From the Pacific to the Caribbean (Mexico)

Dia 221
Km 13541

An enormous green sign on the highway sponsored by Coca-Cola, whose red letters contrasted with the green landscape, indicated the entrance in the Oaxaca state and if I was a cyclist from another planet, I would be excused for thinking that the sign was a welcome sign to the state of Coca-Cola. Mexico is the biggest consumer of that dark mysterious liquid, with the largest consumption per capita in the world. The 400 and few Kilometers of the coast between Acapulco and Puerto Escondido, known by "Costa Chica" were not the most exciting for cycling. The coast is quite hot and humid, and the surrounding hills very hot and dry. The sea and the sky, both an almost silver brilliant blue, seemed to converge in an almost imperceptible line, the one that reminded me of Carlos Pellicer's quotation: "blue province, where the blue is sky, where the blue is sea." It is easy to romanticize these landscapes, but the Mexican writer probably spent his hot afternoons lying in his hammock in the shade and not cycling…

East of Puerto Escondido are located the legendary beaches of Puerto Angel, Mazunte and Zipolite. Small bays separated by peninsulas, these have been growing in popularity with independent tourists, to whom I call ‘barefoot’ tourists, who prefer to flee the cement clad resorts of the central pacific coast and to stay in beaches a little more authentic.
The accommodation is provided by local families in huts by the sea or in simple hostels, many prefer to hang their hammocks to sleep. Although basic the facilities are welcoming. The ‘mota’ circulates freely around the beaches, and in Zipolite there is even the occasional ‘punchi punchi’ party in the sand until dawn. ‘Punchi-punchi’ is the name given by some Mexicans to techno music. I chose Mazunte beach to relax a few days away from the hardship of the road, because of its cozy atmosphere. Apart from an interesting turtle research centre, who choose this part of the pacific coast to lay their eggs, other activities available include joining the pelicans for a dive in the waters of the Pacific ocean, sleep a ‘siesta’ in a hammock, eat and drink a few Coronas, read a book, comb the sand, adore the sun and drink a few more Coronas. Well, there are plenty of activities to keep one occupied during a week. Many of those who arrive never leave and the small community of foreigners who have permanent residence in the area has been increasing.

4 days later got back on the road, again…

Arriving to Salina Cruz the strong winds characteristic of this area became more intense. This would be the point where I was going to abandon the Pacific on my way to Cancun in the Caribbean. I had two options: head directly North trough the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, the narrower part of Mexico, about 200 kilometers from sea to sea, trough a gap in the mountain range that runs through all Mexico from North to South, but despite, according to locals, being a relatively flat area, the winds are known to make trucks capsize. The other option was to follow Northeast to the mountains of Chiapas to Tuxtla. The strong wind that I could feel in those days made me opt for the mountains.
The night was already pitch dark when I entered Cintalapa town Centre and looked for the ‘Zocalo’, or main square. Like many European Latin countries, in Mexico, the villages, towns and cities are centered around the main square full of shade featuring a main church or cathedral. The ‘zocalo’ was buzzing with people. I notice someone running next to my bike shouting:
‘habla ingles?’
-I am a cyclist too!

John was from Wales and was the first cyclist I encountered in Mexico main land. I stayed in the same hotel where he was and on the following day we traveled together to Tuxtla Gutierrez. At dinner in a ‘comedor’ near the Zocalo, we shared impressions of our journeys. John started to cycle in Mexico City and he is going to Lima in Peru. It wasn’t long until we asked the question that we were both anxious to know:
-and the Darien? Are you going to attempt to do cross it?
The Darien is a myth, a borderline zone between Panama and Colombia of dense, almost impenetrable jungle, a no man’s land which grew surrounded by histories of contraband, drugdealing, guerrillas and illegal emigration. It is also a natural barrier that separates the two Americas and protects the amazing biodiversity and the indigenous communities who live there. The so called ‘Darien Gap’ has been captivating adventurers in all forms of transports trough decades. Those 100 kilometers of dense vegetation, interrupts the Pan-American Highway and denies it from being crowned as the longest road on the planet.
We decided to keep in touch, there are still several countries and you never know…
It would be impossible to reach Cancun on bicycle before the 27th of February, for the arrival of Joana Oliveira from Leiria on her two week cycling holiday, I had no option but to break one of the principles of this journey, to not utilize motorized means of transport, except on occasions where I had no alternative (as it was when the crossing of the Cortes Sea). It was very awkward to see the landscape passing so fast trough my eyes and me being inside a compartment made of tin and glass. I could hardly focus on the birds and the tree branches; they were gone as quick as they appeared. And where were the children’s voices, or the birds singing and the barking dogs that usually chased after me? The only sounds I could hear were from the screen above my head showing action movies mixed with the sound of ‘ranchera’ music that the driver was listening to ‘loud and proud’.

And the smell of flowers? The people on the road side? I could not see their smiles, I could not say ‘Ola’, look them in the eyes or shake their hands and feel the hardship of their firm hands. I observed with attention the ascents and descents, the curves and the contra-curves but I could not feel them. I felt remorse and worse when I saw John trough the window pane. It was two in the afternoon and he was lying on some rocks on the side of the road, with his hat on his face, taking a ‘nap’ on top of a hill. People around me commented:
He must be ‘loco’, there lying in the sun! ‘el gringo’!
I’m sure that I myself have been at the centre of comments like this, however I would instantly swap the air conditioning of the bus and all that surrounded me to be there next to him. It was an agonizing journey, but it made my conviction stronger that there is no better way to travel than by bike, ‘the animal of traction where the beast pushes seated’, as my uncle once told me.
I arrived to Playa del Carmen, 70 kilometers south of Cancun at the break of dawn. Playa del Carmen the beach town with the highest level of tourism growth in Mexico. It is an anodyne resort with tourism facilities like many others which exist scattered along both Mexican coasts, and despite having a more relaxed atmosphere than Cancun, I needed to get out of here as soon as I can. I have visited enough places like this, where Mexican culture is obfuscated by the commodities demanded by western tourists, and it is not to visit places like this that I have chosen to do this journey on two wheels. As soon as Joana arrives we will go for two weeks of relaxed cycling and leisure trough the Yucatan Peninsula.

It will be only after the Yucatan that I will condiment my passage through Mexico with a bit more of adventure, ascending finally the mountains of Sierra Madre Sur, in the state of Chiapas, Zapatist territory, where I hope to leave the tourist trail and possibly make some stages ‘off road’. But first I will cycle to the city where I got the bus, for the pure relief of my conscience.

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
in Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico

The Pacific coastal highway (Mexico)

Day 191
Km 12529

The Sinaloa star docked at Mazatlan´s port next to a cruise ship at 10.30 Am. It was on board of one of those ships, the famous ´Down princess" that I arrived in Mazatlan on the first of my four trips to Mexico.
But this time was different.
I was one of the first ones to disembark. I Saddle the ´Burra´ and trotted to the city centre in search of a hotel. In 15 years the city has changed so much that I hardly recognized it. Apart from the ´malecón´, or waterfront promenade, and the ´zocálo´,the main square, with its Spanish cathedral and its twins yellow bell towers. It was 27 degrees, just a couple more then La Paz, but humidity was high. I spent 5 days in town, and apart from revising my equipment and dust off the desert sand, I did little else.

On the fifth day I left town with the sunrise. The landscape that surrounded me was completely different from ´Baja´. It looked like another country, the cactus where replaced by mango and avocado trees, and the desert of just a few days ago by green and humid tropical forest. The ´ranchos´ of Baja that had a few skinny cows, here are surrounded by plantation of maize, watermelon, papaya and other fruits and vegetables. And there is people, villages and traffic everywhere. The water is abundant with rivers and lakes.
I had made my official entry into the tropics....
In Escuinapa de Hidalgo the ´Carretera de cota´, the Mexican designation of freeway, that was no more then a good asphalt toll-road with great shoulders, had finished and during several kilometers I had to cycle in ´La federal´(highway200), with its intense traffic and no shoulders at all. A test to the nerve even to the most experienced cyclist.
Between Escuinapa and Ruiz there was a new freeway been built and according to some locals it was possible to cycle on it. For the first time on this trip, I had a hole highway for myself. A smooth pavement 20 meters wide, km upon km without a single car! The super-highway cut trough tropical forest, with lakes full of birds, including the spoon bill a bird similar with the flamingo, and some fields and villages not yet transformed by the impact of the new highway. It was too good to be true. I was felling very happy and enjoying every moment of that days ride. But I was not alone. The pavement was done but some groups of workers where giving the final touches to the highway, and my luck was about to change...

In an unfinished bridge, I hit a small gap with no more then 30 Cm's .The impact of the wheel and the weight of the panniers broke the front support. First the left one twisting under the wheel, and then the right one in several places. The night arrived and the cloudy sky turned the night in an almost absolute darkness. I could not see a soul and the birds chanted very loudly like if protesting my intrusion. Next to the super-highway there was a tree, half covered by vegetation that seemed to me like a good spot to hang my hammock. My hammock had become one of my most valuated pieces of equipment. I place my bike against the tree and didn’t touch it that evening. A bit infuriated by what happened I decided to console myself with a good meal. I had bought food in Mazatlan and started to chop some onions, garlic, bay leaves olive oil and chilies. I was thinking of frying it all together with vegetables add some tomato sauce and finish it off with some pasta. I set up the stove, pump the fuel bottle 10 or 15 times to create pression and light up a cigarette and the stove at the same time as I always did. Suddenly the stove goes on fire. A bit in panic without knowing what to do, I dig my hands into the dirt and cover the stove with it.
Great!! Without support and now without dinner.
All the food I had could not be eaten without been prepared. I had made 150 k and that evening my dinner was a banana and a pack of biscuits with a lot of water. I didn’t sleep well that night. What d´hell am I doing here sleeping in this hammock, under this strange tree in the middle of the tropics, of nowhere, and with a bicycle as a transport?
Why don't I do like everyone, and travel by bus? Or by plane?
My mother always said that I was the rebel son, maybe she was right.

But I Think that, 6 months after, I’m more receptive to difficulties, I’m more open, more myself. That's one of the great thinks of bike travel. It’s like peeling away a layer of myself exposing my body to the world so it can expose itself to me.
Next morning I pack everything, remove the pieces of the front support and place the bags, one on each side of the hand bar.The new highway was not marked on my map, but I thought that if I turn left on the next available dirt road, it would take me to the main highway that was more or less parallel. 2 km after I had a puncture.
I must still have some sort of Zen only favorable to the deserts and I need to adapt very quickly to the tropics if I wanted to arrive on time in Cancun to receive the Thames mermaid.

30 kms after, starving, I Made my triumphant entrance in the town of Acaponeta, and the first restaurant I saw, got inside and waited impatient for the owner to serve me. I started with ´huevos revueltos´, scramble eggs with chorizo and chilies, a basket of tortillas and a coffee, followed by a ´bisteck ranchero´, stewed beef, more coffee and more tortillas.
The baguette for the disappointment of the French is not the most popular bread world wide. In fact that honor goes to the tortilla, that changes its name with the turn of the globe, chapatti in India, Pita in the Middle East, etc, etc. In the Mexican society the tortilla is so important that can be subject to parliamentary discussion.
The owner of the welding shop guaranteed me that he was the only person around that could weld aluminum. Bueno, do what you can, I said, showing him the several parts of the broken support and explaining how the original piece looked like. 7 hours after, and just for 120 pesos, he showed me the reconstruction that actually looked stronger then the original. I spent the night in town and next morning I went back to ´my private road´ to ride another 70 km in peace.
I made in total 130 k on the traffic free highway.

Back on the highway 200, the pan-American on this part of México, but known only by ´la federal´, it was another reality. The highway 200 is the only one that follows the pacific coast and the traffic changes from dangerously intense to almost non-existent, as it’s the case on the 250 km stretch through the beautiful coast of Micheoacan state, where the highway at times, looked more like a potholed rural road.

On this second leg in Mexico, the 1500 k that separate the towns of Mazatlan and Acapulco, the ´carretera costera´ took me trough the extremes of the ´beach culture´. From mega-resorts where the guests pay over 1000 euros a night and are shuttled from the airport to the hotel by helicopter, to more conventional tourist areas, small surfing beaches or beaches catering manly for backpackers on the good style of goa, kopangan or Dahab. Between the mega-resorts and the ghettos of surfers, there are Mexican fishing villages where the people’s lifestyle fits the humid and tropical climate of the pacific coast. The ´siesta´ still respected by the majority and even from the simplest huts, the loud sound of ´musica ranchera´ fills the air with an almost nostalgic happiness.
Been a tropical area the encounters with the local fauna are inevitable.

That’s what happened on day 183. I had set my hammock under a tree once again, and in the morning I started the daily ritual of packing, when I see a scorpion nested in one of my panniers. I didn’t kill it. After all it was me that was intruding in his territory and not the other way around. Because encounters with arachnidan is not something one digests easily, that morning the centre of my cycling thoughts, where the scorpion.
I continued my 2 wheel migration to the south....
That afternoon I see a tarantula crossing the road, and moments later another one.

Days after of my several encounters with the local fauna, I arrive in the beach resort of Ixtapa.
Ixtapa is one of those beach resorts with all the facilities for the tourist: idyllic beaches, 5 star resorts, Italian restaurants or Japanese sushis. And for the gringos that feel home-sick; starbucks, MacDonald’s and subways. Tourism in fortified concrete prisons abroad! Until the beginning of the 70´, Ixtapa was just another coconut plantation, and the nearby town of Zihuatanego a sleeping fisherman village. Everything changed when fonatour (the governments harm for tourism development) decided that the pacific coast needed a new and more dynamic resort area that competed with the tourist complexes of Puerto Vallarta and Acapulco. They Bought the coconut plantation, created the infrastructures and laid down the red carpet for the foreign investors. Ixtapa has no interest at all for cycling tourists, but I had a contact there articulated by Lynn Pilgrim from the states, a great enthusiast and collaborator on this journey, and it turned out to be an interesting stop. Lourdes was the owner of an Italian restaurant and recived me very cordially.

What happened next was a bit surreal at the eyes of a cyclist used with the dust of the roads: The terrace of the restaurant was full of ´gringos´ millionaires and Lourdes introduced me to every table as the cyclist that was uniting the poles by bicycle. During the night I entertained the clientele with stories from the road, and used the chance to promote my cause: the special children with cerebral palsy of APPC. A ´gringo´ couple doing their night scrool in this oasis of health stoped and listens to me. Do you accept donations, they asked, passing a new green note to my hands.
Latter, in my 100 pesos a night hotel room, in the nearby Zihuatanejo bay I put my hand inside my pocket and check the several notes that people had given to me. The new one was a 100 dollar bill. I couldn’t believe it!!!
Next day I continued my journey south.

I cycled all day under a blistering sun; that by midday passed the 40 degrees mark. The soaked t-shirt was glued to my body, but I could not remove it because the previous days I cycled without it and the sun burned my skin so badly that I had blisters on my shoulders. In the afternoon the ´carretera costera´ left the small hills and approaches the coast. From one of the hills, with the sun setting over the line that divided the dark blue sea with the reddish and silky sky, I saw a small village with half a dozen huts built under the shade of a coconut plantation. I left the highway and entered the village pushing my bike through the sandy road. I asked Juan, a fisherman, if I could camp on the beach.
No hay problema amigo, he replied.
I set up the tent and started to cook my dinner. Later, with the help of a half moon light I see the shade of several bodies approaching the tent. It was Juan, his wife and their 4 children. They all sat on the sand around my stove. I shared my dinner with the younger ones. That night there was no need to tell stories to captivate my audiences. It was enough for them to watch me. And for me it was enough their presence.
Next morning I woke up decided to arrive in Acapulco that day. I set a new record on this trip with 154 km made in 9 hours, climbing one of the many hills that surround the bay of Acapulco, after sunset. Acapulco has an almost touchable vibration; chaotic traffic, pollution, a beautiful bay, touristy, violent, but with peaceful and shaded squares, and a night life that is claimed by the locals as been the best on the pacific coast. I have just over 500 km more on the pacific coast, before I turn inland into the mountain state of Chiapas.

I will not see the Pacific Ocean again for a while. But I’m not ready yet for sierra Madre Sur. first I will head to the Yucatan where a dear friend, the Thames mermaid, arrives for her short cycling holidays...
After the Yucatan, as it always had been, my itinerary is not defined yet...

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
in Acapulco, Mexico