San Jeronimito to San Cristobal De Las Casas
Day 23 to Day 26
Wednesday, March 31 to Saturday, April 3, 2010
San Jeronimito to Pinotepa Nacional
Pinotepa Nacional to Salina Cruz
Salina Cruz to San Cristobal De Las Casas
San Cristobal De Las Casas local day
I was getting quite tired of the heat, and yes, the landscape. It did change a bit through the Oaxaca coastal area but I'm ready for something different. All this riding is getting to me. All kinds of thoughts are going through my head. "Why am I doing this?” "I really feel like just turning around and heading back into my sweetie's arms", "please get me some comfort foods". But I was still magically drawn south. There seems to be some force that compels me to continue.
The southbound Mexico 200 takes you through Acapulco. Of course I just had to take the section that goes right into the heart of Acapulco. Talk about loco traffic. I had read that the most common vehicle in Mexico was the VW Beetle but had seen very few of them ...until now. VW Beetle taxis were buzzing around like wasps on Chrystal Meth and traffic was pure chaos, I was right at home. I love how motorbikes just split lanes, pass on the right and generally get to the front of the line in Mexico. People even moved their stopped cars over to the side to let bikes get through sometimes. Just try that one back home!
Acapulco is the first place so far where I saw people honking in a traffic jam. The cops had closed all traffic in one direction and were alternating between north and south. A motorcycle cop whizzed past the stopped traffic and motioned to everyone to move into the oncoming lanes to clear the gridlocked traffic going downhill. I moved into the oncoming lane and discovered that some high-strung Mercedes Benz driver had booted it into the lane as I was cautiously making my lane change. A flurry of honking and gesticulating arms ensued. The woman driving the car was obviously annoyed at the polite Canadian driver in front of her. Then others started pulling out in front of me. Canadian courtesy and a strong survival instinct made me gently apply the brakes to let them in, lest I die on the slopes of Acapulco. This infuriated the Mexicana Loca in her Mercedes even more and her arms were gesticulating wildly while her lips were angrily moving around. I just laughed and shook my head. At another traffic light two lanes were turning left, including mine. The bus to the right of me was starting to hog my land so I hung back to avoid being road kill. That just didn't sit well with the driver behind me who leaned on the horn in a clear sign of annoyance at this stupid tourist's unwillingness to die for him.
I simply loved the little beach town of Mazunte. I stopped for a filling lunch of huevos rancheros and beer for $4 and went on my merry way. At the hotel in Pinotepa Nacional I ran into a tuna fisherman from San Diego. He had crashed his bike and broke his collarbone. He was holing up in that town until he was well enough to fly home to start his fishing season. The staff at the hotel was absolutely lovely and went out of their way to assist him. They’re even storing his bike for months on end until he can return to resume his trip. He was telling me that I was lucky to not have been pulled over by corrupt Acapulco police. They apparently pulled him over for running a red light. He claims he didn't. After showing them his wallet with 20 pesos they let him go. Others he met in Acapulco were also pulled over. A group of Latin American women in an SUV simply told the cop where to go and a foreigner on a motorcycle was extorted 170 US dollars. A quick search of the Horizons Unlimited website did come up with a result regarding corrupt Acapulco cops.
I stayed at a trucker hotel beside a Pemex station in Salina Cruz. 300 pesos, including modern quiet air conditioning, hot water, wireless Internet and rumbling trucks pulling out of the Pemex station late into the night.
Now the road heads a bit inland and I went through the town of "La Ventosa" (The Windy One). Literally hundreds of power generating windmills were dotting the landscape. Watching the blades rotating in the wind was almost hypnotic. Like a group of limber gymnasts turning cartwheels. Where there are windmills there is usually wind, lots of it. Luckily today was not one of those days. But the highway signs all had perforations to deal with the strong winds of this area.
It's now time to head east towards Tuxtla Gutierrez and San Cristobal De Las Casas up in the Chiapas highlands.
Welcome to Chiapas
The free road twists and winds beautifully uphill and the air starts cooling a bit. Today is Good Friday and traffic is very light. The motor was humming like along like a beautiful song and I was "in the zone".
Mexican highway signs are a hoot. Often there is a distance sign for a town every few kilometres. But the numbers don't necessarily go down. Today took the cake. There I was heading towards Tuxtla Gutierrez, state capital of Chiapas. The sign said Tuxtla 53km. A few kilometres later it said Tuxtla 62km. About 2km later I was now apparently at 44km from Tuxtla. Then I rode about another 6km and was suddenly at 42km from Tuxtla. Two kilometres further down the road the sign said 45km. Stop moving the damn town!!! will ya!. Three more km and the town had sidled a bit closer and the sign happily informed me that I was now at 26km from Tuxtla. One more kilometre and the sign said 25km. I'm not sure why they need two distance signs one kilometre apart, but at least now they seem to be getting it right. Must have fired the math school dropout and hired a math whiz instead. One kilometre later, yup there was another distance sign; I was still at 25 km's from Tuxtla ...sigh! About 25km's later I finally arrived in Tuxtla for a nice lunch of beer and Rasta pasta in a pleasant little restaurant after donating to the Mexican Red Cross that lurks at the topes all over the country.
When I left Tuxtla, filled to the gills with Rasta pasta, the road felt like a blast furnace gone awry. I'm beginning to wonder how I'll deal with the heat of May when I'm on my way back. Very soon after leaving Tuxtla the free road climbs and winds endlessly. You come around a bend and think the climb is over but it keeps on going. Small villages dot the landscape and the indigenous villagers still wear their absolutely beautiful traditional dress. The air cooled from "blast furnace on crack" to "refrigerator door left open". It was absolutely breathtaking and words fail me right now. It has to be experienced personally. Taking the more direct toll highway would have been a crime, in my opinion. I'm now reenergized by the beautiful change in scenery.
San Cristobal De Las Casas
San Cristobal De Las Casas is delightful. Drivers at four way stops are even making the "no, it's OK, YOU go first" sing with their hands I'm here during the Easter weekend and the city is buzzing with activities and Mexican tourists. There are a few gringo tourists as well, and even a small group of Rasta, Hippy, dreadlocked ....Japanese, Spanish speaking young people selling their wares in the market. There are several markets going on and small cafes, shops and restaurants are all over the place. There is a refreshing absence of touts trying to drag you into their restaurants. I went to look at some papier mache exhibits which were part of a protest against the government, the USA and other causes. I'm amazed at the creative way in which these people have expressed themselves. Everyone here seems quite civilized and courteous. Indigenous women and children wander the streets in their traditional garb trying to sell crafts and nice blankets. Little Zapatista dolls are sold all over the place. The Zapatistas were quickly crushed by the Mexican military but at least they brought attention to the plight of Mexico's indigenous population. Sound familiar? Canada, USA, Australia, New Zealand?
The Crumbling and the Restored. San Cristobal De Las Casas
Local Pharmacy and Medical Laboratory promoting itself.
San Cristobal De Las Casas
Tomorrow I'm supposed to meet Sergio and go on a tour of the of the Tzeltal villages. He's Tzeltal himself. Then it's off into Guatemala.
Political Expression in Papier Mache
Wednesday, March 31 to Saturday, April 3, 2010
San Jeronimito to Pinotepa Nacional
Pinotepa Nacional to Salina Cruz
Salina Cruz to San Cristobal De Las Casas
San Cristobal De Las Casas local day
I was getting quite tired of the heat, and yes, the landscape. It did change a bit through the Oaxaca coastal area but I'm ready for something different. All this riding is getting to me. All kinds of thoughts are going through my head. "Why am I doing this?” "I really feel like just turning around and heading back into my sweetie's arms", "please get me some comfort foods". But I was still magically drawn south. There seems to be some force that compels me to continue.
The southbound Mexico 200 takes you through Acapulco. Of course I just had to take the section that goes right into the heart of Acapulco. Talk about loco traffic. I had read that the most common vehicle in Mexico was the VW Beetle but had seen very few of them ...until now. VW Beetle taxis were buzzing around like wasps on Chrystal Meth and traffic was pure chaos, I was right at home. I love how motorbikes just split lanes, pass on the right and generally get to the front of the line in Mexico. People even moved their stopped cars over to the side to let bikes get through sometimes. Just try that one back home!
Acapulco is the first place so far where I saw people honking in a traffic jam. The cops had closed all traffic in one direction and were alternating between north and south. A motorcycle cop whizzed past the stopped traffic and motioned to everyone to move into the oncoming lanes to clear the gridlocked traffic going downhill. I moved into the oncoming lane and discovered that some high-strung Mercedes Benz driver had booted it into the lane as I was cautiously making my lane change. A flurry of honking and gesticulating arms ensued. The woman driving the car was obviously annoyed at the polite Canadian driver in front of her. Then others started pulling out in front of me. Canadian courtesy and a strong survival instinct made me gently apply the brakes to let them in, lest I die on the slopes of Acapulco. This infuriated the Mexicana Loca in her Mercedes even more and her arms were gesticulating wildly while her lips were angrily moving around. I just laughed and shook my head. At another traffic light two lanes were turning left, including mine. The bus to the right of me was starting to hog my land so I hung back to avoid being road kill. That just didn't sit well with the driver behind me who leaned on the horn in a clear sign of annoyance at this stupid tourist's unwillingness to die for him.
I simply loved the little beach town of Mazunte. I stopped for a filling lunch of huevos rancheros and beer for $4 and went on my merry way. At the hotel in Pinotepa Nacional I ran into a tuna fisherman from San Diego. He had crashed his bike and broke his collarbone. He was holing up in that town until he was well enough to fly home to start his fishing season. The staff at the hotel was absolutely lovely and went out of their way to assist him. They’re even storing his bike for months on end until he can return to resume his trip. He was telling me that I was lucky to not have been pulled over by corrupt Acapulco police. They apparently pulled him over for running a red light. He claims he didn't. After showing them his wallet with 20 pesos they let him go. Others he met in Acapulco were also pulled over. A group of Latin American women in an SUV simply told the cop where to go and a foreigner on a motorcycle was extorted 170 US dollars. A quick search of the Horizons Unlimited website did come up with a result regarding corrupt Acapulco cops.
I stayed at a trucker hotel beside a Pemex station in Salina Cruz. 300 pesos, including modern quiet air conditioning, hot water, wireless Internet and rumbling trucks pulling out of the Pemex station late into the night.
Now the road heads a bit inland and I went through the town of "La Ventosa" (The Windy One). Literally hundreds of power generating windmills were dotting the landscape. Watching the blades rotating in the wind was almost hypnotic. Like a group of limber gymnasts turning cartwheels. Where there are windmills there is usually wind, lots of it. Luckily today was not one of those days. But the highway signs all had perforations to deal with the strong winds of this area.
It's now time to head east towards Tuxtla Gutierrez and San Cristobal De Las Casas up in the Chiapas highlands.
Welcome to Chiapas
The free road twists and winds beautifully uphill and the air starts cooling a bit. Today is Good Friday and traffic is very light. The motor was humming like along like a beautiful song and I was "in the zone".
Mexican highway signs are a hoot. Often there is a distance sign for a town every few kilometres. But the numbers don't necessarily go down. Today took the cake. There I was heading towards Tuxtla Gutierrez, state capital of Chiapas. The sign said Tuxtla 53km. A few kilometres later it said Tuxtla 62km. About 2km later I was now apparently at 44km from Tuxtla. Then I rode about another 6km and was suddenly at 42km from Tuxtla. Two kilometres further down the road the sign said 45km. Stop moving the damn town!!! will ya!. Three more km and the town had sidled a bit closer and the sign happily informed me that I was now at 26km from Tuxtla. One more kilometre and the sign said 25km. I'm not sure why they need two distance signs one kilometre apart, but at least now they seem to be getting it right. Must have fired the math school dropout and hired a math whiz instead. One kilometre later, yup there was another distance sign; I was still at 25 km's from Tuxtla ...sigh! About 25km's later I finally arrived in Tuxtla for a nice lunch of beer and Rasta pasta in a pleasant little restaurant after donating to the Mexican Red Cross that lurks at the topes all over the country.
When I left Tuxtla, filled to the gills with Rasta pasta, the road felt like a blast furnace gone awry. I'm beginning to wonder how I'll deal with the heat of May when I'm on my way back. Very soon after leaving Tuxtla the free road climbs and winds endlessly. You come around a bend and think the climb is over but it keeps on going. Small villages dot the landscape and the indigenous villagers still wear their absolutely beautiful traditional dress. The air cooled from "blast furnace on crack" to "refrigerator door left open". It was absolutely breathtaking and words fail me right now. It has to be experienced personally. Taking the more direct toll highway would have been a crime, in my opinion. I'm now reenergized by the beautiful change in scenery.
San Cristobal De Las Casas
San Cristobal De Las Casas is delightful. Drivers at four way stops are even making the "no, it's OK, YOU go first" sing with their hands I'm here during the Easter weekend and the city is buzzing with activities and Mexican tourists. There are a few gringo tourists as well, and even a small group of Rasta, Hippy, dreadlocked ....Japanese, Spanish speaking young people selling their wares in the market. There are several markets going on and small cafes, shops and restaurants are all over the place. There is a refreshing absence of touts trying to drag you into their restaurants. I went to look at some papier mache exhibits which were part of a protest against the government, the USA and other causes. I'm amazed at the creative way in which these people have expressed themselves. Everyone here seems quite civilized and courteous. Indigenous women and children wander the streets in their traditional garb trying to sell crafts and nice blankets. Little Zapatista dolls are sold all over the place. The Zapatistas were quickly crushed by the Mexican military but at least they brought attention to the plight of Mexico's indigenous population. Sound familiar? Canada, USA, Australia, New Zealand?
The Crumbling and the Restored. San Cristobal De Las Casas
Local Pharmacy and Medical Laboratory promoting itself.
San Cristobal De Las Casas
Tomorrow I'm supposed to meet Sergio and go on a tour of the of the Tzeltal villages. He's Tzeltal himself. Then it's off into Guatemala.
Political Expression in Papier Mache
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