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Lynette goes where Martha Stewart has probably gone but never mind ... the vibrant colors of ordinary houses in the boonies of Chiapas, Mexico.
Photos and text Copyright Lynette Chiang 2004
Complete Galfromdownunder in Mexico Chronicles
Gear tip: For those who care to know ... Lynette is modelling the Terry SPF30 cycling jersey in powder blue to stop her skin from being fried like a tortilla, teamed with Terry cycling shorts with incomparable side pocket to hold 1 credit card, 1 chap stick and a 50 peso bill. Now why didn't Sugoi, Pearl Izumi et al think of that? Oh yes, and Terry gloves. Travel bicycle by Bike Friday ... www.terrybicycles.com
Photos and text Copyright 2004 Lynette Chiang
Read parts 7-12 of this journey: Down the Panama Hatter's Hole
Monday Jan 4, 2004. The Ruins of Palenque.
Just trudged back from tottering all over the 600 A.D. ruins of Palenque. I do not recommend doing this in SPD shoes, but I was concerned about my feet being bared to killer mosquitoes and leeches. I need not have worried. The site is like a golf course with the pyramids rising out of them like ancient Lego. Many of the pyramids required me to climb on all fours as the steps were mighty steep, perhaps to dissuade the common folk of the time before air cushioned soles from racing up there. The standard design seemed to be central stairway to heaven, and a room at the top with a relief-inscription of the Jaguar Serpent King of the time doing is shower sh*t and shave, among other things. There were two empty, dank rooms on either side, and much restoration going on in the other buildings.
The Palace of Inscriptions was closed, meaning I did not get to gawp at the ornate sarcopahagus mouthwateringly described in the book. I shall have to get to a place to burn a CD of photos, but meanwhile, take a look at someone else's great shots here.
I might be incommunicado for a few days as I cross the Yucatan, where there is not likely to be a cyber-tombstone in the ruins en route.
Jodie from Colorado to Tierra del Fuego via a Mayan ruin near you ...
Yesterday a REAL touring cyclist pulled in to El Panchan. Jodie, from Anchorage AK, had pedaled from Colorado and was on her way to Tierra del Fuego. She had ridden the nauseous road from San Cristobal to Palenque and survived in one piece and unrobbed. So anyone who thinks I am hardcore can now rip the badge from my shoulder .. I took the bus with my convenient folding bicycle stowed underneath. And I am going to take the bus tomorrow, to Campeche to ride east to Tulum, Or Tulum to ride west to Campeche. I have not decided yet. "So you're the girl that did Cuba and came to Anchorage last year!" she said. Mundo pequena...
Jodie was looking for a place to pitch her tent. "I'm not authorized to allow you to pitch on the grounds here, but oh wow, I always wanted to do that ride, I started from Seattle and got to Tacoma and gave up, but I guess if I have been dreaming about it and not really done it I haven't really done it have I?" blathered the fresh-faced young backpacker who was minding the reception desk no doubt in exchange for his accommodation. "Why can't she pitch over there next to the hammocks?" I said. A grave, no-room-at-the-inn look from our gormless host. "Like I said, I am not authorized to say. There's an area out in the jungle through a few hundred miles you can probably pitch and no-one would bother you...".
"This would never happen in Cuba," I said aloud, disgusted that Jodie was a REAL traveler and she, if anyone, should be welcomed with open arms and pots of chai at this legendary stop for travelers. I found her another spot in a place called the Jungle Palace. She could well have slept on the floor in our cabin, but I know what it is like to be in tent and stove mode .. you want to be self sufficient and beholden to no-one.
Margarita, the proprietor of Ed and Margarita's cabins, told me this morning that an old woman, white haired, heavy set and with a limp, carrying nothing but a plastic bag and purse, banged on her door at 6.30am and asked to hang her hammock somewhere. The woman was English or American, and seemingly lost.. in life. Margarita, on hearing that I am 41, then proceeded to counsel me earnestly about the importance of having children.
"I have 4 beautiful sons. When you are old, you are sick, you have no-one, it is a tragedy."
She did indeed have her life well sorted out. Carol and I commented that our reaction to the old hammock woman was something like "that could be me". Margarita, through good choices would feel "that is not me."
I wondered what happened to that old lady. I wondered why it was so easy for so many, to turn her away, to tell her to go hang her hammock in hell. If the woman was a blubbering baby delivered on the steps of Safeway she would have found a warm place immediately. "Babies get automatic attention," said Tim. "We think people don't need it as we get older, but we do."
I thought of a family friend Gwen in England who has several children, none of whom have the time of day or night for her. She comes to Australia to spend time with our family. It seems like it is the only family she has got. The rest of the year she huddles in her windswept Wales home. It was time to turn to sunnier thoughts.
At the dinner table of Don Muchos I sat with Carol, and we told the waiter that if any lone diners needed to sit, they would be welcome at our table. A startled look, and many reassurances before the waiter returned and apologetically asked if a couple could share the table. What followed was a delightful evening with Paolo and Begonia from Spain, two agriculture graduates who had been working in Guatemala. We giggled all the way back to their cabins and were shushed by the groundsman who was making sure the 150 peso a night guests would get their beauty sleep. More soon....
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Sunday Jan 3, 2004. Onwards to Palenque
I have just landed in Palenque, the ruins of the fabulous Mayan city set in steamy jungle, having taken a 5-hour nauseous bus ride from San Cristobal. Several times I thought my digested wholemeal pineapple turnover was going to stage a reprise, the driver a one-time slalom skier tragically reincarnated with a steering wheel in his hands instead of poles. My destination: El Panchan, a cluster of 4-5 accomodation options set in a piece of jungle and established by Senor Morales, site archaeologist turned hospitality magnate. Thanks to the BF, this was a 20 minute scoot down the highway raced off by numerous tour buses, taxis and rent-a-cars.
I arrived at 3pm and as it is high season, every mattress and camping space was solidly booked. I shoulda coulda woulda bought that Hennessy Hammock. There were string hammocks for rent at 50 pesos but I decided that some thin laminate between me and the mosquitoes was better than an open air assault.
A woman from La Paz, Bolivia, was also looking for a bed and I offered to share a room with her, although I was mindful that it would not be so romantic for her and her partner. 'No problem, perfect,' she said, as it was actually her nephew she was sharing with. In the five minutes we talked we had swapped addresses and I will probably go visit Olga in Bolivia at my next available opportunity. That is the wonderful thing about meeting folks when you travel. None of this taking months and years of getting to know your neighbor. It is also one of the amazing coincidences that happen ... if I had not come to Mexico I was planning to visit Juanita Treat, a New World Tourist owner teaching English in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, until she told me her situation was changing. Rewind. Change plan.
A room was not forthcoming and Olga and nephew decided to return to the town to get a hotel room. Hasta luego, Olga, see you in Cyberspace then real space!
I then spotted a similarly stranded girl and asked if she'd like to share a room. We were eventually holed up in the worst cabins of the whole complex, Don Betos. The room was barely a shack with a filthy shared toilet and shower, for an outrageous 100 pesos a night ($10). My room mate Carol, from England, only had a single sheet and a blanket on her bug ridden mattress, and on asking for a second sheet, was told she could have the blanket or the sheet. We soon sorted that young muchacho out. Gear tip: Always carry a silk sleeping sheet.
Right above our cabins was a platform colonized by long staying pierced and stoned backpackers who decided to play tribute to Bob Marley and sons until the wee hours of the morning. Time to look for a new room.
My friend Leah who I met in Nicaragua a couple of years ago had recommended this complex as a legendary stop for backpackers, specifically the set of cabins and restaurant called Rakshita's. We managed to score a cabin there for tonight, at a considerably pricier 150 pesos a double. It's clean, has hot water, and the sheets don't look as if a busload of backpackers have wallowed in them previously. It's got the usual slightly self conscious ohm-namaste-buddah-bhong-bongo thing happening. That is not to sound too cynical, other than that I am painfully discovering that enlightenment is something that ultimately you need to carry in a shirtpocket, for when the incense-infused props are not available. Specifically, when you are surrounded by strip malls and neighbors who insist on putting concrete circles around their petunias. But I digress.
Now all you folks sitting in your tastefully furnished homes and apartments overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge or Eiffel Tower with Campy record 10 Air Fridays parked in the garage are probably wondering what on earth I am carrying on about, I mean, $US15 for a room is dirt cheap, innit?. Remember that when traveling for more than a couple of weeks, it adds up. I have already spent close to $2000 including airfare and I have barely been down here 2 weeks.
Don Mucho's is a large open air restaurant that is doing very well. Good food, moderate prices, groovy music, firedancers, and overseen by a German woman called Ella who makes sure the standard is maintained. Part of this, I was told by John, a long time resident, is that treat their staff well. On hearing of our filthy room and shower plight she arranged for us to have a shower in the considerably cleaner Jungle Palace complex of bamboo shacks for 10 pesos. Gear Freak tip: carry plenty of plastic bags to take your clothes and stuff to and from showers. For some reason they never like to put chairs or hooks there in case you make off with them. In fact, most toilets here do not have a seat in case you are thinking of stealing it to frame a family portrait or something.
Everyone who is paused here for more than a week or so makes jewelery or bongos. I remember an Onion headline: 75 percent of the population know someone who makes jewelery for a living. I think I will investigate setting up a table making handcrafted megaphones.
Carol and I didn't even make it to the ruins today. Instead we sat in Don Mucho's, chatted with John and Dante, expat Americans who spend as much of the winter as possible in sunny places outside America, and just talked about things that don't really matter but do. Tomorrow we'll move to the nicest cabins on the complex, Ed and Margarita's, a shade cheaper at $140 pesos a night, then I can say I have reviewed the pits to the piece de resistance. Ed tells me his two daughters moved to Elmira, near Eugene, Oregon, where they make jewelry and concoct ways of overcoming the cold and rain.
The Bike Friday is a source of amusement to many. I got bored with correcting people as to how I got here from Australia or America or China so now I just tell them I cycled to here from America or Tuxtla or San Cristobal or wherever. It's all the same to them.
We'll hit the ruins at sunup tomorrow. Better stop typing. The internet at this touristy spot is 20 pesos ($2) a minute, instead of 5 pesos (50 cents). Mexico is no longer cheap.
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These sweet kids drove a hard bargain for this photo. 20 for three kids, 10 for two, 5 pesos as the final price ...
Friday Jan 2, 2004. A Pepsi for the Gods.
Hurrah, I made it through New Year's Eve thanks to quite a handful of emails from folks out there who were doing the same solitary thing as me... Tim Link playing with the cat... Grant reminiscing about his Gatorade and bread meal instead of being a lone gourmet in Italy ... the firecrackers here got more and more frenzied as midnight approached... people here like to build fires directly on the street in front of their houses. Fantastic... I was able to thaw myself out every half block or so on the way back to my digs.
At 6.30 am sharp as with every day, the air filled with backyard Latino rap and pop salsa. This morning Eileen and Rui Lafer threw their BFs into the suitcases, leaving me a spare tire, sunscreen and a neat map clip, and winged their way back to Estados Unidos, to make more money to do another trip like this. So now I am the solo traveler again.
Yesterday Ursula, our Los Pinguinos guide, took us for the final instalment of the $250 tour we paid for ... a climb to two Mayan Villages entitled Chamula and Zinacantan. She was a little apologetic as they normally take customers off-road to much less touristy places but hey, when you haven't been there before and the locals have been around a lot longer than you, why be critical? We had a great day. The sky was blue blue blue, the climb was gradual and flanked with lush highland vegetation. In Chamula we paid our dollar to enter the church where the Chamulans were making their offerings to the pulpit. The entire floor was filled with thousands of thin white candles stuck to the floor in platoons. I tried not to think of the oxygen deprivation in that rarified air of worship. Here and there stood a man in traditional dress, a wool tunic extending to his knees looking like he robbed a sheep 5 minutes ago, and waving a big cup-like incense burner. They women wore black pieces of sheep simply secured around their waists with a wide scarf. Like when you wrap a towel round yourself after a shower, said Rui. Such a simple garment, without all the fancy buttons and tucks and ties and sewing of our garments. If I was a more scholarly travel writer I would be talking with the erudite and correct terms for what I am describing but the "Let's Go" Mexico is in the bottom of my pannier. The walls were lined with glass cabinets containing large dolls of various saints, dressed in satin garb, not smiling but not frowning either. Laughing Buddah they were not. Eg Saint somebody de Padua. Apologies to learned Catholics. What really raised my eyebrows to my hairline were the bottles of PEPSI being swigged between muttered prayers and then offered to the gods. One person had lined up a Coke, Pepsi, Sprite and something else fizzy as an offering. As in Nicaragua women and men all have teeth ringed with silver fillings ... Ursula says it is from the sodas they are weaned on since birth. In my story Nicaragua for Beginners I believe I lamented this same demise of real fruit juice in favor of 'refresco gaseosa' and I said I hated them all. I still do.
A sign said 'do not go past this point in respect to the almighty' but typical bloody tourists kept right on marching up to the alter which was ... a series of neon lights winking ... did I ever tell you about some churches in Dublin where the candles are replaced by banks of push button lights masquerading as candles? Pay your offering and push a button. Fssshhht. But I digress. I have this sneaking suspicion that if there were no enterprising dollar fee to enter the church, people would have hung back respectfully. Money changes everything. Read my Cuba book for a more vehement discourse on this topic.
If I sound cynical please do not be mistaken. I mumbled to Eileen that in moments like these, surrounded by such fervent prayer, I actually wish I had religion ...
4 km down the other side of the hill was Zinacantan which was truly special on this New Year's Day. Everyone, men, women and tots, were dressed in an ornate embroidered glittering tunic with 6 tassels called (I think) a Chal in Tzotzil, one of the 9 Mayan local dialects of the region. Tzotzil sounds a little like the lingo in "The Gods Must be Crazy". Ursula is planning to take more classes in the dialect. "Where we take tourists, the women speak only Tzotzil, not Espagnol," she said.
I also saw old men wearing straw hats festooned with a loooong ponytail of colored ribbons. It was a feeling of excitement and unity be there. I am sure someone has done a PHD on the psychology of uniforms, be they army uniforms, ceremonial dress or simply everyone wearing a party hat round a table. This is something we lack in the west. Oh wait, I supposed the tuxedo is one of those...
TOPES. Speed bumps. You'll encounter many signs saying TOPES 100M. Speed bump 100 meters. There's usually 3 or 4. It is amazing how the cars SLOW DOWN for these bumps. They must wreck the cars something terrible if they don't.
Tonight I am in a hostel called Qhia, 40 pesos a night sharing with 3 others in a room. It's fine although I am not into dreadlocks and ganja, which my nostrils can detect from a mile away. It's never locals that do it in public, if they do it at all, always tourists. Dutch tourists.
Tomorrow I am off to Palenque to view one of the world's most awe-inspiring Mayan ruins. Then to Tulum to begin a ride across the Yucatan, taking in yet more ruins. I hope it does not ruin me.
GEAR FREAK CORNER: Weird, but even though I am not carrying a tent on this occasion, I seem to have overfilled panniers. I am carrying Trangia stove, sleeping bag, Thermorest, clothes, toiletries and its almost full. I packed and repacked but it stayed the same. Must be the result of living in America for 2.5 years, I have crossed a new threshold of stuff, and something is telling me I need a trunk, not a pannier... NOoooooo! A fellow called Dan showed me the smart German-made double walled, netted hammock he picked up in Thailand for $15. Do a Google on Zebra hammocks.
Jurgen, a German friend of Ursula, told me he was robbed by police near Agua Azul, on the way to the ruins. He had money sitting in a publicly open but clever place that they did not see, and made off with his fake wallet which included 30 pesos and an expired credit card. The Swiss couple in the car behind him, however, lost $5000. I have some of my cash concealed on my bike frame ... in two places. I am off to buy a fake wallet and will include some trick sweets to make the recipients teeth turn deep purple for several weeks. Eileen says her fake wallet includes something to make one's urine turn a startling color. This is no laughing matter, honest...
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Doesn't this beat strip malls and parking stations? Get your BFs down here! One of many churches in San Cristobal de las Casas.
Wednesday Dec 31, 2003
I have just received some very nice emails from readers, folks at Bike Friday, Yaksters, BF owners and non BF owners, from Oklahoma to Chicago etc wishing me a Happy New Year as I loiter alone in the streets of San Cristobal de las Casas watching huggy couples disappearing into cushy restaurants and 4 star hotels while I huddle in front of this computer with my bag of muesli and comisserate. Such is the life of the lone traveler. Do not tell me you envy me at this point, please!
As you can see, I have managed to upload some of my photos at this excellent cyber-cactus. In case you want to know how you do this on the road in a strange country, this is how I did it:
1) Got the cafe to upload my full 256 Mb digital camera flashcard to a CD. For this you need your camera and USB cable, OR a little portable cardreader. I carry both. And a blank CD, easily bought for 10 pesos here. 2) He burned the CD for 20 pesos (about $2). 3) I then used the free Kodak www.ofoto.com to upload some of the photos into an OFOTO album, which basically resizes them from hi res to web-res. 4) I then selected photos from the album, right-click copying them to the desktop. 5) I then used a bit of basic html and the Bike Friday web-based news facility to upload the shots to this story, which is how I got this story up in the first place. And you think I am on vacation? Last night I had the worst meal of the trip. I went against my better judgement and sought refuge and a bit of socializing in a "Let's Go" recommended cafe, called El Gato Gordo (The Fat Cat). "You'll meet lots of travelers there", chimed the book. I think the most I met were their eyes, pitying this lone Japanese tourist clutching her journal. I informed the waiter that since I was taking a table for 4 with just one butt, he was welcome to offer the remaining three seats to any group that came in. I could see that this was not desired by the groups that entered. Oh no, a stranger! And she probably doesn't speak Eeeenglish. Let's just stand here clutching our "Lonely Planets" with a disaffected air and wait. Thus, I sat alone at my table, ate a mediocre pasta served by a Spanglish speaking muchacho, watching the huddles of two and three backpackers chainsmoking and drinking Nescafe (yes it's true - the coffee is going the way fresh juices have gone to Coke and Sprite). I spotted a lone diner nosing his Mexico Handbook and sporting a bright yellow rainjacket. Now, only cyclists wear that kind of jacket. Backpackers usually wear the hue of Ponderosa pine or Colorado mud or that navy blue and burgancy I hate. I coulda woulda shoulda gone up and said hi, but I guess I am a little out of practice.
A little local boy came to my table and laid out a selection of quite cute little animals made of baru, ie mud. 10 pesos, he said (about a dollar). He looked tired as if unable to make his sales quota. I felt sorry for him. It reminded me that to sell anything you still need to pretend to smile, as I did not feel motivated to buy. I flipped into marketing mode and suggested he make gato gordos (fat cats) to sell to the disaffected tourists in the cafe. I could tell he was in no mood to receive my marketing suggestions and listlessly sidled off.
Another came with some ballpoint pens dressed up as ninja turtles. He too was not interested in my ideas for the expansion of his enterprise. Nor was I, to tell the truth. 3 French lads came in and hovered around my table, eyeing the dregs of my pasta. I invited them to sit down as I was leaving. They had landed in Cancun and were driving through Mexico over 2 weeks. We then had a nice convo in which they informed me they wanted to rent bikes - so I pointed them to Los Pinguinos. They also gave me some tips about Palenque and Tulum.
Thus, I left the cafe in higher spirits despite a foul stomach.
In America they tell me there's a saying "I don't want to get involved." When traveling, it's all about getting involved, otherwise, why bother to have a passport? When I return to the states I fully intend to get involved. Look out! I am going to involve you in my life!
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Here we are in Teopisca, at the start of our week long amble. From left, Eileen Lafer (Pocket Rocket Pro), Ursula our guide from los Pinguinos (Cannondale MTB), Lynette Chiang (Crusoe Tourlite), Eileen's husband Rui (New World Tourist). Photographer was Ursula's partner Joel, who good-naturedly called our bikes 'una broma' (a joke) until they folded into his little car, thus making the start of the trip possible, then they were 'una buen broma' (a darn good joke).
Tuesday, Dec 30, 2003
I am now sitting in a cybercafe in a vibrant little town called Comitan, quite close to the Guatemalan border. Internet here costs around 5 pesos, or under 50 cents an hour.
I've spent the past 4 days cycling on an impromptu week-long tour entitled "Highlands of Chiapas", organized by a small local company called Los Pinguinos. My companions on this little tour are Eileen Lafer and Hubby Rui Pocket Rocket Pro and New World Tourist owners from San Antonio, Texas. Eileen is a marvellous example of resilience and recovery; a year and a half ago she was hit by an SUV while commuting on her bicycle and broke her pelvis. She spent several weeks in a walking frame and months recovering from the pain. Her story would make you think she'd have sworn off getting on a bike forever.
"On the contrary," she said, as we rolled along a packed gravel road through a small village called El Triunfo in Chiapis, the speedbump-like hills of Mexico ringing the horizon. "It made me even more determined to assert my rights as a cyclist." I hope to write more about her amazing recovery later.
One of the biggest shocks for me was discovering that Chiapas is almost as cold as Oregon at night. We're about 5000 or so feet above body surfing level. I was alternately cursing under my breath at the weather and congratulating myself for packing fleece gloves, hat, baklava, and the classic Campy wool jersey gifted to me by BF Torchmeister Peter Kaspar in a moment of mental instability. Touring tip: Buy one of those Terry thin baklavas and carry it always in your handlebar bag.
Chiapas is one of the hillier areas of Mexico. You'll hear people say the state is dangerous because of the Zapatista uprising of 1994, where quite a few folk were killed as the indigenous factions sought to regain their land rights. Now it seems that any problems are of the usual drugs and drunkenness kind. I have been warned not to ride to Palenque as I might well be robbed. Mexico has a spectacular bus and colectivo (small shared vans) system that enables anyone to go practically anywhere for a reasonable price.
We spent the first day careening downhill before stopping for a breakfast of meatball soup and tortillas in a tiny kitchen at the back of a market. Adios! is what you say to folks as you glide past. I am sure we are getting more attention because of the small wheels. We slept at a place called Las Cascadas de Chiflon, a waterfall with a bracing river and rustic cabins for around $20 a room, complete with cold shower. Brrrrr. "It's an ECOLOGICAL place," said our guide Ursula, by way of explaining the cold shower. Ursula and I are sharing a room which makes it more affordable.
On the road through the highlands of Chiapas ...
The next day we went 'off road'. Eileen had been worried about her Pocket Rocket Pro on this 24 km stretch of gravel but the bike did not fall apart as feared. It has taken me a while to realize that you can tackle quite difficult terrain on skinny tires; for me they tend to cut through the gravel like a knife, rather than skate like some wider tires. The dirt road went through sugar cane fields and sleepy villages where life seems simple, sultry and uncomplicated. However, instead of billboards and neon signs there are clapped-out cars cruising the main square with megaphones blaring the latest deals in the grainstore down the road.
Mexico is full of Mayan ruins. We stopped at a place called Chincultic, which featured a 7th century pyramid. Having been born in the relatively youthful land down under, my mind always boggles at anything older than 1700 AD. The entrance to the ruins featured a 'ball court' where apparently, games were played and the losers were sacrificed to the gods. I guess we have come a long way since then. The pyramid was crawling with turistas and a man giving what I thought was a lecture on the history of the site. Straining my ears to translate his Espagnol, I realized it was more of a sermon on the mount. This is common in Latin America. You'll be riding a bus and a mobile evanglist will get on and provide spiritual food for thought for the rest of your commute.
We arrived at a mystical place called Lagunas de Montebellos. This is a giant reserve with 62 lakes of all different hues. In Laguna Bosque Azul, we rented rustic A-frame cabins for 50 pesos a night each (around $5). These cabins are extremely basic but strangely romantic. A double bed downstairs, and up a precarious staircase in the loft is another bed, with a little balcony. The workmanship suggests they were constructed completely from slices of tree, a hammer and nails, nada mas.
My mattress featured a nice, sharp rogue spring poking skyward, which was fine as long as I did not roll over to the other side. Of course I notified the proprietor and I am sure she has rectified it already with a pair of wire cutters.
The meal in the adjoining restaurant shack was Chicken Milanese i.e. crumbed chicken fillet, slices of avocado, tomato and cucumber, a hot sauce, bowl of beans and a stack of tortillas, for around $3. It is interesting to note how simple the notion of a meal really is. A roof, a handful of ingredients, a stove, and someone to put it together. That's all. In contrast, a fancy Western restaurant has carpet, aircon/heating, fancy upholstered chairs and tables, linen, light fittings, arty art on the walls, brass taps in the toilet, insinkerator, range hood, freezer, fridge, bar, a stereo piping music to munch to, insurance .... being in Mexico makes me realize how many layers above the crust of the earth we are in the developed world.
If you ever get to Lagunas de Montebello I recommend you stay a couple of nights. The woods are alternately misty and sunny, the lake is tranquil and I read that someone can even row you to Guatemala on their raft for about $7. Be aware that there is no shower (another "ecological" place), so for cyclists take your stove and Ortleib folding bowl for a warmish sponge bath.
The ride from the Lagunas to Comitan was a hard 54 km for me. Hard because it was a long, straight road that went up and down, up and down, up and down... I much prefer unpredictable hairpin bends so your brain does not fossilize with boredom. It was quite a while before I got a feeling that the pedaling couldn't be this hard... I even offloaded my clothes bag onto Valkyrie Ursula and my miscellaneous stuff bag onto Gladiator Rui and still I was struggling ... perhaps the detractors were right about small wheels... maybe you DO have to pedal more... maybe ... I stopped, to discover my rear brakes were almost completely locking up my rear wheel. As were the front ones. Moral: check your steed before you set off.
I'll try and upload a picture when I stop at the next Cyber-cactus...
The view on the plane from Mexico City to Tuxtla Gutierrez, capital of Chiapas.
GEAR FREAK CORNER Part 2:
Yes, Chiapas is very hilly. I am riding my personal Tourlite Crusoe (TLC), reasonably heavily loaded, as I weigh around 95 pounds. This model is not designed for quite as much abuse as the New World Tourist, but here I am, pushing the envelope again, but don't say Lynette said unless you weigh as little as I do!
My TLC is set up with the widest range imaginable because I am a proud wuss when it comes to hills, especially when carrying lots of stuff. Thus: Ultegra triple chainrings, 34,44,56, Deore XT Cassette 11-34 (this giving a gear range of around 18-90" on 18" tires, perfect in my book for loaded touring). Note that the new left fold frame design means I do not have to remove the crank for packing. Whooopee. XTR derailleur, Bar end shifters, H-bars set up with the brakes on the end bits rather than the crossbar, giving me an almost "STI" road riding hand position. I find this better for control on the downhills. This is a setup you can do yourself at home if you have H-bars and grip or bar-end shifters. Thank you to BF Service Guy Tim Link for expertly tuning my bike and installing my triple for this trip!
Tires: I have a Conti 1.5" grand Prix on the back and a Stelvio Kevlar 1.25" on the front which were just fine for riding though some dirt tracks to get to the cabins yesterday. I am probably going to swipe Rui's spare Comet Kevlar before they fly out in two days Just In Case. Make sure your spare tire is a good one - I grabbed what I thought was a decent spare from my locker at work - a Schwalbe City Marathon 1.25" but discovered it was full of holes and glass. I cleaned it up but when riding down the highway, I looked down to see the sidewall bulging from wear and tear. So now I am down to my Stelvio. Why do I have two different tire widths? I just didn't get my act together...
I am carrying Ortleib waterproof panniers on the BF Gavin Donohue Folding Rear Rack and a simple squashable handlebar bag. I did look at those fancy boxy handlebar bags but mine packs flat in the suitcase. Speaking of packing, the 406 wheeled Crusoe packs easier than my demo 451 wheeled Pro - I could easily pack my helmet in a corner. It's the smaller rims.
Add these items to your must-take trip list: Medium zip-loc bags for everything from food to a wet bar of soap, paper napkins (good for toilet paper, cleaning hands etc), citronella candle for light and chasing away mosquitoes... and the wet wipes are handy too, although a small bottle of alcohol does the same trick (but don't use it to cleanse DOWN THERE unless you're a masochist). As you can see the key is dual functionality in everything you bring.
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The rain... the cold... Lynette fled the challenging Eugene winter for Mexico just before Xmas and hopes to bring you a regular update whenever she approaches a cactus posing as a cybercafe...
January 2004: the Iraq war distant, but close to all.
Wed Dec 23, 2003
I DON'T GET IT. I have just landed in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico, the quaintest little mountaintop town reeking of Spanish colonial character, not unlike Trinidad in Cuba or Antigua in Guatemala, with half-a-lane wide cobbled streets, a perfect place for WALKING, strolling, promenading, cycling ... yet ... wait for it - these streets are crammed with a constant stream of taxis, minibuses, trucks, and the odd private vehicle. It's like watching a luge with one car zipping by after another. It's as if the locals think the pavement is poisonous.
What creates this apparent laziness to walk in an utterly walkable town?
"Si, drivers have absolutely no respect for cyclists or even pedestrians here," says Ursula, Swiss owner of Los Pinguinos Bike Tours, where I am holed up at present. "So everyone takes refuge in cars."
It is a great pity. As I type there is a constant vroom of engines passing one by one outside the cyber cafe.
Nonetheless, I managed to leap clear of the marauding cars to make it to the market intact, and have just now partaken of everything boiled, fried, kneaded and tossed on offer, including delicious soft tacos with pork (did I say I was vegetarian?), chips fried in a giant vat of oil, a chalupa that I hoped was healthy because of the sprig of beetroot and carrot on top, a cheese custard pie, finished off with a two'tone fruit and coco custard jello and an ﳰonchﲠ- a hot, syrupy drink with fruit at the bottom.
The town is a maze of little tiled lanes walled in by painted, faded houses and shopfronts. There are no Golden Arches, like in San Jose Costa Rica, thank goodness. Passing by the numerous open doors, being careful to not slip on the slanted barrow-ways every second door with my SPD cycling shoes, one gets to glimpse into the dark recesses to see a carpenter at work, a micro pharmacy, bakeries selling just two kinds of bread roll, a simple hostel with dorm prices from 40 pesos (under $3 a night including internet and breakfast), moderate hotels called posadas ranging from $12 a night, and some Vogue livingesque hacienda hotels from $70 a night. I saw a man pedaling a bicycle-powered knife sharpener. I love the way people in less Westernized countries (I say 'less' because I do see a VW jetta dealership next to the crumbling hardware store and a hispeed internet cafe on practically every corner) do things in a away that is simple, effective, and close to the crust of the earth. In Eugene I woke to the roar of a man brandishing a leaf blower outside my window ... I was almost compelled to rush out there and thrust a rake into his hands, a rake which uses human energy rather than gas, provides warmth-generating and heart-disease reducing exercise for the raker, and does not pollute the air with noise or fumes... But I digress.
The food in Mexico is delicious and amazingly cheap. It has restored my faith in the cuisine. When I first landed in the USA and was served the same trio of rice beans and cheese congealed on a plate in several permutations I swore never to set foot inside a so-called Mexican restaurant again, even if it was for my mother's birthday. Here, the food is nothing like that Tex Mex blech (apologies to the folks who subsist on the stuff if I offend). Soft corn tortillas fresh pressed and heated, served with slivers of barbecued pork, chicken and beef, with green salsa and cilantro, goopless. Under 30 cents. A full steak or fish main for 32 pesos, or around $3.
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This trip was a last minute decision. My Cuba book, alas, hit a snag when my publisher was not be able to publish it by the promise date, ie Dec 1, 2003. With all the bleating we'd done about it in the Bike Friday newsletter and emails, I felt, to say the least, in a bit of a pickle. Those folks who insisted on having one pronto paid a handsome $20 for exclusive copies I had airlifted from downunder. Judging from the enthusiastic comments on my The Handsomest Man in Cuba" forum they seem to think it was worth it, thank goodness. I have about a dozen more coming. The comments have encouraged me to put up over $2000 to self publish - watch for it in Feb when I return from Mexico, and the subsequent BF and book tour extravaganza...I hope those of you who offered a camping spot in their living room are still up for it!). But before launching in that caper, Eileen Lafer, a new Pocket Rocket Pro in San Antonio, mentioned she was taking her bike on a 1 week tour by an obscure but guidebook-recommended Mexican bike tour operator, and invited me to join her.
Two days before departure I found a ticket on America West for $908 to Tuxtla Gutierrez, a 2-hour bus ride from San Cristobal. Not a bargain, but the S.A.D.-combatting lamp in my bedroom was not having the desired theraputic effect. I said, "why not?"
So here I am.
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Ursula, the Swiss proprietor of Los Pinguinos (meaning The Penguins) bike hire, came here 10 years ago, met a local bike racer Joel, and has been here ever since. In my book The Handsomest Man in Cuba" I talk about a couple of women who have done this, who have met a local in a different lat-long and taken the plunge. What creates the ability to make such a monumental decision? "Well, you never really know for sure," says Ursula. "All you can do is say, I'll give it a try and see." Maybe the decision is simply not that monumental...
I am staying in Ursula and husband Joel's posada, or room for rent. It's a clean but basic, painted concrete room with dorm beds and blankets, for $12 a night. Last night was cold ... SC is up in the mountains, and it was a 2 hour winding bus ride to get here. The buses, by the way, are plentiful and first class. The ride here was 40 pesos, or under $4.
After the 1 week bike tour that Ursula planned for Eileen ($250) I am planning to ride to Palenque and loiter among the Mayan ruins. I was going to take 3 days to ride the 150 km or so distance, but Ursula has warned me that many cyclists, including her husband, have been robbed at around the halfway point which is a haven for drugged up locals with not much on their hands.
"They come out with machetes and demand whatever you have," she said. They could be bluffing, but one never knows when faced with a two foot long machete... I have a 1.5 foot long one and I scare even myself with it when I go blackberrying. So I will probably be a sensible galfromdownunder and ride halfway there, take the bus over the dodgy part (that's Aussie for 'questionable') and ride the rest of the way. I think it wise not to camp. Note that I had no problems in Nicaragua, Panama, Cuba and Costa Rica...
GEAR FREAK CORNER: I went to scrounge a trailer out of inventory and the cupboard was bare .. probably due to Bike Friday's 30% off trailer pre-Christmas deal. So I am using panniers and yes, the suitcase will need to be stored at the hostel.
Thanks to a 20% off coupon from The Next Adventure in Portland that NWT owner Jennifer Robare gave me, I pounced on a new GO-LITE backpack and matching daypack. These ripstop nylon packs weigh practically nothing but claim to be super strong and water resistent, developed by some guru ultralight backpacking fanatic, and made in China of course. The problem with bike touring with panniers has always been, what if you want to stow the bike and do some backpacking on a trip? These packs would appear to carry all your kit on the plane like a good duffle, but unlike a bulky backpack, squash down to nothing when on the bike - you could even use them to sit on when cooking and eating. When you want to leave the bike and panniers somewhere and backpack, you simply roll out the GO-LITES. That's the theory. They are delightfully light. The backpack was $50, the daypack which has three fabulous giant external mesh pockets, was $69. Do a Google and take a look. I was introduced to the concept of ultralight backpacking by former BF salesguy Jeff Bryce, who carries little more than a stove and a tarp even in precipitous conditions. The other piece of kit I am researching is the all-weather Hennessy Hammock, specifically the 15 oz Extreme Adventure model. "Like crawling in and out of a big v.....," reports Rohloff GNU owner Janet North. "You'll give birth to yourself many times over."
I'll try and post when I get near a wired cactus. Apologies for any typos, the Spanish keyboard is a challenge...
Complete Galfromdownunder in Mexico chronicles
Photos and text Copyright 2004 Lynette Chiang www.galfromdownunder.com
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