Into Guatemala

Unfortunately, I don’t have any photos of this episode in my trip because my camera was stolen.

The Border

Crossing the border into Guatemala at Talisman fairly easy, although the place was littered with people trying to “help.” As I entered the border, all these guys started waving cash at me, wanting to change my pesos into Guatemalan quetzales. A few guys ran after me as I cycled by. One guy caught up with me and wanted to show me where to go and what to do. I kept telling him “Estoy bien solo” but he wouldn’t go away. I was consistent, and I finally wore him down.

On the Guatemalan side, I rode up to an area that I thought was immigration. I asked the security guards,but I didn’t understand them. Being a confused gringo on a loaded bike, I attracted a lot of attention, and soon I had about fifteen people surrounding me, laughing.

A couple of them urged me to follow them, so in desperation, I did. They led me back to immigration. I got my passport stamped and paid about $1. The guys who helped me wanted me to get a photocopy of my passport at a place opposite the immigration office. It seemed like a scam. “Give me your passport. I will be back in a moment with your photocopies.” Then I’d probably have to pay them to get my passport back. Who knows? I’m just imagining. I told them no. They threw their hands at me, frustrated with the cheap, paranoid gringo.

I rode away from the border, and got my money changed at a small hotel. I didn’t want to deal with a hustling money-changer on the street.

A New Country

The road was good. A tiny shoulder, but the drivers gave me some respect, and didn’t pass too close. I passed through lots of small villages. People were out farming, cutting stuff down with their machetes, and carrying loaded baskets on their heads and piles of wood on their backs. I got some curious looks, but also a lot of smiles, and greetings. A couple of times, a car slowed down beside me to ask where I was going and where I came from.

I was on flat land for a while, longer than I should have been. I realized later that somehow I missed a turn, and I was going the long way to Xela. Although it was longer, it was probably better to stick to the lowlands and then cut up to Xela, instead of going the whole way through the mountains.

At one point when I stopped to rest, an old man with a brimmed hat and a machete came trudging by. I said, “Buenas tardes.” He turned around, his face lit up with a big smile, and he gave me a big “Bueeenas taardes!” back. Nice old man. I was struck by that.

Guatemalan RideShare

I hit the mountains, and some of those climbs were really steep. More work than fun. I saw that the clouds were getting dark, ready to rain, so I stopped to package up my tent with some garbage bags. As I finished, a truck pulled up, and the driver asked me something I didn’t understand, but I figured he was offering me a ride. So I lifted my heavy-ass bike into the back of his truck and hopped in.

His name was Victor Hugo. Cool name. I tried to make some conversation with my shitty Spanish, and he was patient with me. We stopped at a roadside table-and-chairs setup, and he bought me a Gallo beer, the national brand. He wasn’t going all the way to Xela, but could bring me pretty close.

As I was unloading my bike from his truck, he yelled at the first passing pickup truck, “Xela!” The truck stopped. Victor asked the driver if he could take me the rest of the way to Xela. I unloaded my bike from Victor’s truck into another one.

Jesus was happy to take me to Xela. And he spoke English pretty well. I apologized for my Spanish, and he agreed saying my Spanish was bad. It was a weird thing to say, but I think he was joking around with me. I think. We exchanged information before he dropped me off. He told me I should call him if I need any help.

I met with Eddy, my CouchSurfing host. Not much happened in Xela, but I watched “What Women Want” with Mel Gibson since it came on the TV. Where am I?

Food in Mexico

Here are photos of some of the meals I had in Mexico, mostly in Tapachula.  All these were extremely cheap.  $2, maybe $3.

Those carrots are hot.

I drank a lot of jamaica.

This is what the mangoes I bought looked like when I was almost through.  Really juicy.

A shopkeeper in Tapachula figured out I was new to the area, so he gave me a green mango, limes, and chile powder, and told me what to do.  A gift.

Tapachula

I spent about five days in Tapachula, planning the rebirth of my cycling trip.

Tapachula is in the lowlands, so a sweaty back is your constant companion. I would feel pretty clean for about 10 minutes after showering, and then my pores would start to drip again.

My stay in Tapachula reminded me of the summer in Atlanta where my roommates and I went without A/C. All the windows open, shorts, no shirt, bugs. It was an “open format.” A culture of shorts. You had to be one with the outside community of insects. The first night I was in Tapachula, a large cockroach flew over and landed on my computer screen. Operating under an open format, you have to accept this, although it was rude of the roach to obscure my view. I brushed him off and shooed him along.

One of the highlights was buying a bag of about 20 mangoes for 10 pesos, which is about $0.75. So I ate a lot of mangoes in the tropical heat of Tapachula. I made sure I was shirtless when I ate them. Natural one.

My bike got damaged and really dirty sitting on the back of Kevin’s car, so I had to do a big job on it. The front wheel was way out of whack from hitting speed bumps, the rims got pock marks from stones flying up and hitting it at high speed, and dirt from the exhaust pipe and road and Mexico City got all over.

I visited the migrant shelter where Fabian is volunteering. The shelter houses migrants from all over Central America and even Colombia who are trying to make it to the US. A common (free) mode of transport to the border is to sit on top of the train, but many times they fall off, and if they don’t die, they might lose a limb. I walked into one of the rooms where about six guys were staying and they all had either lost legs, burns on their body, or a combination.  It was shocking.

I helped out at the shelter by playing chess with a few of the people, and letting two boys play with my computer.

I had a conversation with one El Salvadorian woman who had been living in Mexicali, CA, but got deported because of child abuse. She was on her way back to the US, but fell off the train, and lost a few of her toes. She told me, matter-of-factly, that “I liked working as a stripper, but I also liked working in prostitution.” I didn’t know how to respond. “Oh yeah, is it pretty good for money?” .

On my last night in Tapachula, I went with Fabian to play soccer with some of his Mexican friends. I definitely felt out of place. All this chatter in Spanish, and I didn’t understand any of it. And as we were warming up, the Mexican guys were all doing tricks, showboating their skills. All I did was trap the ball and pass. Boring. No courage.

But when we started playing, it changed for me. I could compete with these guys. I actually got the feeling I was one of the better players. Maybe because I was bigger than most of them. I think I scored the most goals too.

We stopped playing at about 1:30 am. I got to bed at 2, and had to get up at 7 am to leave Tapachula.

Drive to Tapachula

Kevin was in a bad mood. He told me that his wife angry with him for losing $650 to the police in Mexico City and that she wants him to stop messing around and get to Costa Rica right away. Taking a week to travel through Mexico was apparently too much time for his wife. She was suspicious that we were out partying and whoring around.

So Kevin’s “flow like water” attitude dissipated. He told me that he wanted to get to the border at Tapachula and skip staying in Oaxaca. It sucks because Oaxaca is supposed to be one of the highlights of Mexico. We skipped it.

It was a really long drive to Tapachula. On the way, my plan changed. I didn’t want to drive through Central America at this new, wife-pressured pace. I wanted to get out at Tapachula and continue my bike trip from there.

Luckily, Fabian, our host in Tapachula, was a really cool guy. A 21-year-old German who’s spending 6 months volunteering at a migrant shelter. We were his first CouchSurfing experience.

I took Fabian aside, told him my plan, and asked him if it would be alright if I could stay a little longer. He said I could stay as long as I liked. His place was a great setup. He had two roommates, but one of them had just moved out, so I had a room and bed to myself.

I told Kevin about my idea to split up. I was going to sleep on it, and decide in the morning. Kevin was disappointed, but he tried to be supportive. Flowing like water.

The next morning, I was still hesitant about what to do, although I was leaning towards splitting up. I gave my sister, Eleanor, a call on Skype. She didn’t hesitate: I should bike through Guatemala. And then she said, “Hey, I could fly down and visit you.” That was the swing vote.

I felt bad for Kevin because he appreciated my company and I had agreed to go the distance with him to Costa Rica. To be his road dog. But things changed. Mexico City and Kevin’s wife. That’s what happened, and the trip wasn’t fun anymore.

Puebla

Not a whole lot happened in Puebla. Jason, Dina, and I visited the ruins in nearby Cholula, while Kevin stayed at the house and slept. Apparently, the pyramid was the largest ever created, based on volume, but it wasn’t as tall as the Great Pyramid in Egypt. However, the pyramid is buried under the earth now, and they’ve only excavated parts of it.

I ran to the top of these steps, like Rocky would.  There’s even a boring video HERE.

Our Host: Jason

Jason had an interesting story, maybe I mean peculiar. He’s a Californian in his twenties. He didn’t go to college. He said he got out of high school as the education system was “blowing up” for him, whatever that means. He was describing some explosion. Jason’s been self-educating himself by reading books and listening to books on tape, and probably some podcasts or something. He’s been in Mexico for two years, but he doesn’t do the backpacking thing. He says he would miss the comforts of home too much. Jason’s been living in Puebla with Dina, a Mexican, for nine months, but he doesn’t have a job and he doesn’t volunteer. He says his job is “to keep Dina happy.” I felt that Jason was always trying to prove his knowledge on anything we talked about. I accepted a submissive role to let him be the expert because I didn’t care, and it was obviously important to him. It worked out well for me though when we got on the subject of Spanish; I got some great, free lessons. And he was a good teacher, I have to admit.

Jason is also a vegan. So no meat and no dairy. That’s just making your life difficult. Kevin and I asked him for recommendations on places to eat near his house. Jason said he really didn’t know because he hasn’t eaten anywhere. He basically only eats at home. Why would you do that to yourself?

The answer was pretty obvious. Jason is suffering an identity crisis. Since he doesn’t have a degree, he’s being the free-thinking, self-educated, worldly one. The sad part is that all that self-education doesn’t help much when it comes time to try to earn some money and support yourself. And the vegan thing. Boxing yourself up and limiting your options so you can say you’re different, “I’m a vegan.” “Good job man. That must be difficult.”

Water

The water situation was “interesting” too. Everybody has a big tank of water on their roof. They get water pumped into the tank once a week. If you run out of water before then, you call a special service that’ll fill it up for you, for a fee. Jason and Dina called, so these guys showed up in their old truck, pulled out a ladder, and ran the hose up to the tank.

Then, when they went to leave, their truck wouldn’t start up. They used Dina’s car to give it a jump. This would seem “unprofessional” in the US for a business to make a house call with a broken truck. Not in Mexico.

Mexico City and Teotihuacan

Mexican Extortion

We left Guadalajara at 4 am. By 10 am, we were approaching Mexico City. We had to go through a police check point. The cop asked if we were carrying any pot. Then, he leaned in, pointed to me, and asked Kevin, “Are you traveling with your girlfriend?” That was just a primer to shit we were going to encounter from the police in Mexico City.

The nightmare started quickly after that.

A cop on a motorcycle signaled for us to pull over. We followed him as he led us to a discrete location. As we pulled in, some guy came out of nowhere, acting like he was official with his unmarked navy jacket. He spoke some English so he was trying to act as the translator, but Kevin speaks fluent Spanish, so he was unnecessary. The cop told Kevin that foreign cars aren’t allowed to circulate through the city before 11 am. It was 10:15 am. He threatened to tow the car and impound it for 48 hours, and the fine would be 8000 pesos, which is about $600. However, he’d let us go if we “helped him out” by paying him 4000 pesos, $300. Kevin pleaded with him, but there was nothing we could do. Calling his bluff would be dangerous. Who knows if we’d ever get the car or any of our stuff back? Kevin paid. We both felt sick.

The cop gave us a small piece of paper with something scribbled on it and told us that if we got pulled over again, we could show the piece of paper, and we would be safe.

We were trying to find our way to Teotihuacan, the Aztec ruins just outside of Mexico City. We had to go into the city to get the road out of the city. On the way, we got really lost. But we were able to witness the horrible traffic, the pollution, and the people-everywhere that makes Mexico City famous.

We also saw a truck full of swine on the way.

We put on our masks.

Teotihuacan

When we got to Teotihuacan and parked, about five guys approached us trying to sell us souvenirs. I kept saying I didn’t have any money. One guy was insistent, holding up a tribal mask, “This is volcanic rock. Very rare. Handmade. This is my work.” An artisan selling his work in the parking lot. Kevin was pestered too, and he couldn’t resist it. He bought two of the masks and some shitty bracelets for $60. Kevin’s bad at saying no. Every time window-washers would force themselves on us, he would give something.

As we were leaving the parking lot, the souvenir guys were admiring my bike on the back of the car. “I like your bike. Very nice. How much did it cost?” One of them suggested $250. I said I didn’t know because it was a gift, but it was probably about that much. Lie. The bike was locked down to the car, but I was paranoid still. Those guys were slimey.

When we walked into the Teotihuacan grounds, we saw a lot more people selling souvenirs. And guess what? We saw more of those “handmade” masks. Volcanic rock. That’s bullshit. Probably made out of resin. Kevin got ripped off. And this was the $300 bribe. You’d think he’d have recoiled into fetal position.

There are two pyramids at Teotihuacan: the sun and the moon. We climbed up both. They were both definitely impressive. A lot of the site had obviously been renovated as there was cement between the rocks. The Aztecs must not have been master masons.

Passing through the Gauntlet

We left Teotihuacan, and headed for Puebla. But first, we had to go around the perimeter of the city. We took what looked like a highway on the map, Mex-132, but it seemed a lot more like a surface street. When we were about five kilometers away from leaving the city, a police truck pulled up next to us and signaled us to pull over.

There were two trucks full of police. One parked in front, the other behind. There were about eight cops. We were surrounded. Feeding frenzy. We were told this time that foreign cars can’t circulate through the city at all. He wanted to tow the car. Kevin showed him the piece of paper that cop #1 had given him, but this cop didn’t honor it. It didn’t mean anything to him. The cop insisted he wanted to just do his job and impound the car for 48 hours. Kevin pleaded with him, and asked if he could pay him something directly, a bribe. The cop said the fine would be 3000 pesos regularly, but that he would accept half as a bribe. Actually, 1750 pesos, $135, because he would have to split it between all the guys there, about eight of them. So Kevin bought them lunch. The cop gave Kevin a business card with something written on it. The cop said that with this card, we wouldn’t get bothered again by police as we left the city. Apparently, he had written a “code word” on it.

One of the police trucks followed us for about five minutes, then disappeared. About two minutes later, a cop standing on the side of the road pulled us over. Same story, no foreign cars allowed. Kevin showed him the card, but it wasn’t honored. They don’t even honor each other’s code words. At least not when gringos with seemingly-bottomless pockets are involved. The cop told us that the previous cops should have helped us by escorting us out of the city. He also told us that we should have taken the toll highways because we wouldn’t have been bothered on that. However, the first time we were stopped, we were traveling on the toll highway. Kevin asked the cop how much he needs. $200. Kevin had run out of pesos by this point. When the cop came back to receive the bribe underneath his folio, Kevin gave him $220. The cop arranged a taxi for us to follow that would lead us to the toll road and get us out of the city. As we followed the taxi, we wondered where it was really leading us. Once again, we had nothing to keep another cop from stopping us and scaring us into another bribe. Luckily, the taxi actually did bring us to the toll road.

As we approached the toll booth, I offered to pay the toll since Kevin had already suffered a lot. It was 85 pesos, so I handed Kevin 205. The woman handed back 20, and Kevin just took it and drove. He didn’t check at all. He pulled over, and I ran back, ready to stumble through an argument in Spanish over money. The woman handed me the 100.

We made it to Puebla without any other problems, and met our hosts, Jason and Dina.

Guadalajara

Drive to Guadalajara

Kevin and I left Guasave really late, like 1 pm. It was at least 10 hours to Guadalajara. It was a difficult ride because I got tired, and then Kevin got chatty. He went into detail about his interest in rocks, and wanting to use his metal detector to find gold, “Find a few ounces … that would pay for the trip.” It was hard to stay awake.

We got into Guadalajara at 1am. Our host, Rodolfo, was great. He came to meet us at an easy-to-find location, and we followed him back. Luckily, he had more free time at the moment because the swine flu canceled all classes for a few weeks.

Rodolfo’s place was great. He lived with his mom, but she was gone at the moment. House party! Kevin and I got a bed each.

Centro

The next day, Rodolfo offered to drop us into the center of town. On the way, we stopped to get lunch at Rodolfo’s favorite Torta place.

I got a pork torta with a rice water drink. All the gravy underneath the sandwich is apparently something unique to Guadalajara. I think I had to pay about 30 pesos, so just a little more than $2.

Rodolfo drove us into town, and dropped us off. Kevin and I walked around and took photos. Neither of us really knew what to see or do, and I could sense Kevin’s awkwardness with the situation.

I tried to make the best of it, and I kept upbeat. At one point, I noticed a hottie with a body so I pointed it out to Kevin, “Damn, look at her.” I guess I caught some of Mario’s spirit. Kevin said, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that,” referring to my lack of participation in girl-watching the previous day in Guasave. “Dude, I’m not trying to showboat how much I like the opposite sex.” That irritated me.

Leaving Guadalajara

We took a taxi back to Rodolfo’s place, and started thinking about leaving Guadalajara. Rodolfo said that when he makes the drive to Mexico City, he leaves at night. So Kevin and I started flowing like water and decided to leave at 4 am the next morning. We got excited about it. Inspired by spontaneity.

Guasave

Drive through Sonora into Sinaloa

We drove through the Northern Mexico desert. It was hot as shit. The seats in car were vinyl, the A/C was broken, and I was in the passenger seat going South, so the sun was constantly on me, melting me. I put a towel up against the window to block to sun, but my back and butt kept being sweaty. Luckily, we found a Dairy Queen in Guaymas, and we each got a Blizzard. An authentic Mexican treat.

Guasave, Sinaloa

We arrived into Guasave at 11:30 pm. Mario, our host, said we should meet at the Walmart. As we approached the parking lot, there was a car blocking the entrance. It reversed to line up with our car. There were two guys in the car, and they asked us if we wanted some coke. Welcome to Sinaloa, drug capital of Mexico.

Mario was waiting for us in the parking lot. He greeted us with a hug, and a big Barack Obama smile. Mario was the Mexican version of Barack Obama.

Mario invited us over to his friend’s place for a beer. We met Javier and Hugo, and they offered us a Bud Light. Dairy Queen, Walmart, Bud Light: Are we in Mexico?

Mario had mentioned on his CouchSurfing profile about a special investment project. I asked him about it. A big mistake. Mario told us that he is seeking financial independence so he can travel. He has found a few ideas on the internet, which he called “hidden gems.” One of them was a computer robot that deals in Foreign Currency Exchange, a really complicated, high-risk strategy. But Mario seems to trust the “robot” based on what people on the internet are saying about it. He also wants to establish an LLC with an anonymous group in Panama that will make a bunch of different investments using a small initial investment of yours and a lot of corporate credit. He didn’t seem to think this was risky at all. It seemed that he thought credit was free money with no consequences.

Mario was pushing this on us, and it became kind of weird when he told us that he’s looking for an investment partner in the US. I guess he saw us as potential partners. But he’s looking in the wrong place if he’s trying to solicit CouchSurfers.

Mario’s House

We followed Mario back to his house in nearby Nio. He lives with his family, and has a guest house. That probably sounds extravagant, but his home and the guest house were very simple.

The guest house

Mario’s house where his mother and sister live too

The next morning, Mario brought us some breakfast, and wanted to get back on the subject of his investment projects. It was getting strange. But Kevin listened and asked questions. What had sounded really confidant and a “sure thing” the night before, now sounded amateur and desperate. Its seemed like a false hope. Believing too much in investment advertisements on the internet.

Mario took us into Guasave to bring us to his favorite restaurant, a Mexican version of a Chinese restaurant. He bought Kevin and I lunch. It was basically like a Chinese restaurant you’d find in a mall or airport, but with less variety. Manchu Wok.

While we were having lunch, Mario told us about his beach house. It sounded incredible. We decided we’d stay there the night.

Before leaving for the beach, Mario stopped by a place in Guasave and surprised us each with a customized baseball hat. It had Guasave embroidered on the front, our name on one side (mine was Eoin Grosh, missing the “c”), and The City of Friendship (in Spanish) on the other. A really nice gesture. Kevin and I kept thanking him for it.

The Drug-Trafficker’s Beach House

We got a bunch of beer and some food before we left. On the drive, Mario suggested we should start drinking. I thought that was kind of weird, drinking and driving, but he thought it would be fine; the police wouldn’t care.  Okay dude.

Out of nowhere, Mario said, “I used to traffic drugs between Colombia and Sinaloa.”  And he told us all the details.  I guess he felt he could open up to us about his dark past.  For 10 years, Mario was responsible for flying cocaine up from Colombia, not as a pilot, but as the guy who organized the transport.   From Sinaloa, it was then brought up to the US.  He said he made about $1 million dollars in his first 3 months — $40,000 per flight — but unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in saving it.  Mario said he spent it all on women, and the high life.

Mario got into trouble one time, and was in jail for 8 months.  He said his drug bosses helped him through it, and they appreciated him not talking to the police.  But I‘m sure the reason he didn’t talk was to preserve his life.  When he went to trial, he was found not guilty.  The judge was probably bribed.

Mario seems to really love women.  He’s been married 4 or 5 times, and speaks very fondly of Colombian women.  On the drive out to the beach house, Mario started saying how “the only thing we’re missing is some women.” When we were in Guasave, there was a lot of “Oh wow, look at her.” Kevin joined in with a passion.  It seemed they were competing with each other on who was more heterosexual.   “Oh, she looks very nice.  Wow!” in a foreign voice.  Emphatic, desperate longing.

We got to the beach house after dark.  It didn’t have electricity or plumbing, but it had three beds, and was situated in a quiet beach village.  I think it was my first time to be at a non-commercial beach.

Another beach front house:

After eating and talking about how the only thing we’re missing is some women, and then walking out to the beach, looking up at the stars, and talking again about how the only thing we’re missing is some women, a few of Mario’s friends came over.  Javier, who we had met on the first night (photo above) and who is in his 50s, is in love with the daughter of the woman he’s dating.  She’s only 15 years old.  The girl’s mother was there too.  It was odd.

Kevin and I had planned to get up at 5 am to get out of Guasave early, but due to the previous night, we got up late.  We had to just “flow like water” — this became the motto for our trip since Kevin like it a lot too.  It helped us enjoy the trip and not have to worry about schedules.

Mario and I went to the beach for a swim.  It was a completely empty beach.  We got into the water, and I got flipped around in the waves a few times.  We were having a good time, so Mario shouted with enthusiasm, “This is perfect.  The only thing we’re missing is some women.”

We exchanged a few deep hugs with Mario before we left for Guadalajara.  Guasave was truly the City of Friendship.  At first he was an investment solicitor, then a drug trafficker, and then a Casanova.  But in the end, we figured out Mario was just an incredibly generous guy, a good friend.

Going to Mexico, Again

Rod offered to drive me 50 miles to Casa Grande to meet up with Kevin, my rideshare to Costa Rica.  Before we left, we jumped.

We ate at Del Taco, my treat.  Then Kevin arrived in his 1983 Mercedes Benz Diesel.

I had bought a bike rack through craigslist for $25; basically, my ticket to Costa Rica.  While I was packing my bags into the car, Rod, Nathan, and Kevin were really interested in attaching the bike rack to car.  Too many guys working on a simple task.

It was time to say goodbye to Rod and Nathan.  I gave them each a big hug, but an especially big one for Rod; he had saved my ass in Texas, and helped me out a lot in Phoenix.

Kevin and I drove to Tucson.  I had arranged a place for us to stay through CouchSurfing.  Fess was able to host us, but the bad part was that we arrived really late, like 11:30 pm and then got up and left early at around 7:30 am.  So, I felt bad because it was bad CouchSurfing etiquette.  We were basically using Fess’s place as a free hotel.  Fess said he didn’t mind.

Fess was kind of odd.  He’s about 40 and living with his parents.  He told us that he hasn’t worked since 1999 because he likes traveling, and he was happy to showboat his travel knowledge. “I’m more comfortable in third world countries.”  Whatever dude.

Kevin and I crossed the border in Nogales, AZ the next morning.  No problem.  No grenades either.  Kevin was pumped we were in Mexico!  Party boys!

San Antonio

Crossing the Border

We got into Nuevo Laredo at 8:00 am. I changed and put together my bike. Then I took off towards the border.

It was great passing all the cars that were lined up. I was ushered through the pedestrian area. I saw people filing through the turnstiles and having to pay $0.30. The Mexican cop let me through the handicapped gate with my bike. No payment. Gracias amigo!

I stopped to take a photo. I lingered too long. The cop came after me and requested that 30 cents. What I thought was Mexican hospitality was only a mistake. This photo cost me.

On the US side, the border guard was suspicious. What are you carrying in those bags? Why were you in Mexico? Harmless touring cyclist loading up his panniers with drugs.

I’m back in the US! Now I could speak English and expect to be understood. The first guy I asked for directions didn’t speak English.

A Sour Return

I changed my pesos into dollars and then went to Wendy’s to get a wireless connection. Yes, Wendy’s!! I was pumped about these familiar places. I got online and saw Ryan on g-chat. I was pumped.

me: hey i’m in laredo
Ryan: sup dude
me: back in US
Ryan: oh damn
me: oh shit
Ryan: nice
me: where are you?
Ryan: colorado
me: ah well slow down
i’m getting to albuquerque on tues night i believe
Ryan: ohhh. i guess you’re cycling from albuquerque?
me: cycling and hitching maybe
Ryan: hey i was going to ask: do you enjoy touring alone?
me: i only did it for like a day but yeah it was cool
me: why
Ryan: well like you said, i guess there are no compromises you know
i can go at my own pace. stop to see stuff. and change goals whenever
me: are you trying to say you don’t want me back?
Ryan: hah no. i’m saying would you enjoy going it solo more?

Then I wasn’t pumped. I was expecting a warm welcome back. Maybe some air guitar. I got a cold shoulder. What’s wrong with my road dog? I tried to imagine it if our roles were reversed. If he had come down to Mexico to meet me, I would be pumped. You can easily arrange to solo travel; it’s up to you. Traveling with a close friend is harder to arrange. First of all, there aren’t many “close friends.” Then, getting schedules and plans to work out is really difficult. I was trying to make the stars align, but Ryan didn’t seem to care. I didn’t understand it. I still don’t understand it.

Ryan and I talked on the phone, and tried to work it out. His reaction gave me added regrets for coming back. By the end of the conversation, we exchanged I love you’s, and stirred up some enthusiasm for the reunion. It didn’t feel right though. I didn’t expect to have to work for that.

Hitching a Ride

I headed out of Laredo. I tried hitching a ride at an on-ramp to I-35. Nobody stopped.

I got to a gas station and asked guys in trucks if they were going to San Antonio. The first truck I spotted had a bike in the back. I got hopeful, a fellow cyclist. The guy was going to San Antonio, but he couldn’t do it because “he had company with him.” That’s okay.

I went into Subway to eat, and I saw him again. He was eating with his wife. After I finished, I went outside and saw his wife take off in a Suburban, and he followed in his truck. Are you serious dude!?! He’s got company?! They were traveling alone, together. With lots of space. A damn truck and Suburban.

I kept asking, zoning in on guys with trucks. Ladies would be spooked. A couple of young guys came out of their truck. This was promising. I asked but they weren’t going to San Antonio. However, they offered to take me up the road a little bit, to a tourist center. They said the tourist center would be a great place to ask. Lots of people would be stopping there on their way to San Antonio.

The tourist center sucked. Pretty barren. The lady inside gave me a bunch of brochures of San Antonio, but I didn’t want that. I needed a damn ride.

I left the tourist center. I biked up the road, on the interstate. I wanted to get to the next gas station to hitch a ride. On the way, as I was biking, I stuck out my thumb. Maybe I could hitch a ride from my bike. Cycling hitchhiker didn’t work.

Up ahead, all the cars were being funneled through an inspection station. I didn’t feel this concerned me, and I had some great momentum, so I hauled ass at 20 mph towards a closed lane to bypass the wait. As I was going through, the border guards yelled out, “whoa whoa whoa.” So I stopped. Damn, that pissed them off. I told them I didn’t think I needed to stop. “What do you think we’re doing here?!” They told me to step away from the bike, and they had the dog sniff my bags. I was clean. I got out of there quick.

I made it to Encinal, TX. Really small town with nothing. But it had a big, active gas station. I started asking. Lots of rejections. Then a couple of Mexican guys came by. They were going to San Antonio. The guy said it was okay with him, but he’d have to ask his buddy. He went into the store. I stood outside, waiting and hoping. Not many options. He came out a few minutes later, “You ready? You want to throw your bike in the back?” Hell yeah dude.

Abel and Juan. I shook their hands, “Mucho gusto.” They rearranged the bed of their truck and helped me load it in there. They were from El Paso, but were doing construction down in Laredo. They were heading to San Antonio to catch a flight to El Paso. Apparently, they were up late the night before, partying until 3 am. Juan, who didn’t speak English, got some “good pussy.” When I told them I got a degree in engineering, they were all, “Ooooh, an engineer,” and “I’m not too good with math. I’m good and lifting stuff.” Abel was joking around about it, but it seemed like he wasn’t proud of his education. He told me he never went to high school; he stopped in the equivalent of 8th grade.

My host worked at the airport, and lived pretty close by, so it was lucky that Abel and Juan were going there. When we got to the airport, they only had about 30 minutes before their plane left. They helped me get my bike out of the truck, and I got a quick photo before they dashed for the terminal.

I biked over to Carey’s place. Once again, biking in a big city during Friday rush hour. This time, San Antonio.

Carey and Carrie

I met Carey and his (just-recently-engaged) fiance, Carrie. Carey and Carrie. They seemed a little weirded out at first. I found out it was their first hosting experience  through CouchSurfing. “You’re not going to kill us or anything, right?” hahhaha. “You didn’t bring the swine flu with you, right?” hahahh. That kind of stuff isn’t cool. I understand it, but it puts me on edge. But they warmed up. Later on in my stay with them though, Carey told me he sent his family information on me “… just in case.” That’s something I didn’t need to know. It makes me feel distant.  Like a piece of shit.

Carey and Carrie both work for Southwest airlines. Carey was on disability for a back injury.  He’s a baggage handler. He was home for about a month, watching TV and walking the dog.

Carey had made spaghetti and offered me some. Great. I ran out to the store to pick up some brownies. Treat them to dessert.  It’s tradition at this point.

There were a bunch of brownies left over, probably half the tray. I started getting ready for bed. A while later, after Carrie had already gone to sleep, I came out as Carey was carrying over a chunk of about 4 brownies in his hand. He’s a guy who prides himself on how much he eats. “I’m a big guy. I eat a lot.” Maybe his baggage handler friends like to talk about how much they eat. I didn’t really mind him eating the brownies.

What was weird though was that the next day, all the brownies were gone. I couldn’t find them anywhere. Dude, I made those, and it would be cool if you had left some for me. Give me the opportunity to have some more of the brownies I made. Oh and by the way, I had to buy the vegetable oil *and* eggs. Typically, our hosts would have that stuff, and Ryan and I would be able to use a 1/4 cup of oil and 1 egg . I had more invested in this batch. And now it was all gone. Damn.

Then, later in the day, when Carrie came home, she complained about Carey taking all the spaghetti. She was hungry. He laughed and made some comment about how much he likes to eat.  Then he got defensive, and tried to show his good side, “Well, why do you think I saved you two brownies?” Generous guy.  What the hell? I didn’t see any brownies. He saved the last two for Carrie.  Hid them from me.  He didn’t consider that I might want some. Selfish as shit. Inconsiderate.

Those were just some of the weird things I noticed. They were both pretty cool though. I had a good time with them. And, they had a bed for me in their guest room.

Remember the Alamo?

I went downtown to see San Antonio. Sweaty as shit. And I had to bike 15 miles. I wore my jeans and Apocalypse Briggs shirt. That shirt is disgusting. It gets all loose, and bells out at the bottom. I rolled up my jeans to get some air circulating. They were all loose, sweat-logged. Dirty, sweaty, loose, ill-fitting t-shirt with rolled-up, sweaty, loose-around-the-knee jeans and biking shoes. Damn, I was ugly. I was embarrassed how ugly I was. I hate that shirt the most. It sucks at keeping its structure. It just becomes a wet rag.

I found the Alamo. Big tourist attraction. Lots of people were out for the day, remembering the Alamo. I wanted a photo, but I couldn’t set up a self-timed shot; it would have been weird among all those people. I saw three cute Asian girls. They were taking photos of each other, giving peace signs. I asked one of them if she could take a photo of me. I thought it would be cool to get a photo with two of them, all of us giving peace signs, but when the time came, I was a flaccid penis. I didn’t have the courage. I looked like shit. They were from Vietnam. I gave a peace sign. Alone.

I read some stuff on the Alamo. And saw some relics. Pretty boring, really. It was cool to think that the battle happened right there though. We still remember you, Alamo.  Even though you’re really boring, we still remember.

I rode around some more. Downtown San Antonio is really clean and well set-up for tourists. I spent about an hour in the tourist office because I mentioned I might want to take a bus back up to Carey’s. The ladies in there gathered pamphlets, looked online for info, and made phone calls all on account of me having a whim, and then later, not pursuing it. My stupid idea wasted their time and mine. They were too helpful.

I went to the Riverwalk. The famous San Antonio Riverwalk. It sounded beautiful. A natural wonder. I found it, a man-made canal with walkways surrounded by fake boulders. I took a moment, awe-struck by the man-made beauty.

Then I saw some Mission churches. Something else San Antonio is known for. Not much to say about it though.

At one point, as I rode back on my bike, a Jeep overtook me, and the driver yelled out, hurriedly, “You know the speed limit. It says share the road.” It happened so quickly that I was lucky to even realize he was saying something to me. And I don’t know what he meant, or if I even heard it right. What I imagine is that this guy was driving behind me for a little bit, thought of something clever to say, and was so nervously excited about delivering it that he totally screwed it up. Horrible execution. The pace of it was nervous and weak. And I was left confused.

I saw a Cici’s pizza, so I stopped and got a buffet for $4.99. I loaded up and left with a big ball of dough and cheese in my gut. Not really “satisfying.”

Partying with Carey and Carrie

Carey and Carrie were interested in going out. Carrie had done a home pregnancy test, and it looked like it was positive. She had been told through Ouija board that she’d be having twins. We went out to celebrate.

Carey was pumping out the “I’m a typical guy” jokes. Top of his game. And he was quick to tailor it to the pregnancy. “Since you’re pregnant, if you don’t want to gain a lot of that weird weight, just let me know what your cravings are, and I’ll eat them for you.” hahhahaha. Then at the bar, after bemoaning how this would be her last beer, Carey joked, “Hey, I’ll drink for you.” Big guys love to eat and drink. And sleep too, I bet. Big guys are cool!! Their jokes are great, and big.

As we left the bar, Carey and Carrie became fascinated by a car in the parking lot.  “That car is beautiful.  Man, if I had the money, I would buy that car in a heartbeat.”  They both agreed.  They loved that car.  Slow down guys, you’re getting married and might be having twins.

Exit Mexico: Valle de Bravo to Toluca:

I got up early and left before anybody else was up.  I wrote a note thanking everybody in Valle for the time I spent there.  I said I’d be leaving Mexico with a heavy heart.

Descending down the steep lane just outside the house was difficult with a 100 lb bike.

I checked with the city office to see if they had any face masks available. I wanted a souvenir before I left.  They were all out.

The roads out of Valle were steep.  I climbed and I climbed.  Crawling.

I passed a guy who was walking on the road towards me.  I wanted to be friendly.  “Buenas tardes!”  Shit.  It was the morning.  I felt retarded.  I was really embarrassed.  Good thing I was on a bike and left the scene immediately.  “Good afternoon!” when it’s 8 in the morning.  Dumbass.

I didn’t listen to my iPod because I wanted to be focused on the road and to hear the cars coming past.  I had enough to think about anyway.  I was thinking about Guatemala.  Getting out of Mexico was the key, I guess.  Guatemala was the other direction.  Could I flow like water?

I saw a roadside restaurant and stopped for breakfast.  I said something stupid like “Tienes desayuno.”  The guy nodded and listed off the things he had available.  Huevos, jamon, frijoles, etc.  I agreed to it all.  He gave me some fresh naranja jugo.

The guy knew a few English words, so he was trying to practice them on me.  It was pretty cool.  Two guys trying hard with a foreign language.  I guess he appreciated my effort, and I really appreciated his.

Breakfast was 50 pesos, so like $3.  Gracias.  I left.

The day heated up.  I stopped a few times to take a break and to get some water.  There were small shops all along the way where I could buy an agua grande.  Fria.  Usually 10 pesos.  The shop owners took an interest in my bike, looking like a pack mule.  I tried to explain.  Viajo mi bicicleta de estados unidos a panama.  They had lots of questions I didn’t understand and couldn’t answer.

Dump trucks were crawling up the mountain and passing me as the oncoming traffic was taking the curves at full speed.  A guy yelled out at me “Hermano bravo.”  Brave guy, I think.  I guess he was congratulating me, but also hinting at the dangers of the road I was on.

Time was ticking.  My bus was leaving at 4:30 pm, it was about 1 pm, and I was still about 25 miles away from Toluca.  I found a pull-off on the road, got off my bike, and stuck out my thumb.  Literally three minutes later, a truck stopped.

Fernando and Hugo got out and helped me load my bike in the truck.  They were going to Mexico City and would drop me off in Toluca.  Three guys in a small truck.  Hugo sat in the middle and Fernando had to work his arm around Hugo’s legs to get at the stick shift.  It was cool they were so accommodating to me, making their drive uncomfortable to help me out.

We had simple conversations.  I told them about my trip.  We talked about what they did for work (solar energy) and what I did.  They dropped me off in Toluca and I thanked them.  “Muchas muchas gracias!”

I took out my Spanish book and found the phrase to ask where I could find the bus station.  It was an easy one.  “Donde esta la estacion de autobuses?”  I asked that, got pointed in the right direction, and then asked it again as I got closer.  Biking through Toluca traffic was pretty exhilarating.  Narrow lanes, traffic jams, honking, people walking out into traffic.  Obstacle course. I had to be on top of my game.

I found a Walmart, so I took a photo.

I got to the bus station and found the Omnibus counter.  789 pesos to get to Nuevo Laredo.  $60.  I tried to ask if putting my bike on the bus would cost me anything more.  I didn’t understand a lot of what the clerk was saying.  She didn’t speak any English.  No one at the bus station did.  God, grant me Spanish.

I still had about an hour before the bus left.  I looked around at the other bus offices, but nothing was going South, or at least not far enough South.  I wanted to get to Palenque in Chiapas, close to the Guatemalan border, and then bike out of Mexico.  I was told that to get to Palenque, I would need to go to Mexico City.  Shit, if I had only gone with Fernando and Hugo all the way, they could have taken me to the Mexico City bus station.  But that was also ground zero for swine flu.

EOIN, FLOW LIKE WATER.

I bought the ticket to Nuevo Laredo, and I looked forward to the journey home.  It’s nice to travel passively on a bus or train, and I was exhausted.

I loaded up on some food and drink with my remaining pesos, changed out of my biking gear, and rushed down to the bus.  The bus attendants took an interest in my bike and trip, and had a full-on one-sided conversation with me in Spanish.  I understood bits and pieces.  Damn, that guy wouldn’t slow down his language.

The bus came, and the attendants helped me load it underneath the bus.  I was waiting for them to ask me for some extra pesos.  But no, it was free.  My bike, load of bags, and me carried 1000 miles, all for $60.  Incredible.

By the way, the bus was deluxe.  It was clean, had a toilet (which I needed badly — diarrhea), and the seats reclined until I was almost parallel to the floor.  It makes Greyhound look like shit.

Valle de Bravo: Friends, Camping, and Decision-Making

The Wandering Samaritan

I went out for a walk with no purpose and I came across a guy pushing his scooter up a steep hill. I was happy to find something to do, so I put a Spanish phrase together quickly – Quieres ayuda? — and helped him push. We stopped to rest when we got to a break in the hill. He told me he needed gas. The station was 1 km away. Then he asked me some questions. I was having trouble understanding him, but I picked up on some like where I’m from, where I’m staying, etc. Since I sucked at conversation, I told him a current affairs statement, “La gripa esta peligrosa” — the flu is dangerous. Really stupid. But I had no other relevant words, nothing but peligrosa. We pushed a couple of more times, and then he motioned to me that he was okay; I could go. I left.

I walked a little further, wandering and not finding much. Then I saw him again, pushing, mi amigo. I went over and took my spot pushing at the back. I told him, “Tengo nada hacer,” stringing something together that I hoped turned out to be “I have nothing to do.” We pushed a few more times, then we came to a stopping point. He tried to tell me something, but I didn’t understand. We waited longer than normal. Then I realized. He didn’t need me anymore. The unwanted Samaritan. I left, and a few minutes later he rode by on his scooter honking at me and waving. He had a girl on the back and a container of gas.

Water Situation

You can’t drink the water in Mexico. And in Valle, a lot of times, I couldn’t even get water. The water at the house would run out pretty frequently. We’d turn on the pump for 20 minutes and it would come on for a while, and then it would go out again. When this happened at night, which it did a lot, even the pump couldn’t cure it. You’d be stuck without water until the next day.

But there was drinking water. They’d keep two five-gallon jugs in the kitchen. When that ran out, a guy would come by and refill them for 30 pesos, which is about $2.

Party Timesuck

The night after the dinner party, I was told there was another party happening. I trusted it based on the merits of the night before. But I was wrong.

After a 45-minute walk, I heard electronic music, something I would expect in somewhere like Russia. The nine of us walked into a room with about six, and we didn’t really mix well. Not knowing where to stand, or where to look, or what to do with our arms, the uncertain ones in the group, including myself, huddled around the kitchen bar where we could at least lean on something even if we had nothing to talk about. We needed glow sticks.

The huddle was boring, so I left to go outside. The adventurer. Exploring the territory. The huddle, curious and desperate, followed soon after. Chairs! Even better than leaning.

We sat there and talked about nothing for a long time. But the party was warming up, and more people were arriving. I was done, and I could tell that everyone sitting with me was done. We were too attached to the security of the circle of chairs to have fun. And we still needed glow sticks.

So I worked up the courage to suggest that we leave. Hey, let’s not waste anymore of our time. I wanted to leave when I got there. It was bad. So, I asked a couple of people, “Hey, are you ready to head out?” Agreement, looks of relief.

Then I turned to ask Claudia, who had been quietly sulking most of the night. I figured she would jump at the idea of leaving. “Ummm. What time is it? Oh, 1:15. That’s still early.Let’s leave at like 1:30, latest 2:00.” …. Why? What will 15 minutes do for you? You’ve been sulking and silent for over two hours.

I gave it five minutes, then I prompted the others with a “Ready to go?” We left and Claudia came too. I was sorry to have cut her time short; she was having a blast.

The Sunset

Nadav (Israeli), Jennifer (Canadian), and I went up to the top of La Pena, a mountain, to watch the sunset. Nadav likes to think of himself as a nature boy so he blazed us a trail, made sure to get way ahead of us, and took the more difficult route when he could. He had been up here a few days previous and did some unnecessary rock climbing to reach the peak.

When we got to the top, Nadav and Jennifer sat and watched the sunset, contemplating life and God and beauty. “God must be some crazy artist! It’s so beautiful out here.” I wish one of them had said that. I went off and took photos. I didn’t care to contemplate; I wanted material for the blog.

After taking photos for a while, Nadav said “Come up here and sit down. You’ve taken enough photos.” Then he took out his Indian flute. Natural one. Mystical music for the sinking sun. Spiritual oneness as the sun lit up the sky in vibrant purples and reds. God must be some crazy artist.

I sat down with them and zoned out as the sun set. Then it set; it was gone. The three of us sat in slience, acting as if we were having deep thoughts, making resolutions for our lives. I gave it a few minutes. But I didn’t want to get caught up there in the dark. I asked, “Hey you guys want to head and use the light to get down?” Jennifer said, “Let’s give it 5 more minutes.” We’ve been watching it for like 40 minutes. What else do you expect to happen?

When we got down from the mountain into town, we got some tacos. 10 pesos each. It came with two tortillas and enough food to split it into two tacos. When I went to pay, I only had 100 pesos. I said, “Tienes cambio.” He nodded, and took my money, and gave me change. He understood. Damn, I felt like a Spanish-speaking badass.

Training Ride

The next day I went out for a training ride on the road that would take me to Toluca, my next destination. I hadn’t been on the bike for a while and I wanted to see what the road conditions were like. The brick roads all through Valle made it a bumpy ride. Then I got out to the main road. I climbed the whole time. Crawling at like 8 mph. After 5 miles of climb, I had enough.

I the way back down, I just coasted. The dangerous part was that there were a bunch of potholes that were difficult to avoid since the roads were narrow.

Nashielly and I jammed. She jammed on guitar and I jammed on harmonica. We jammed and we jammed.

Camping Trip and Decision Making

We went on a camping trip. Diego spearheaded it, and Miriam, Julian, Marissa, Jennifer, Nadav, and I went.

I had been thinking a lot about whether to continue the bike trip in Mexico, or to return to the US. I was getting heavy resistance to the idea of staying in Mexico because of the swine flu outbreak. My mom got in my head about it. I felt guilty for making her so worried.

Before going on the camping trip, I was leaning towards going back to the US. I had found out about a bus that would take me from Toluca (50 miles away) to Nuevo Laredo for $60. Great deal for putting my mind and my mom’s mind at ease.

I figured the camping trip would be a good time to think about the decision.

We took a trail up another mountain and came to a campsite. There was a huge thatch pavilion that was available for us to camp under. 67.50 pesos for the group to camp. 67.50 pesos for fire wood. If we wanted to pitch a tent, that would be 67.50 pesos. Weird number.

67.50 pesos got us the firewood. We chopped that shit good.

I went off by myself to think. I brought my iPod. I found a quiet spot and sat down. Then I flipped on my iPod and searched for something to listen to. No music. No podcasts. There was nothing on it. Wiped out. Retarded. I had hooked up my iPod to my Asus netbook. It recognized it, and I was able to play music through the computer, but the linux software screwed up the iTunes database on the iPod. Shit.

So, I wasn’t able to think long. I went back and we started the fire. We cooked some sausages. All our sausages were held over the fire. Boink. Boink. I touched tips with everyone’s sausages. I made my presence known.

We did smores too. American culture. It was Diego and Nadav’s first time.

Jennifer brought a just-add-water Decadent Chocolate Cheesecake. It came in a bag. Pretty bizarre to have decadent cheesecake come in one of these essential-for-survival MREs. But it was actually pretty good.

Diego, a shaman student, was sitting next to the fire, watching intensely. I was getting ready for bed. Brushing my teeth and flossing my teeth. I tossed my floss into the fire. “Please don’t put anything into the fire.” He corrected me. I didn’t understand. It was paper. I wasn’t adding chemicals to the fire. I retaliated, asking why not. Diego didn’t speak. Nadav said “It disturbs the emotional nature of the fire.” Whoa. I didn’t know it was getting spiritual out there.

The fire went all night. It kept us warm, but it was hard to sleep with it.

The next morning, we packed up and headed out. Nadav pushed for us to take a different path down than we took up. Always the explorer. Diego and I were carrying the cooler. Nadav wanted to take the other path (and show his masculinity) so bad that he said he’d carry the cooler by himself. Okay dude, go for it. He led the way and took as many treacherous shortcuts he could find. The cooler flipped open a few times and everything spilled out. Take it easy dude.

The path led to steep, crumbling descents. At one point, we had to climb under a fence, then slide down the side of a hill, surfing on the loose dirt. This shortcut probably took longer than if we had just gone down following the same route we used to get up. I was lucky I didn’t twist my ankle.

The camping trip was good for me. After talking it over with a few people, I decided to take my sister Eleanor’s advice: “Just flow like water.” Go with the current. I’ll continue my bike trip through Mexico and if things don’t work out, I can always change my plans. Be as the life source. Don’t think, just flow. I was pumped. I made a decision, and I liked it.

I called my mom. I told her that I was just going to flow like water. She got angry. She thought I was stupid. She had been really happy and hopeful from our last conversation when I was leaning towards coming back to the US. I cut the conversation short because I had to go eat with Marissa. I’d call her later.

Marissa and I went out to eat. She told me she wasn’t feeling good. She wasn’t hungry, felt cold, had a fever. Flu-like symptoms. Hmmmmm. That made things sort of real for me.

So now I was flowing like water the other direction. My mom’s concern and Marissa’s flu got to me. I called my mom back and told her I’d be coming back to the US. This time I was angry.

Diego came by. I told him about it. He was disappointed that I was going to go back. “You’re here now. Why would you go back?” He told me “Whatever decision you make, don’t regret it.” That was good advice. If I returned to the US, I would accept it and enjoy it.

Poll: What should Eoin do about the Swine Flu?

Everyone’s got a surgical mask on, the death toll is rising, and more countries are reporting infection. I’m here in Valle de Bravo planning out my route and trying to learn Spanish. And I’m trying not to freak out about the situation. Will I be quarantined if I tried to get back into the US? If I caught the flu in Mexico, would I be able to get the right vaccine and care? If I overreact, will I miss an opportunity of a lifetime?

Help me decide what I should do.

Here are a few of the “other” votes, which I’ve now disabled because they’re not easily viewable:

Keep with your original plan. The CDC says it’s still ok to travel to Mexico

there’s no vaccine, GET A MASK!

Wash your hands a lot and stay hydrated.

Valle de Bravo

I woke up when I heard activity outside.  I knew Jeff was taking an Israeli guy out on tour.  The Suburban with all my stuff in it had been taken outside.  I went to unpack the Suburban and this Mexican guy who was minding it just stared at me.  I introduced myself in really bad, tired Spanish.  “Buenos dias.  Amigo de Jeff.  No hab…”  I stuttered.  The guy filled in for me.  “No hablo espanol.  That’s okay.”  Potro spoke some English and he helped me get my bike out of the car.

I was hungry.  I had some sliced bread, so I went over to Jeff’s to ask if I could use his toaster.  He didn’t let me come inside and said I should use the common room upstairs in the bunkhouse.  It had a kitchen.  I didn’t get a good feeling.  I felt he wanted me out.

So I got on CouchSurfing and searched for people in Valle.  Four profiles came up.  I contacted one of the girls, Nashielly, to see if she could host me for a couple of nights, since I got the feeling I couldn’t stay with Jeff.

Then I heard laughter upstairs.  The girls that were renting the place above where I was sleeping were up.  I walked up into the common area, and two girls had stunned looks on their faces.  I told them I had driven down with Jeff and told them a quick story of my bike trip to give them an alibi.  The spook melted away.  Miriam and Claudia are graduate Latin American studies students from Seattle and Austin, respectively, who are in Valle to do a case study.

They told me about their third roommate who hosts CouchSurfers.  Nashielly?!  Yeah.  I had contacted their roommate.  What a coincidence.  A great coincidence, as it turned out.  When I looked outside, this was the view from the patio.

 Jeff walked in with Nadav, a 24-year-old Israeli guy.  They were going hang gliding.  Jeff offered to take me up with them to the peak.  I went.

 Here’s Raul, nervous, getting ready to take off with his “prototype” paraglider.

 There’s Raul gliding over Valle.

 Jeff helping Nadav get ready for his flight as Potro holds the hang glider.

After everyone took off, I drove down with Potro to meet them as they landed.  Potro gave me a quick Spanish lesson.  “Hermosa is beautiful girl.  Quiero una hermosa.  Espanol esta facil.”

 I arrived at a lucky time.  The girls had a big dinner every Thursday.  I was invited along with every other twenty-something in Valle.  Lots of pot.  I was offered it a few times, but I was the lame guy who turned it down.  I’d feel weird starting to smoke pot at 26 years of age.  At this point, it’s not cool anymore.

Luckily most people there were bilingual. 

I got lunch with Nashielly and Claudia the next day.  Tortas.  Mexican sandwiches.

 Quiero una torta pollo.  Really tasty.  15 pesos.

 The centro of Valle has a lot of open markets.  Here’s fish on a bucket.

 When I returned to the house, Julian and Diego were working on a broken chair.  Jeff had made a comment about “all the broken chairs,” his property.  Apparently the chairs were already broken before they got there.  But us guys wanted to give it a shot.  Just the guys on this one.

We didn’t have any of the right tools for the job.  I used my needlenose pliers and the knife on my multitool.  They had a fireplace shovel and some glue.  We had to get creative.

I browsed around the basement and found a zip tie and a long cord of metal.  Modern art.

 Diego, Marissa, and I went to get lunch.  Buffet starter (salad, cactus, potatoes, apple and pineapple salad, etc), spicy cauliflower soup, and a main course (chicken or beef with rice) for 40 pesos ($3).  And they threw in a raspberry fruit drink.

 Here’s the cactus.  I thought they were green beans.

I got artistic with Nashielly and Jennifer, a Canadian who’s also doing Latin American studies.

When I was out with Nashielly, someone told us about the killer flu.  It was hard to believe.  Scary.  Nashielly said that I could hang out with them in Valle for as long as I wanted.  A few weeks would be fine.  Wow!  Pretty incredible.

The spot is so great.  I have a private room with bathroom, the common area leads out to a patio with a beautiful view onto the lake, and the people I’m staying with are awesome.  I think I might stay for about a week to decide on a route, learn some Spanish, and to see how the flu outbreak unfolds.

The pace of life here is really slow, really relaxed.  It doesn’t seem like anyone’s working.  We’re all just hanging out and wasting time mostly.  For example, here’s Julian’s mid-afternoon nap after getting through two pages of Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent.

Mexican Swine Flu

After all the heartache over whether or not to travel into Mexico with all its violent chaos, lawlessness, drugs, and kidnappings, the day after I arrive, there’s breaking news about a deadly flu in Mexico City.  With the power of swine, bird, and human flu combined, you get a lethal flu that people are thinking will become a global pandemic.  I’m about 100 miles West of Mexico City.

I need to get a mask.  And probably not go to Mexico City.  And not have any more three-way kisses.

I’m going to hold tight in Valle de Bravo a few more days at least and see how this flu unfolds.  Since I’m so close to Mexico City, it seems a shame to miss it.  And the famous pyramid of Teotihuacan that’s just Northeast of the city.

Avoid the water, don’t get kidnapped, and stay away from pigs.  Anything else?

Rideshare: Austin, TX to Valle de Bravo, Mexico

When Jeff and I headed out, I could finally relax. I was sweaty, stressed, and exhausted. I only had about 3 hours before I was out of the country, so I got on the phone. I bought travel insurance through InsureMyTrip.com that would give me $100,000 of medical insurance for 3 months for $100. Then I called my mom and dad. My mom seemed worried and told me to be safe. It was a “this is it” moment, like we would never speak again. I assured her I would be okay.

I hadn’t really given my dad a whole lot of updates on what I was doing, so when I called I surprised him with “I’m going to Mexico tonight.” He didn’t seem to know that I was going solo either. Although he had been freaked out about me going to Mexico earlier in our communications by email, he didn’t seem too worried on the phone. He just took it as new information.

Then I texted. I texted and texted. I hit a lot of people in my address book.

Crossing the Border

Jeff and I stopped at Walmart in Laredo. I felt like I was already in Mexico. Everyone was speaking Spanish.

I stopped to exchange my US dollars for pesos – 13 pesos for 1 USD – and I gave all my US coins to a bum who forced himself on us to wash the windshield.

Then we took the plunge. We crossed the border. Surprisingly, I didn’t see any blood or dead bodies in the street. It was a quiet, uneventful crossing at 9:30 pm. We got our 6 month tourist cards for $20, and then approached a checkpoint.

I fell asleep before long. We made it to Monterrey at 12:30 am and got a hotel for the night.

Monterrey to Valle de Bravo

We got a really late start the next day. After getting our desayuno continentale of coffee, orange juice, and two slices of toast, and using the internet for a while, we got out of there after noon.

We passed through mountains and desert. And lots of Vulkanizadora (tire repair) shacks. It was scenic in a way, a lot like the Southwest, but I was happy I wasn’t on my bike.

There was a traffic jam. Jeff couldn’t cope with it and pulled off to a strip mall of vulkanizadoras. He asked some Mexicans about the slowdown. Construction for 4 km. They told him to take the dirt path that ran parallel to the highway. Gracias. Vamos!

The road was terrible. An off-roading adventure. I looked over at the highway. Trucks were moving slowly. We were moving slowly. I couldn’t tell which was faster. Jeff had to feel right about it though, “It’s a parking lot over there.”

We got back onto the highway and then we stopped for a car wash. Two guys with rags and buckets full of dirty water.

Jeff got an Aerospace Engineering degree, worked in a company for 3 years, didn’t like it and quit. He’s been doing his hang gliding business ever since. Sounds kind of like me, except I have to start a hang gliding business.

I asked Jeff a logic puzzle to pass the time. Three light bulbs and three light switches in two different rooms – how can you tell which light switch goes to which light bulb? He got into it. But he was trying to control the situation; I think he felt threatened. He kept declaring, “It’s impossible. I can’t see how you’d do that.” Hey Jeff, I asked you the question, so you can probably guess I’ve got the answer too. I felt bad for him so I gave him a hint. He got close to the answer, but then went back to being furiously unbelieving. I tried to get him back on track. “Jeff, the heat was a good idea. Go with that.” He kept thinking out loud. Then he got the answer as I was nodding him along, and he felt really triumphant, like he was putting a stake in the ground. “That’s how you’d do it!” Although I had a few more logic puzzles, I knew not to try them on Jeff. He doesn’t react well to bad tests of intelligence.

There was another slowdown on the road. It was an overturned bus. Pretty scary.

We got in to Valle de Bravo at 1 am. Jeff let me stay in the bunkhouse across from his place.

In Mexico

I found a ride on craigslist rideshare from Austin, TX to Valle de Bravo, Mexico, which is just West of Mexico City.  I talked to the guy, Jeff Hunt, on Sunday night, and he seemed cool.  He’s an American guy who splits his time between Austin and Mexico with his hang gliding tourist business, FlyMexico.com.  He was leaving Tuesday early afternoon.  So I spent Monday and Tuesday running around trying to get prepared for Mexico.

Crossing the Border

Jeff and I drove through Laredo across the border at about 9:30 pm.  Nothing happened.  Really sleepy actually.  Not much traffic, the border guards didn’t give a shit about us.  We came to the checkpoint where about 8 Mexican guys were sitting around like slobs.  One of them got up and approached us.  He looked in, said okay, and waved us on.  They were supposed to check that we got our tourist cards, which we got for $20, and the car permit.  They didn’t care at all.

We drove to Monterrey.  I fell asleep in the car.  I was exhausted from the past two days.  We got to a hotel in downtown Monterrey at 12:30 am.  Room for two, 475 pesos.  $35.  Pretty decent.  I split it with Jeff.

We’re heading to Valle de Bravo today.