Km 17521
The border crossing at Melcheor de Mencos, Guatemala, was fast and efficient. I stop my bike by the emigration building and push my passport through the aperture of the steel window. Seconds later a hand gave me back the passport stamped.
-Bon viajen, someone said.
Once border crossings have to exist, they all should be like this one; no bag searching, no fees, no silly questions like: wish places you going to visit or where are you going to stay or forms to fill up.
The first 25 km of road had no tarmac. According to a local, the Guatemalan government insists in not asphalting the road all the way to the border, as a retaliation with the neighbouring country. Guatemala disputes parts of Belize territory as theirs, and God knows why, the only country of the international community to support their claims is Israel.
I spent the first night in El Remate, a small village near the Mayan ruins of Tikal, where I rented a small hut without door or windows for 35 quetzales (3 Euros).
One of the most impressive Mayan sites, Tikal started to be built around 2000 years ago. Its location in the middle of the dense jungle is what makes a visit to the ruins a memorable experience. Parrots and toucans fly over the canape, howler monkeys jump from branch to branch over head. the trek through the jungle is filled with strange noises, rays of light break through the canape and illuminate the forest and the enormous pyramids rise to the skies trough the dense rain forest.
Probably the first sky-scrapers on the continent, they perpetuate the history of a civilization that disappeared mysteriously.
On the following day I was again on the gravel, in a road that follows the north shore of Peten Itzan lake, on my way to the city-island of Flores. Once in Flores it was time to open the maps study them and make decisions. From where should I attack the mountains? Going southwest via Coban and quetzaltenango?, or northwest via Palenque and San Cristobal de las casas, on the Mexican side?
Going trough Mexico meant a much bigger journey but it would allow me to visit the enigmatic state of Chiapas with its fascinating Mayan ruins and endigena people. Besides that I could go back to the place where I took the bus ride to Cancun, 3 months earlier, allowing me to continue my journey south 100% by bike.
4 days of rest in Flores and I was on the road again, Mexico bond.
The border crossing at La Tecnica/Corozal was situated in a remote part of El Peten. A vast, flat and hot area of jungle in northern Guatemala.It took me 3 days to do the 190 km from Flores to the border. Except for roughly 30 km of tarmac, the road alternated between lose gravel and rolled stones.
I was told, more then once by locals, that highway robberies, some times armed, occurred in the border vicinity, and advised me not to camp alone near the border. I`Ive heard those stories before, that even been true, many times where exaggerated. Nevertheless, that evening I asked a family to pitch my tent in their yard, in the village of Vista Hermosa, 30 km away from the border.
At night I cooked my meal with an audience of at least 10 kids, fascinated with every move of the foreign cyclist. They where all brothers and cousins. As the family grew, so did the divisions in the house. A web of several connected wood huts, that housed several generations of one single family. As the entertaining evening came to a close, 4 of them remained.
-Good night, aste mañana, I said for the Fourth time.
I got inside my tent but they remained seated on the dirt outside,mointionless, watching trough the mosquito net every movement I made as I undress and got ready to go to sleep. They didn't want to miss any moment of the "movie". After all its not everyday that a "gringo" camps on their backyard.
The emigration office was at the entrance of Bethal village, in the middle of nowhere. From there it was another 12 km until the real border at La Tecnica. The "stone" road was mainly flat but made my progress very slow. 2 more hours to the border, a short river crossing and I was on the Mexican side.
This border doesn't see many foreigners.
The Mexican emigration officer was kind asleep watching TV.
- I have no emigration cards, he said. You have to stamp the passport in Palenque.
-In Palenque?, I replied, but that's 2 days of ride for me.
-No problem. no passa nada, they will understand, he said.
I continued my journey. Back on the asphalt roads!
I cycled along the "carretera fronteriza", a road that followed most of the border between Chiapas and Guatemala. Just a few decades ago, this area was covered with primary forest. But in the last few years, it has suffered heavy deforestation by the new farmers settled there by the Mexican government, in an attempt to fortify the border region (to the nature`s expenses!!).
I´ve passed trough several areas of burnt jungle to give away to new farm land. Here and there, painted on the landscape, I could see the occasional Ceiba or other big tree. Solitary witnesses of the nature destruction.
May is the main month for the ´slash and burn´ technique used around here, and the smoke not only increased the already hot temperatures, but also unfocused the landscape. After 5 o`clock the sun would become a perfectly rounded sphere of intense red. My water was so warm that I thought that I could make tea with it. Already for the last few weeks, that my water consumption was something exaggerated. Nearly 2 gallons a day. I usually buy by the gallon because its the just the right size of my 3 bottles, and of course much cheaper. But with the sweltering heat only the first few sips would be of cold water.
I stop on a road side "comedor" to have a cold drink and left the bike on the sun. When I came back, the bicycle computer indicated 52 degrees Celsius!!
This shit must be broken, I thought. Broken or not, it was hot. very hot.
And it was time to hit the mountains in search of fresh air. The heat was getting unbearable.
I arrive in palenque the following day late afternoon and looked for a place to camp amongst the many campground that dotted the road to the ruins, in the near- legendary "El Pachen". The epicenter of the alternative scene of palenque, set amongst dense forest and near the Mayan ruins.
An "habitat" for toucans, parrots, monkeys, hippies, "trippies", wanderers and tourists.
On the road to the ruins I was approached by a señor selling mushrooms.
-Chanpiñones, mushrooms, he shouted in a suspicious voice.
-Hey amigo, chanpiñones magicos. You visit the ruins and everything came alive, they magic, he continued.
Over the years a steady stream of people from everywhere, have been flocking to the region in search of those hallucinogenic experiences, including some writers like Carlos Castaneda and Aldous Huxley that found on their experiences inspiration to write their books.
-Listen amigo, I'm going to climb the mountains on my bike, does it helps?, I asked ironically.
- Si, si amigo.
I was not sure if he understood me, but I had a long day of cycling and was very hungry. I need something to feed my body, not my spirit.
-no gracias, I said.
-I`m always around here... he replied.
The following morning I visited the Mayan ruins of palenque. An amazing complex of temples and pyramids, set amongst the dense jungle that immortalized the Mayan culture.
I went to the emigration office (3 days later) to stamp my passport, and headed to the mountains, finally!
I did the ascend from palenque (80m), to San Cristobal de las casas (2165m), in 4 short but hard days. In the roughly 200 km that separate the 2 towns, accumulated 5382 meters of vertical climb.
On the first day, after a constant up and down, where I seemed to noticed only the "ups", I camped at the bottom of a valley almost at the same altitude of the previous day, near the river Shumulhá (also known as agua clara).
A perfect place to camp.
The river dropped from the mountains and opened its way to form a lagoon surrounded by green vegetation, before continue its journey to the sea. The entire forest, from the tree branches and their leaves, to the smallest of the insects, where reproduced on those mirror-like waters. The images remained perfectly still while the river waters moved trough it timelessly.
It was yet another steaming night. The hot and heavy air of the evening made me breath my own breath. The night was dark and the sky had anchors.
The second day was the hardest one with 1944 meters of vertical climb. With each mountain crossed, the valleys where getting higher and the temperatures lower.
A road sign billboard reminded me that I was entering Zapatist territory. Emiliano Zapata, a revolutionary from the time of Pancho Vila, said once:"We fight for the land and not for illusions that give us nothing to eat. With or without eletions, the people still chew the cud of bitterness". Many years later, a charismatic pipe puffing university professor called Rafael Guillen (later known simply as subcomandante Marcos) gave life to the famous speech and created the EZLN ( Zapatist army for national liberation). His intent was to improve the quality of life of the indigenous populations and confront a hand full of feudalists that controlled most of the land, seasoned with a bit of anti-globalization rhetoric.
In 1994 they took several towns in Chiapas and the entire world, for the first time, listened to they outcry. After the military intervention that killed hundreds, the government established autonomous regions, but until today still has to pass leslislation that solidify the indigenous people´s rights.
Today the tensions between the Zapatistas and the central government still fly high, but is unlikely that they affect visitors to the region.
To be high in the mountains and breath its fresh air reinvigorated my soul and gave energy to my body, and the 6% and 8% grades seemed easy. The "burra" looked happy too, after all this is her favorite kind of terrain.
On the third day the sky got darker and the clouds discharged their anger in the dry and thirsty land.
That night in the simple room of the only guest house of the indigenous village of Oxchuc, I listened to the rain hitting, without mercy, the fibro-cement roof tiles.When it could penetrate trough it, the water would fall inside the room to disappear again into the wooden floor.
The rainy season has finally arrived.
From today, many will be the days that the rain will follow my cycling strokes.
But I felt relived. the baking heat of the plain that I endured the last few weeks was over. Well, at least for now.
On the Fourth day I arrive in San Cristobal de las casas. A beautiful mountain town on the slopes of a big valley at 2165 meters of altitude. Its a pleasure to be here, breath the pure and fresh air of the mountains, visit the markets and indigenous villages around, and absorb this unique and relaxed atmosphere.
I'm back on the Pan-American highway (in Chiapas its highway 190), and its hard to believe that 3 months earlier I was just a few kilometers north in the town of Tuxtla Gutierres. After 3980 km diversion from the pan-American trough the Yucatan peninsula, Cuba and Belize, my progress south was just 80 km!!! Its obvious that I will not arrive in Patagonia by Christmas as previously thought.
Easter 2008 will be more likely...
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
In San Cristobla de las Casas, Mexico.
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