couple of weeks in the western highlands, first at Carl’s and then a lazy stay in San Pedro on the lake, breaks taken in Antigua and Chiquimula were the only pauses on the route to Copan, across the mountainous border into Honduras. Here I am the first person to enter the Mayan ruins that make the town famous, having the site to myself for a few hours in the relative coolness of the morning.

…before the uniformed and herded masses arrived.

The mayans knew how to relax, in between sacrificing children to encourage rain and building temples.

Heading deeper into Honduras, quiet roads and fantastic scenery awaited.

Not to mention fantastic coffee.

From La Esperanza to Marcala there was a beautiful track through protected forests, mostly downhill and ending at the coffee capital of Honduras. Needless to say it was a good day, and I stayed for a few days of indulging in food, coffee and relaxation.

“Lake Como, it seems to me, touches on the limit of permissibly picturesque, but Atitlán is Como with additional embellishments of several immense volcanoes. It really is too much of a good thing.” – Aldous Huxley

Settled in the small boat that would take me across the lake from San Pedro to Panajachel, the sun was just rising and people on the boat were still waking up, quiet and contemplative from sleep, before external guards and masks are put on. Other than myself, the boat was all locals, evenly split between men and women.

My first view of Lake Atitlan, on a ride with Carl who took me to San Pedro before heading home.

The women are all wearing their traditional clothing, the brightly coloured skirts, blouses and shawls that women in this area still proudly wear. Not for the benefit of tourists who pay to take photos of them, but simply because these are the clothes that they wear and they like them. Unlike many traditional societies where the customs are upheld mostly by the older generation, with teenagers aspiring to the tastes and customs of the people they see on television, the people of this part of Guatemala proudly keep their culture.

I sit next to an older woman in clothes of warm orange and earthy tones, she happily ignores me and is deep in chatter with the other women on the boat.  Their conversation is in the local language, so unintelligible to me, but seems happy and simple as they gossip and laugh together.  Once the boat starts moving, people stop speaking and settle into their own thoughts, the isolation only broken by the occasional murmur between a mother and young daughter clinging to her for comfort.  The two younger girls take the spotlight at the front of the boat, taking about whatever it is that young girls here talk about.  All the women on the boat seem to share a connection of some sort, whether of culture or something else.

Chocobananos! My favourite new snack. Frozen bananas dipped in molten chocolate that quickly cools down. Other types of fruit commonly receive the choco treatment as well, with the chocomango still eluding me.

Boarding time, with my bike and bags stored up front.

One of the local girls warming up in the morning sun, her clothes a splash of warmth in a scene of blues and greens.

Whereas the women look like a natural part of the scene, the men stand out in contrast, wearing modern clothes and cut off from everyone else by headphones or books.  They don’t seem to fit, isolated from their own environment, maybe from having lost their connection to the culture that the women hold on to so tightly.  It is a theme I have seen throughout Guatemala, men caught between two cultures, tradition and roots showing them one way whilst advertisements and television preach a different form of life.  Fast cars, mobile phones and gadgets have done their work here. Needless to say, in these cultures of machismo and peacockery, the quiet man goes about his business unnoticed.

Arriving in Panajachel lost in thought, I manage to walk my bike along the narrow connection of wooden planks without falling in the water and head towards the quieter route to Antigua via Godinez.  Not wanting to disrupt the peace that the boat trip instilled in me, I leave Panajachel without giving it much attention.

Peaceful isolation on the lake.

A beautiful climb out of Panajachel towards Godinez.

A parting view of the Lake.

Taking my shoes off, I walked my bike through the forded river due to the collapse of the paved road.

This being Guatemala, I found myself slowing winding up the inevitable hill through beautiful forests on quiet roads, aiming for the town of Patzun. After another uphill day of Guatemalan mountains, I arrived in Patzun, found a cheap room and went for my daily post cycling search for food in the market, which I was lucky to catch on Sunday.

In a town that the guide-book described as “purely functional, if you are hungry or thirsty”, I was getting a taste of real Guatemalan life away from the tourist trail.  These weren’t the cobbled, colonial streets of Antigua, crawling with tourists and locals with TV American accents trying to sell me tours.  This was a Sunday in a small town, with families leaving church to look for food and women trying on shawls and scarves.

A day later, in Antigua, I am plotting a route towards a reunion with my sister at Copan in Honduras.

In a constant battle against my English tendency to queue, I get the attention of the two voluptuous fruit vendors and ask for a mango and pineapple salad. They giggle at the thought of a foreigner doing something as normal as eating fruit, maybe expecting me to produce a bag of freeze dried pellets for sustenance. With my fruit paid for, I navigate the market’s obstacle course back to the house of my Warm Showers host in San Cristobal Totonicapan, Carl, where I have spent a few days after my first week back on the road.

The flatness of the Mexican border gives way to mountainous Guatemala

The other side of the road blockage.

After descending the mountains of Chiapas into the hotter farmland near the Guatemalan border, it took two days of cycling uphill to find myself back at over 3000m on the Panamerican highway, looking over the Quetzaltenango valley and at yet another mountain range in the distance.

To give my body a chance to regain some fitness, I opted for the paved route into Guatemala, staying with the main road for the time being. If ever a border between countries was physically visible, the giant Cuchumatan range of Guatemala looming over the flattish farmland of Southern Chiapas was enough to make you know you had entered another country. Settling into a low gear, I started up the beautiful, forest clad canyon heading to the town of Huehuetenango. Coming across a tailback of vehicles after a few hours of cycling, I weaved my way through the stationary cars and trucks, expecting to see the site of an accident blocking the road ahead. Squeezing my way through the line, the culprit was one of the many landslides that can block for roads for hours at a time in Guatemala.

On the other side of the landslide, the crowd of truckers and policemen watched as the bulldozer stopped to let the muddy cyclist through, and I got back on my bike and made my way through the line of stopped cars. With the road mostly to myself due to the blockage, I continued up to Huehuetenango and then San Cristobal Totonicapan the next day.

The Panamerican highway was at a standstill for hours, not for cyclists though!!

Spectacular views from Santa Maria

Fuego volcano also erupting in the distance

At Carl’s house, each day is packed with volcano climbing, biking and helping in his allotment or taking the two boisterous dogs for a walk. If a lone foreigner attracts attention normally, then the effect is amplified ten fold when he’s covered in dog slobber and being dragged along by a rottweiler the size of a manatee.  Despite his size however, Rambo is harmless and the most damage he did to me was roll over and pee on my arm when overexcited. At the house, my offer of helping out with some cooking was also taken up. An offer to bake a cake for the family was met with the response that they would be gathered the next day, and that all eighteen of them would be there.

In this lifestyle of only ever passing through and always being the outsider, staying with Carl and his family makes thoughts turn towards home and the future of this trip. Most cyclists begin their trips with a definite target such as Patagonia or Alaska, always having that to aim for. For me, this trip started as a simple wish to see more of the world, but has turned into an effort to find my place in everything and the life that I should build. Instead of being a list of postcard pictures and tourist attractions ticked off, this past year has been the sum of the people I have met along the way and how their lives have inspired change in mine.

For the moment, there is still much to see in Central America, so I will continue my route to Panama where I will undoubtedly find some decisions waiting for me.

Arriving at the top, a smaller volcano erupted at just the right time.

Carl and I on the top of Santa Maria

Like old friends, my bike and I tentatively sniff and test each other for changes that may have developed during our time apart. My right pedal, still not replaced, grinding randomly due to disintegrating bearings. It’s intended replacement lost in the post between the UK and Mexico. New sensations from the chunky front tyre feel strange now, but will subside when my legs adapt to the subtle new vibrations and bumps. My bike, probably noticing that I’m pedalling like a complete pansy, looking forward to the engine warming up after an idle winter and resuming regular service.

Despite the complaints of an idle body, the flame inside, reduced to a flicker from a settled, comfortable life, is slowly heating up. New sights, smells and sounds are its fuel, and by late morning life seems back to normal; not the usual normal, but the normal that I have been living in for nearly a year.

Stopping for a coffee at a charming, family run café in Amatenango, the care and love that have been put into the house and business a sign of the true spirit of Mexico, hidden amidst the concrete jungle that can characterize fast developing countries. This has been the theme for my last two days in Mexico, from the café, to the family running the hotel in Trinitaria, complete with young son running around in a superman cape. Stopping at a shed with the usual soft drinks signs the next morning, I was greeted by the warm, knowing face of the mother in charge. If I didn’t mind waiting, a portion of eggs and chorizo with coffee, she told me, would be 10 pesos (50p). After double checking the price, I ordered two portions and sat in the dappled morning sun watching the family’s chickens, puppies and cats. The breakfast was delicious and overeating gave me the chance to sit, relax and observe one of the many contented Mexican families I have had the pleasure of meeting during my time here.

My last two days in Mexico have been as warm and friendly as I could have hoped for, but for now, it’s time to look forward to Guatemala and all that it has in store for me.

Welcome to Guatemala

Sunset over La Mesilla, the slightly chaotic Guatemalan border town. Straight across the border you already see the differences from the tuktuk taxis on their kamikaze courses along the main road, and the brightly coloured chicken buses that Guatemala is famous for, also complete with crazy drivers.

Whilst the surface level aesthetics and luxuries of San Cristobal have made my recent break from the saddle a comfortable one, drowning myself with fantastic local coffee, I cannot say that the town reminds me of the Mexico that I have grown to love during my time here. The distinct groups of backpackers, expats, hippies, middle class Mexicans and local indigenous people just don’t seem to mix in a comfortable way.  The income disparity has been the most startling that I have seen so far in Mexico, not surprisingly considering that Chiapas is one of  the poorest states in Mexico.  I’m looking forward to trading in my fancy coffees for the charm of roadside food stands once again.

Using the journal of Tom and Sarah as inspiration, I have decided to cross the border into Guatemala at the quieter option of Gracias a Dios instead of the Pan-american highway alternative of La Mesilla.  Whilst this route will undoubtedly kick my arse with its rough tracks and altitude highs of 3800m, I’m sure the adventure and remoteness will bring back the special feeling that only travelling in this way can provide.

My departure has already been delayed once, by an impromptu trip to the beach and some quality hammock and ceviche time.  Back in San Cristobal however, my belongings are packed, the butterflies are fluttering and the excitement of being back on the road is rekindled.  Hasta luego Mexico, nos vemos…

The bike back in action, with a new, chunky, local tyre as my parcel with upgrades was lost in the post. The mudguard has been removed to allow space for the fatter tyre.

Shadows and colorful murals in the posada (Mexican hostel) that has been home for the past 8 weeks.

Even a painted sun doesn’t change the fact that at this altitude, it gets pretty cold in the evenings.

Taking advantage of a flexible timetable and the offer of a trip to the beach, a group of us drove down to Boca del Cielo of Y Tu Mama Tambien fame. A short boat trip is required to reach the narrow peninsula where our cabanas were, though I opted for the free option of camping on the beach, my tent unfortunately becoming a highly contested territorial marker for the local stray dogs who slept nearby.

The view from the land-facing side of the peninsula, and my breakfast table.  A stream of locals selling prepared coconuts, mangoes and other snacks meant we never went hungry.  The peace was only disturbed by the occasional banana boat speeding past.

The opposite view from the Pacific side, sitting in my trusty hammock that I spent the best part of four days lounging in.  This position and the view it came with is one that I could never tire of, complete with my company of charismatic strays that lived on the beach and scrounged biscuits from me.

The view of the Pacific Ocean, from a beach with no visible end on either side, leads to much time spent contemplating life.

Reasons for exploring other options ranged from financial concerns to the effect of constant warnings about Honduras slowly chipping away at my usually solid ‘Not giving a shit shield’ that has deflected countless warnings about travelling alone in Mexico, which has been nothing but friendly and welcoming so far.  Personally meeting some cyclists whose trip came to an abrupt end in Honduras at the hands of roadside bandits was a major factor in the rethink however.

That said, a vague route across the border into rural, mountainous Guatemala and on to Lake Atitlan has now formed which will hopefully lead me onto the border with Honduras at Copan Ruins, a route through Honduras that has been recently travelled by many cyclists without issue.

Here is a summary of mine and Sarah’s journey together from San Miguel to San Cristobal.  There’s a lot more I’d like to write, but there really is too much to fit in.  As that is a lot of Mexico to condense into one post, and a picture speaks a thousand words, here are some photos of the journey…

Sarah joined me in San Miguel de Allende, beginning her own Pan-American cycling trip.

Plotting a route from San Miguel to Valle de Bravo through rural Mexico brought us through some beautiful, quiet roads. This photo was taken on the cycle from near Queretaro to Jerecuaro.

Arriving in Jerecuaro, a random dot on the map that turned out to be a bustling town with absolutely none of the usual impact from tourism. The benefits of cycling off the tourist trail.

This is how I spend most of my time travelling, enjoying the creations of the small food stands that fill this part of Mexico. Seen here outside the El Rosario butterfly sanctuary after a day off the bikes.

After crossing the mountains leaving Angangeo, a brief ride on the highway brought us to another little gem of a dirt detour, courtesy of the SCT maps. On this section we followed a perfectly flat canal-side track that lead to our first wild camp of the shared trip…

Sarah enjoying the view and catching up on her journal.

Our campsite, complete with beautiful weather and views of rural Mexican life unfolding in the valley below.

Leaving our tranquil campsite in very misty conditions the next morning, the sky cleared as we turned onto the Valle de Bravo road at the junction with highway 15, the busy Morelia – Toluca road. The traffic on the smaller road to Valle de Bravo was thankfully less.

Our first view of Valle de Bravo on a swooping descent into the town, complete with crazed city folk in their SUVs heading to the popular lake town.

Sunset at the viewpoint above the lake.

Leaving Valle de Bravo after a day exploring the city, we followed the beautiful, non crowded highway through pine forests until Temascaltepec, where I had spotted an even quieter alternative through the mountains towards our Christmas target of Ixtapan de la Sal. The road climbed steeply straight over the mountains.

After a day of seemingly endless climbing, an offer of a lift to the top for the final few miles was welcomed with only an hour or so of daylight left and a campsite yet to be found.  A hilarious kamikaze ride ensued with me clinging desperately to the sugar cane and our bicycles as the truck wound up the rest of the mountain.

After camping on the land of some friendly farmers, the next morning gave us stunning views of the Nevado de Toluca as we lost the altitude we spent the previous day gaining.

Views of the Toluca valley from the other side of the mountains, heading to Ixtapan for a Christmas spent in the local hot springs.

Leaving Ixtapan and climbing more mountains into Guerrero, via the silver mining town of Taxco and busy city of Iguala. Entering the state we had received plenty of warnings about, the increase in temperature and general change in atmosphere felt a bit rougher around the edges than where we had come from.

This was our goal, the Pacific. Arriving at Playa Ventura hot and tired, we found a camping spot complete with hammock and jumped in the sea.

Three days of pure relaxation, eating, pelican and whale watching followed as we say in the new year from our beach side camp site.

Sarah enjoying the view.

As hard as it was to leave this, it was a new year and the bikes were calling us after a few lazy days.

Crossing into Oaxaca brought lots of rural, coastal highway with views like this.

A well named hostel.

…and this. Miles and miles of unspoilt coastline. For how long however…

Me after a mornings climb from Tepanatepec, now in Chiapas and looking forward to getting back into the mountains.

Our final day cycling together was a climb from 500m in Tuxla Gutierrez to 2500m and then down to San Cristobal at 2100m. A day of endless climbing in misty conditions that created a very eerie atmosphere. We saw our first indigenous villages and experienced cold during the day for the first time in weeks.

Arriving in San Cristobal slightly worn out and chilly, heading for El Hostalito, the hostel we had found on Warm Showers run by Joaquin.

Back in normal clothes, enjoying the luxuries of San Cristobal. Sarah would then bus down to Cancun to meet Geoff at the airport, where they start their own trip. Plans to meet up again in Honduras in place, we went our separate ways.

San Miguel dance practice

Desert encounter

Sound of a Mexican Breakfast

San Miguel Wedding Parade

Starting out as simply a way to be off the bike and recuperate after the desert in August, the friends I made and experiences that were shared during my time at Raices y Brazos will stay with me forever.  Saying goodbye, with my bike cruelly dismembered and packed into a box, I boarded the flight to Mexico City intending to surprise my father who wasn’t expecting me for another few days.  The speed of the combination of flights and buses provided a stark contrast to the speed of travel that I have grown accustomed to.  Sights and sounds shielded from me by a pane of glass in my air conditioned environment, though the quality of the Mexican bus system makes this a fantastic way to see the sights on a time limit.

Dance practice in San Miguel

Meeting up with my father, who is visiting Mexico for the first time, we are in tourist mode and taking in all the cities and sites that friends in San Miguel put on my list.  San Miguel de Allende initially seemed  a haven for retired Texans, with a huge variety of art and trinket shops dotted among its windy, cobbled roads.  Digging a bit deeper beneath the shiny veneer however, we soon found the local market where I began my fathers course in Mexican eating.  Dishes that have become favourites of mine such as birria, ceviche, chile relleno and chilaquiles were soon ticked off in a flurry of eating and drinking.  Both of our Mezcal cherries were also popped during a salsa night.

Having found and spoken with the owner of the excellent Bici-Burros bicycle shop in San Miguel, I am confident that my bike will be in safe hands for its impending upgrade to 9 speeds in light of inevitable wear of the rear cassette, when my sister and I return in December.  This upgrade will bring the drive-train of the bike to modern standards and make it easier to find parts in future.

San Miguel Vista

Now sitting in a café in the main square of Guanajuato, a bustling and lively colonial town full of underground tunnels and beautiful plazas, I am taking the opportunity to do some necessary overhauling of the website.  The gallery page is now working again and no longer using Flickr due to hitting the free limit.  A new resources page has also be created to share useful tips with others interested in cycling touring.  Videos will also become a regular part of blog posts, due to them being an easy way to capture the moment.

Girl getting shoes shined in Guanajuato

Night-time Guanajuato

Over three months into my time in Mexico, I will probably be here for the full 6 month allowance that I have in my passport.  When I first arrived, I was told about how special Mexico is, with talk of the chakras of the world and impending change with 2012 fast approaching.  Mexico has had a profound effect on me and my perception of the world, and I am happy to share it with my family who are taking the chance to visit.

San Ignacio Lagoon

Loreto Boulevard

Having reached the end of the central desert in Baja and having found an opportunity to volunteer at Raices y Brazos in San Jose, I spent some long, hot days on the bike to reach the tip of the Baja peninsula, thereby completing a significant chapter of my trip. The Vizcaino desert between Guerrero Negro and La Paz had too many signs of human interference to compete with the pristine beauty of the central desert. So with the exception of three days in San Ignacio, a date palm oasis that appeared miraculously after a week in the desert and a day in Loreto, the rest of my time in Baja consisted of long, hot days on the bike. I spent a few days camping by the lagoon, soaking in the water after days in the desert. San Ignacio was also where I met the first other cycle tourer so far in Mexico. Kieran, an English guy from a town very close to where I grew up, is also cycling South from Canada and was passing through San Ignacio the day after I arrived.

Beach Campsite

Campsite company

Leaving San Ignacio on the road with company for the first time since San Francisco, we left the desert and crossed the mountains to get to the Sea of Cortez on the other side of the Baja peninsula. Going our separate was in Mulege since we had different plans for the next couple of days, I was back by myself past Loreto, Ciudad Constitucion and onto La Paz, where I only spent one evening as an opportunity had presented itself to do some volunteer work in San Jose del Cabo. Having never planned to go further down the peninsular than La Paz, where the ferries to the mainland depart, I was now on brand new highway headed to Todos Santos and eventually the tip of Baja. It was on this length of road that I had the toughest leg of the entire trip so far, many miles of road works that had churned up the main highway to sandy gravel. Dirt tracks don’t normally come with the level of traffic that belongs on main tourist highways, which is why when they do, the combination of dust clouds, hills and nearly getting hit by every passing car as you swerve around in the loose sand makes for an uncomfortable afternoon. Limping into San Jose in the fierce afternoon heat, I arrived at Raices amidst the preparations for a party…

Over a month later, my break from the saddle has provided me with some of the luxuries of life that I was yearning for after my time in the desert. With my work time being split between working on the farm and helping around the house with any of the ongoing projects, the rest of my days are for exploring the local eateries and beaches with the others at the house. With the 4 others at the house and the menagerie of animals, the feeling of community is a welcome change from days alone on the bike.

Get busy living, or get busy dying…

Three hours later most of the hills seemed to be behind me and the desert had opened up in front of me.  Other than the occasional car or truck overtaking me, I hadn’t seen any sign of habitation in the last 30 miles.  As the road flattened out and I took in the bizarre surroundings, a little red beer advert appeared on the horizon and I sped up a little at this sign of other humans.  Nodding to the handful of cowboys and a truck driver taking refuge inside, I am told by the surly woman behind the counter that they don’t have water but she opens a cooler box full of Coca Cola.

By 9am I am conscious of the rising temperature and almost complete lack of shade to rest in but decide to push on anyway as the bike and the breeze generated by moving forwards is usually the coolest place to be.  An hour later, with 40 miles under my belt and a sign for a ‘Llantera’, a roadside tyre shop and mechanic, I roll off the highway into a Mad Max-esque collection of metal buildings resembling an HGV graveyard.  The father and son inside kindly allow me to rest in the shade for the afternoon and I sit down on a collection of car seats turned into comfortable outdoor arm chairs.  It was 10:30am and the temperature was 41c in the shade.  For the rest of the afternoon I sat in my chair watching the man and his son working on the steady trickle of business from the truckers passing through needing new tyres.  If they were surprised to see a filthy, sweaty gringo with a bike sitting sitting there, they didn’t show it and simply nodded and maybe asked a few questions about my trip.  I would later meet one of them again a few days down the road in San Ignacio, in a sort of strange road nomad reunion.  More on my relationship with the local truckers in a later post…

After a surreal afternoon watching the petrol powered air compressor breaking down, its pipe flailing around dangerously until the son flung himself on it and made another quick repair, I put on my hat, said goodbye and heading into the slightly less overpowering 4pm heat.  At this point in the afternoon on most cycling days, everything seems to be effortless.  I was now in the most exposed, seemingly lifeless environment I had ever been in, but all worries and trepidation from the morning had disappeared.  I was now confident that I would find these small outposts at around 40 mile intervals through the desert so was now fully immersed in the scenery.  Unfortunately none of my photos seem to convey how it felt to be a speck on this one road through hundreds of miles of nothing.

Arriving just short of Catavina so that I could camp without anyone seeing me, my first day in the desert had been one of extremes and I was in one of the happiest states of the trip so far to have tried something that so many people had told me would be too hot to achieve at this time of year.  A couple of days later and I find that I am able to cycle for most of the day, even in the midday heat that the locals hole themselves up for.  Keeping covered up from the sun and wearing long sleeves, I regularly stop and take a few seconds to take stock of how I feel and whether I should take a rest.  Normally I feel fine and with a complete lack of places to procrastinate here, just put in the miles and enjoy the scenery.    The most important lesson that I am learning is that all advice should be taken with a pinch of salt, and that the most important person to listen to on a trip like this is yourself and your body.