A(nother) week in Chiapas
September 8, 2010
(for more words and pics, click here)
My visa for Guatemala has run out, so Cara and I have headed over the Mexican border into Chiapas once more. Having dug back into my diary, I’ve realised that I was last in this beautiful, rugged area way back in April; I’m not sure what that says for my southerly progress…
We could have rushed back to the Guatemalan highlands to continue our journey there, but having consulted the weather gods (cold, miserable deluges forecast in the mountains), we’ve decided to cross Chiapas’ lower lying Sierra Norte range and head back into the jungle-clad north of the country.
As routes go, it’s just as interesting. Lush and mountainous Chiapas is one of Mexico’s most varied states – politically, culturally, historically and scenically. From Comitan, we climbed up to the cobbled and colonial town of San Christobal de las Casas, before following a rolling mountain road to Ocosingo. There, we were able to steer back onto dirt once more, on a track that wended its way through the heart of Zapatista country – home to autonomous regions that emerged from the indigenous uprising sparked by Mexico’s signing of the North American Free Trade Alliance in 1994.
On the map, our planned route was only marked by the faintest of disconnected lines, so we headed down to the shared truck pickup stand – the best place for the lowdown on backcountry conditions – at Ocosingo’s raucus morning market to investigate. There, amongst the piles of wares – bananas, horse saddles, herbal remedies – and despite the shaking heads of several naysayers, a man with one tooth insisted ‘si, hay paso’ – ‘yes, there is a way through’. Even if it meant negotiating the odd broken bridge or landslide that come part and parcel with travelling in the wet season…
Stencils in San Christobal de las Casas, a historic, artsy town that, despite its popularity on the backpacker and tour group circuit, still manages to retain a political edge. One of my favourite places in Mexico.
A mural depicting the pipe-toting Subcomondante Marcos, the eloquent voicepiece of the Zapatistas, in a village on the way to Ocosingo. One of the speech bubbles reads ‘No one person can free himself. Men and women can only free themselves together.’
Swooping down from 2100m San Christobal to a more lowly 1500m at Ocosingo. Quiet and forever rolling, the road afforded views of beautiful, sweeping landscapes. Though, notice the rubbish by the roadside…
With promising dirt road information at our fingertips from our one-toothed friend, we stocked up on some supplies from the market and prepared for the road ahead.
Our route begun with a stint on pavement; thankfully, we skirted round the worst of this wall of mountains that rose ahead of us, morning mist haloing its ridges.
Then pavement gave way to dirt, though by the looks of things, a carpet of asphalt is on its way. Despite the advantages this can bring to remote villages, I’m convinced the negative impact of more cars is always underestimated – faster, more dangerous traffic can change the whole social dynamic of a small, closely knit community. Dirt roads act as the perfect speed deterrent.
Still, there’s a while to go yet… Within just a handful of kilometres from busy and rowdy Ocosingo, the whole feel of the place changed, with villages made up of little more than clusters of thatch-roofed huts set amongst dirt clearings. Chiapas is one of the richest states in Mexico in raw resources – including gas, oil, corn and coffee – yet it’s said that around 80 per cent of the indigenous communities lack access to clean water, hospitals or electricity.
Nuevo Jerusalem, an autonomous village that answers to one of the ‘karakols’ – as the Zapatista government is called – rather than the Mexican federal system. A journalist and politician, Ricardo Flores Magon was one of the intellectuals of the Mexican Revolution.
Just the kind of roads we like. Almost free of traffic, the pueblocitos we passed through seemed particularly friendly and welcoming – almost everyone we passed flagged us down for a chat, asking us where we were from, and where we were heading, amazed that we were travelling by bike. The general assumption was that we were both Americans, and I always had to explain that England lay beyond the Atlantic. One kid even asked: cuantas horas caminando? How far is it by foot?
In the hands of an old pro: rack repair, Chetumal
June 1, 2010
Some time ago, my Tubus Cargo rack developed a hairline crack after a particularly rough dirt road descent in the Sierra Madre, North Mexico. The beauty of chromo is that it’s easily repaired, which I did in a local welders on the outskirts of a village we rode through. Unfortunately the guys who did the job were real cowboys. Racks like this use a thin tubing rather than basic steel rod, and they managed to blow a massive hole in it, which they then bodgily filled.
Anyway, the weld didn’t hold more than a few months. This time I had more luck, chancing apon a real pro on the border town of Chetumal. I found him taking things easy in his welder’s nest – a shaded courtyard packed with dismembered parts of old cars, wires dangling like jungle vines, and gas bottles stacked up in a Jenga heap. The moment he checked the rack over and tutted dismissively at the work that had been done, I knew I was in safe hands.
Indeed, the welding he did was top notch, beautifully finished and perhaps even better than new.
Setting to work.
Getting right in there. We chatted while he welded, and I told him about the trip.
And the man himself. I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know his name. Especially as when it came to pay, he wouldn’t even accept any pesos, satisfied simply in wishing me well on my travels. I noticed his neighbour sold tall glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, so I settled the matter with some liquid refreshment instead. This was my last morning before crossing into Belize, and I couldn’t have hoped for a warmer final memory of my time in Mexico.
Incidentally, when I contacted Tubus, they were quick to respond and offer a replacement, which at some point I’ll get round to organising.
Bacalaaaahhh….
May 30, 2010
(for the full post, click here)
La Laguna de Bacalar. Wow, what a place. Its waters are said to reflect seven colours and over its eighty kilometre length, are never more than six metres in depth, hence the sumptuous shift in hues as the light changes.
There, we were lucky enough to bump into Sophie, from Argentina, and Chamerain, from Mexico, who recently set up a homely cafe – La Escondida – offering great music, cheap beer, and wifi…
Bacalar is home to various vast and oppulent lakeside houses, in an assortment of styles - such as Chinese, Moroccan, Modern. Many of them are empty much of the year. Sophie and Charmarain were house sitting one – this was their jetty. Their neighbour was the former governor for the Mexican state of Quintana Roo. He’s out of town too - currently being tried in the US for drug-related money laundering…
The good life: they head out for a swim every morning before opening up the cafe. The boat’s not theirs, but they do have access to two kayaks. Way cooler.
We all sat on the jetty and chatted away. One day, we paddled out in the kayaks into the middle of the lake and watched the sunset. Bliss.
Bobbing underneath the pier is good too. I just couldn’t get over the colour of the water.
(for the full post, click here)
The journey between the turquoise sea of Tulum, and the equally translucent waters of Laguna de Bacalar, has been a good one. A chance to ride off pavement again, which always brings a smile to my face, escaping the main highway that beelines towards the Belize border at Chetumal. And, a real find: perhaps the best camping spot of the trip so far…
A ride of wild, windwept beaches along a rugged, empty coastline…
Mined with wheel swallowing potholes…
Multi modal transport: a short hop across a lagoon…
A night being eaten alive by jungle mosquitos and being chomped on by leaf cutter ants…
And perhaps the most sublime camping spot of the trip so far…
Tulum – past and present
May 20, 2010
(for the full post, click here)
I first visited Tulum as a twenty year old backpacker. In my memory at least, the place was all but untouched – just a few palapas on a white, powdery beach and a couple of simple restaurants rustling up basic food. I was at the end of my journey, funds were low, so I slept out on the sands, my rucksack tied with a piece of rope around my ankle.
Fast forward sixteen years and it’s a different story. I wasn’t expecting to find the same place I’d left with sand in my toes all those years ago: change is innevitable, it’s part of life. Yet it’s hard to express just how developed this stretch of the Mexican Carribean has become – it’s now an almost uninterrupted strip of resorts spanning the entire 120 kms to Cancun, a giant wall of garish development between land and sea. And it doesn’t feel like the pace is getting much slower.
Still, despite its massive changes – I rank the nearby Tulum Pueblo one of the most souless ‘villages’ I have visited in Mexico – the beach here is still as stunningly beautiful as I remember it. Once I’d tracked down the wonderful camping hangout of Playa Esperanza and connected with a group of travellers who lit up my time there, it felt like I’d come home again…
Playa Esperanza, a cabana and campsite run by a Mexican and American/Italian couple, who welcomed me in on my first day with a massive beachside feast. A real idyll.
Storms rolled in and out while I was there. One moment the sky was bathed with sunlight, the next moment it was inky black, and the rain fell in a tirade of fat, heavy drops. After days of oppresive heat, this was exactly what my soul needed. We all leapt into the sea and battled the waves.
Then the storm passed, and it was clear and hot once more. As you can expect, I never grew tired of being drawn in by its turquoise waters.
And that fine white sand found its way everywhere. Folds of the tent. Pockets. Ears. Not that I can really complain...
And happy I was at Playa Esperanza.
(for the full post, click here)
I can’t say that cycling in the flat, featureless Yukatan Peninsula, slap bang in the middle of the Mexico’s hottest months, has been a highlight of my journey across this incredibly diverse country. Luckily the icy cool cenotes – underground, freshwater sinkholes – the spick ‘n span colonial towns, the crumbling Mayan ruins and endless bleached white, powdery beaches have made this detour worthwhile…
Here’s Romain heading down into the dark depths of a cinote, one of some 3000 holes that link the underground waterways of this peninsula. Each has its own feel – this one was perhaps 30 metres deep, and eerily lit by a single shaft of light.
Mexican safety standards – the ladder swayed gently and the rungs were slippery.
Such incredible, otherwordly colours. This one is part of a triplet of cinotes a half day ride out of Merida. Roots from trees high above dangled down to drink from the clean waters, and cracks in the rocks lit the cavern like natural skylights.
To get there, we followed 10km of singletrack that ran alongside a narrow railway cut into the forest, built for horse pulled carriages.
More bike friendly towns in the parched hot, pancake flat Yukatan peninsula. We stopped here for a turkey taco and to fix a plague of punctures. Repairing flats in this 40c heat can be a real challenge, as patches melt away from the inner tube. We went a little crazy constantly squeezing tyres, imagining air was seeping out.
Gulf of Mexico Beach Adventure
May 4, 2010
Or, how I learnt that’s it’s far better to ride a bicycle than push/drag it along a beach for eight hours… Click here for the whole photo-story.
It had all started so well – thanks to our faithful Guia Roja road atlas, we'd unearthed a lovely dirt road, a touch sandy in places, that fed us out of Celustun towards the fisherman village of Sisal, further up the Yukatan coast.
Twenty five kilometres in, the track opened up onto a powdery white deserted beach, where a few basic and now deserted holiday homes had been built. A perfect spot to cool off in the warm, green-tinged waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and to refresh weary cycling muscles. As we were picnicing, one of the holiday home guardians appeared and to our dismay, informed us we’d have to turn back. The road ahead, clearly marked on our 2010 map, had been washed out by a hurricane twenty years ago - back in 1988. Darn.
But then, after some deliberation and bike inspection, he announced with typical Mexican misguided certainty that the other option would be to wait a few hours for low tide, and simply ride along the beach - which would by then be lovely and firm. Apparently we might have to push for a few kimometres, but no more. So with renewed enthusiasm, we loaded up on rainwater from the well at the lighthouse, and set off, hoping to make it to Sisal by nightfall. Apparently eight russians had completed the trip two years before, so it sounded feasible.
A kilometre in, the track did endeed peeter out, leaving nothing but a bleached, sandy beachfront and gently lapping waves…
(Keep reading here)
After the dull drone of parched hot and bolt straight highways, Campeche has revealed an unexpected dimension – a land of inspiring bike culture, where bread is laced with cheese, ham and spicy jalapeno peppers, and the bodies of the dead are dug up and put on display…
Fernando from the hostel in Campeche told us about a bizarre, often overlooked cemetary in a small village, Pomuch. There, in a mish mash of Catholic and Mayan ritual, bodies are exumed after three years, cleaned, and put on display in small, colourful cubicles set into the walls. One was scheduled for 11am that day...
Some skulls still had tufts of hair, or even lustrous wigs. The cloth on which they rest is changed each year in a ceremony that takes place on the Day of the Dead.
The other reason for visiting Pomuch was to sample its famous bread. So the first thing we did when we arrived was pull into this local bakery, La Conchita, and see what all the fuss was about.
Wow. It's called a pichon, and it must have weighed a kilo. It cost 40 pesos, that’s about 3 dollars, and was easily enough of a feast for two hungry cyclists. This is just half, and as you can see, its laced with cheese, ham and jalapeno peppers.
Even better than fine, filling food: this part of Campeche turned out to a veritable cycling utopia. Almost everyone was on a bike, be it two wheels or three. The three wheelers carted home produce from the market, and did a roaring trade as taxis too. Could the pancake flat Yukatan Peninsula be Mexico’s answer to Holland?
(Click right here to read on!)
After bidding farewell to Jungle Man Frank, The Tall Frenchman and I took to the road once more. We were heading for the Yukatan Peninsula, the large tract of land that juts out of the south eastern tip of the country, into the Gulf of Mexico and the Carribean.
I thought Palenque had been on the warm side; Tabasco, which somewhat aptly is the hottest state in Mexico, had just been experiencing the highest temperatures on record for this time of year – hovering around the 42 degree c mark (108F). That’s in the shade – if you could find it. Luckily, our route only dipped into the state for eight kilometres.
Not that Campeche felt much better. A swathe of tarmac cut across scrub and forest, with nothing but the odd parched dry settlement to distract my mind from the baking heat. I missed the abundant rivers and waterfalls of Chiapas. We decided to knock out the ride as quickly as we could – it’s not a touring formula I’d recommend…
I have to be honest and say that riding across Campeche wasn’t my idea of fun. It took us two and half days to cover the 370 hard kilometres of tarmac. There were no obvious alternatives to the highway, and the bolt straight roads drove me crazy. Or maybe that was the heat.
Crazy/Jungle/Man/Frank says goodbye.
Romain takes a break in a Mini Super. Even the light in the Yukatan felt unremitting, bleaching out the landscape into muted tones. All we could do was ride on. One night we were lucky enough to camp by a river to wash away the sweat of the day. The other, we snuck in behind a banana plantation and yearned for a breeze.
But while I can’t recommend the Yukatan for cycling – at least not in April and May – the seaside colonial settlement of San Francisco de Campeche was strikingly beautiful. Apparently it’s named after two Mayan words – Can (snake) and Peche (tick). So, that makes it the City of Ticks and Snakes…
Like San Christobal de las Casas, the buildings were painted in a tasteful palette of photogenic colours, and had been carefully restored. The city itself was fortified – built to withstand the pillaging of pirates and privateers - and an imposing wall segregates the old historic centre (the nice bit) from the rest of the city (the ugly, American-style sprawl). Some years ago, there was a drive to develop Campeche into a mega-resort, but luckily the town planners saw the error of their ways before it was too late.
Need a little help in your life? I spotted these cans in an esoteric natural store. Apparently a well aimed squirt brings whatever it is you need, be it clients, or protection for your money, or love, or virility (the strength of seven machos), or even divine enlightenment…
In Campeche, the pavements slabs are vertigo-inducingly high, to allow for the river-like torrents that flow through the city come the rainy season. I have that in store in about a months time…
San Cristobal to Palenque – le Tour de Chiapas
April 26, 2010
(Go on, read the whole lot, click here)
So here I am in Valladolid, Yucatan, trying to avoid the rivulets of sweat that are beading down my temples from gracing this keyboard. Yes, it’s still hot… Tomorrow I should be in Tulum, where the delights of Caribbean white sand beaches await, and (just maybe) a refreshing sea breeze. In the meantime, here’s some more catching up on the blog front…
As I’ve come to realise, there’s a lot to be said for unearthing the road less travelled in Mexico.
For instance, the most direct route from San Cristobal de las Casas to Palenque is via Ocosingo, a small settlement in the heart of rugged central Chiapas; very much Zapatista territory. Unfortunately, it also means travelling a hilly, narrow and busy main road, and from what I’d heard, negotiating kamakaze bus and collectivo drivers – not ideal riding conditions.
Instead, the Frenchman Romain and I headed out via the colonial town of Comitan to loop around the multicoloured Lagunas de Montebello, skirting the very edge of the Guatemalan border to the bejungled Mayan ruins of Bonampak, and onto Palenque. Although this route adds several hundred kilometres to the distance tally, the all-but-empty roads, waterfalls, ruins, mangos, monkeys and blissful riverside camping ensured it a definite place amongst the best of Mexico’s rides so far…
Just half a day’s ride away from San Christobal de las Casas lies Comitan – a little like a backwater version of my Hall of Fame Favourite Mexican city, without the international vibe.
Riding to Palenque via the Lagunas de Montebello means you get to swim in waters like these…
And experience all-but-empty jungle roads like these… Definitely quiet enough to hear the cantankerous howler monkeys screeching out from the treetops.
... and stop in remote indigenous villages and gorge on watermelons like this… We polished this one off between us, then collapsed, much to local mirth.
Of course, the ride culminates in the sight of some truly dramatic ruins. The ancient city of Palenque is considered one of the best of the Mayan remains in Mexico.
