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What a difference coming over a mountain range makes! It was all fog this morning and really damp, so damp in fact that my glasses were fogging up as I pushed my bike up the hill. Then just a couple of kilometers before the border I was on top, and as I went over I virtually stepped into brilliant sunshine with blue sky and the most vivid colours all around me. I am sure even later today they must have had clouds and fog on the other side, because looking back, and also looking north to the next mountain range, I could see the clouds poking over the rim of the mountains all day long.
The border formalities took well over an hour. On the Guatemalan side they seemed to be lost, what to do about the bike. Cars and motorbikes they knew how to handle, but push bikes, no. It took them a good ten minutes to search for a serial number, after not finding one they finally they were satisfied to mark down the make and colour in my passport, to be checked off, when I leave the country again.
It really was a tough day. It was not all down, as I had hoped, but a lot of up too, and especially on the Guatemalan side the grades just became killer grades. I was barely able to push the bike up the inclines. The road was gravel and corrugated, and it was really hard riding even down those steep slopes at a snail's pace.
And then the dust! As I was getting farther into Guatemala, the traffic increased, and it being so dry and HOT, every passing vehicle enveloped me in a cloud of dust. And all this for 56 kilometers! The last eight kilometers on the paved highway down-hill were just gravy. I sweated a lot and took in a lot of fluid: seven bottles of soft drinks, one bottle of water, and when I arrived here I pigged out on several oranges, an ice cream, a lemonade, a beer and a large bowl of soup. Now I am just blown up like a balloon.
Now that I am down again at 300 meters above sea level, and that the sun is out, it is nice and warm again. Taking a cold shower does not seem like punishment, but is actually enjoyable. And with a fan in the room I can dream of tropical nights again.
Wandering through the streets here tonight one is struck by all the
colour, especially the Indian women's clothing. And the colour is not just
in the clothes, everyone on the road will greet you with an 'ola' or an
'adios', or some kids will try out their only English word 'goodbye'.
17 December 1988, Sta. Lucia Cotzumalguapa
No entry for yesterday as I had no chance. 'No room at the inn', so I had to sleep by the side of the road. But more of that later.
Yesterday started well enough: 22 kilometers to Zacapa, one 300 meter climb and the rest downhill. I got there by 11:00 after a late start. As my favourite restaurant in Chicimula, where I had planned to have one or two of those delicious looking 'tor-tas' (kaiser buns), had not opened yet, I had to make do with the standard fare. The bank opened at 09:00, and I took advan-tage of that to change some more money, before setting out.
I had decided to take the train from Zacapa to Guatemala City, which otherwise would have been a two day ride mostly uphill. The train was supposed to leave at 15:00 and arrive at Guatemala City at 21:00. On hindsight, I should have taken a bus, but then I have a weakness for trains, and I thought 21:00 hours is not too late to look for accommodation.
The train ride was interesting, to say the least. First of all it arrived in Zacapa one hour late, then it seemed to stop wherever and whenever the conductor felt like it. At one time it went on a bypass track, as if to let another train through from the other direction. After half an hour it went on without another train having made an appearance. It stopped at the most unlikely places to let people off and take new passengers on. By the time it arrived in Guatemala City it was well after midnight, and at that altitude I was freezing cold, even though I had put on a sweater.
My bicycle was there in the baggage car alright, together with all the accessories they had so meticulously listed on the mani-fest: 1 bell, 2 carriers, 1 rear view mirror and 1 safety chain. All these item are really integral parts of the bike, and it would be hard to remove them.
All I wanted at that time was a hotel with a hot shower, and to lie down and sleep. Of course, at that time most places were locked up tight, many had signs out 'no hay habitaciones' (no rooms free) and the other 10-15 I actually did get to ask, also told me they were full. So finally, for the first time in my life, it happened that I arrived in a town, and everything was full, and I had no place to sleep.
The truth sank in then, and I decided to do the only thing I could, but carry on and find myself a place by the roadside, where I could creep into my wonderful sleeping bag. Ten kilometers out of town, where there were no more street lights, I found just that spot, in a corner by a roadside fence hidden by a bush and some high grass I leaned the bike against the fence, pulled out my sleeping bag, crawled in and actually had about two to three hours of uncertain sleep.
At six it was bright enough to carry on riding and too bright to remain there undetected. Two kilometers down the road there were coffee stands for early morning commuters, one of which I patronized to wake me up fully. The coffee they make here really does not serve that purpose, it does not deserve the name, as a matter of fact, it is more like brown water. It is amazing, in Honduras the coffee was strong and excellent, and as soon as one crosses the border, just brown water. I shall never under-stand why.
Then it was 1000 meters downhill down to the Pacific Lowlands. Finally back in the warmth and sunshine, which will remain with me now for the next week at least. Since everything was going so well, I decided to carry on for a total of 90 kilometers to this little town, where I arrived at noon.
After last night's experience, I had decided never to make that mistake again and show up in a town so late that everything was all booked out. But here at noon out of five hotels and hospedajes, where I asked, they were all occupied! Why? There is a local fiesta on this weekend!
Two days in a row with no place to stay is just a little too much. It is too far to carry on to the next town (65 kilometers). So I begged a room for three hours to take a shower, and leave the bulk of my luggage at the reception; and then I shall take the bus back this afternoon to Escuintla and San Jose, spend a couple of hours at the beach there and come back on the bus tomor-row morning to carry on. All I need now is that San Jose is also all booked out for the weekend!
The ride along the coastal plain was not all that flat, but certainly
there were no hills where I had to get off the bike. The country is mostly
given to the growing of sugar cane, and there are many huge trucks loaded
with cane going to and fro between the cane fields and the sugar factories.
In general, traffic is fast and furious, and the truck drivers expect you
to be on the paved shoulder, which is rideable but not as smooth as the
main pavement. The landscape is dominated by the row of huge volcanoes
to the north of this coastal plain, some of them active. At one point I
stopped to have some oranges, which were deliciously sweet and tangy and
only cost 2.5 cents a piece pealed.
18 December 1988, Mazatenango
Last night's excursion to Puerto San Jose was not fraught without problems. I got to Escuintla quickly enough, but there all the buses down to the coast came from Guatemala City and were full. Finally a pickup truck decided to make some extra money, and take the group of waiting people down, which of course was illegal, and so he had to dodge the police checks at the entrance to all populated centers. After all the waiting and the detours it was dark by the time we got to San Jose, and I did not even get to watch the sunset over the ocean. The meal I had at on of the beach side restaurants was not all that great either. Nevertheless, I slept in a bed for a change that night, after having partaken of some of the night life in this coastal town.
Bright and early this morning I got myself back to where the rest of my things were, having a simple breakfast and a great glass of orange juice on the way. Today's ride was quite pleasant, the country being mostly level, only with frequent dips down to a bridge over a river or creek. Again sugar cane all over the place and many trucks carrying it to the factories.
I had a nice lunch at a roadside restaurant. As I was drinking my iced beer a Volkswagen with Minnesota license plates pulled up, and out came a man with a Latin looking boy of about ten years. Both spoke English. The boy was from Honduras and somehow was related to the man. They were going on to Costa Rica. We exchanged courtesies and travel talk. I appeased his anxieties about going through Nicaragua. He was a nice enough person, but seemed to be labouring under the impression that only American intervention had saved Honduras from the same fate as Nicaragua, as Nicaraguan troops 'had already crossed the border to Honduras' when the U.S. stepped in. How can seemingly intelligent people actually believe this? But then how could a substantial portion of Germans, who as a whole are well educated, have succumbed to the wiles and the propaganda of the Hitler regime?
Today for the second time I encountered a bicycle road race. Yesterday
they were going my way, passing me easily, and today they were coming back.
All complete with police escort, accompanying vehicles and personnel etc.
The first I noticed was a Radio Guatemala vehicle stopped on a hill, loudspeakers
blaring away. This time I was ready for them with my video camera as they
panted up the hill. What a difference though, they light and fleet and
I heavily laden just plugging along.
19 December 1988, Coatepeque
So close to the finish line! There is only about 37 kilometers left to the Mexican border or a total day of somewhat over seven-ty kilometers to the town of Tapachula, where I hope to catch the train north.
This morning for the first time on this trip I took a wrong turn. It seemed to be the main highway out of town, but at about four kilometers out I started wondering why I was climbing uphill all the time. I was heading straight for a volcano! Also traf-fic was unexpectedly light, no heavy trucks. I stopped a passing motorcyclist, who informed me that I was on another road to the north, and for the main highway west I had to backtrack. Well, the return was no problem just coasting downhill, but I had just added eight kilometers to my day's total.
Later: now here I am back in coffee country again after another (the last) climb of 500 meters up from the coastal plain. I guess, most of those kilometers tomorrow will be downhill to the plain from which I started this morning. It is lush and green around here.
To the right of me for most of the morning was a huge volcano with a large gash in its side, where an eruption had blown away part of the mountainside. Out of the gash another small volcano had arisen, now steaming merrily away. Unfortunately the small one was almost always covered by cloud, so I was unable to film it.
Later on I came upon a river bed where apparently the lava flow from that eruption had passed along. I felt like being back in southern India with the stone cutters. The bed of the river was just one large area of big boulders of lava. And along its side there were local people, mostly boys, with sledges and small hammers pounding away at the stone and reducing them to gravel of various sizes. They had piled up their product in front of them in neat piles, presumably for sale to the passing public.
I had a bit of an early lunch, at 10:30 in fact. The roadside restaurant, 'Las Gardenias' just looked too neat to pass by. Actual-ly, I was due for a drink break, but while I was at it I had a well tasting 'carne asado' (fried meat) dish and a beer.
Next to me a party of three Hondurans was sitting, apparently just returning
from the States with dollars in their pocket. As they spoke English well,
we talked. They were overjoyed to hear that their dollars were worth substantially
more than the offi-cial rate of two lempiras for the dollar.
20 December 1988, Tapachula, Mexico
About five kilometers short of the border was the first time I was stopped by one of the mobile road checks they set up unex-pectedly all over Guatemala. At all the others I just had been waved through. But a cursory check of my passport and of one of my front bags satisfied them.
Border formalities were routine, and here, 35 kilometers into Mexico, I am in the land of plenty again, comparatively speak-ing. As I pulled into town I stopped in a fancy restaurant, had a look at the high prices, and the affluent customers and decided to partake of the excellent pork chop and the ice cold beer served in a frosted glass.
This is the end of my bicycle trip and now the long road home by train
and bus commences. It has been a rewarding experi-ence, and the almost
2000 kilometers I covered have give me a little bit of insight into the
lives of these wonderful people of Central America.