Northern Mexico to Costa Rica; 24th Oct - 15th November
I was very sad at the thought of leaving our
new friends in Chihuaua. Pablo and Alex had worked wonders on the bike, and had been so
hospitable. As it was the weekend it occurred to us to invite them on our next leg of the
journey, to Creel, on the edge of the impsressive Copper Canyon, said to be bigger than
the Grand Canyon. We all met outside Moto Shop, their workshop and headed out. We were
joined by one more brother and a friend.
Creel is a popular place with visitors, mainly young backpackers and old Mexico regulars.
There is a funky hostel, Casa Margaritas, where most people stay and feed, all for a very
reasonable price. It was fun to meet other travelers and hear of other parts of Mexico and
South America that I should be adding to my itinerary. We partied that night and the lads
set off the following morning, back home. Luke and I were left to explore the area and all
that it had to offer. Lakes and forests and, of course, the canyon itself. We relaxed, and
enjoyed the company of new friends. I stayed for four days before becoming restless and
decided to move on. Luke was still having bike problems, but had also met the lovely
Marianna, from Uruguay, and decided to stay behind.
I headed south, turning off the tarmac onto the long dirt road to
Batopilas, a tiny town tucked away in the depths of the canyon, two hours from anywhere.
It grew as a silver mining town, and was therefore the second town in Mexico to receive
electricity. It is thin and long, following the river for a little under a mile, never
more than a couple of blocks deep. I stayed a couple of nights, the full day spent
exploring the canyon and swimming in the clear, cool river. A five-mile walk from
Batopilas takes you to a church, built by the Spanish in 17th Century, to service the town
and bring God to the Indians. They even gave them a patron Saint, St. Peter. The Indians
never attend the church, believing that 'God' exists in the respect and connection between
each other and the earth. It is the first time I have ever come across anybody who shares
the same beliefs as I do, let alone a whole society.
The ride out of the canyon, as the ride in, was just beautiful - more impressive than the
Grand Canyon in my mind, mainly for the diversity of colours and rock formations. There
are impressive drop-offs, plunging hundreds of feet in the raging river below. It is not a
drive for the light-hearted, as it is a single track and there are continuous curves,
round which there always seem to be a lurking truck or van, ready to drive one over the
edge.
The road South through Central Mexico was easy, fast and almost empty. I rode on top of
canyons, through gorges, over deserts and under forest canopies. The further south I
pushed, the greener it got. The beauty was imposing and unbroken. There were wild flowers
of yellows, blue, reds and purples, creepers covering sometimes just one tree, other times
whole areas, creating an effect rather like a huge blanket covering a heap of sleeping
bodies.
Sadly, I have been forced to stay in hotels. It is getting a lot more populated and there
are few places that it would be safe to sleep out. I have been warned not to ride at night
and to try and keep to the main highways. I miss sleeping out under the stars and waking
to the sound of birds, but there are advantages to the hotels. I am a lot cleaner, I eat
better and get a longer night's sleep, which is always good for the long days on the bike.
One night I was invited to join the table of a couple of girls who had seen me dining
alone in the hotel restaurant. Susana and Alethya were continuing their Day of the Dead
celebrations. Day of the Dead is more of a festive day, celebrating the lives of loved
ones that have passed on, rather than mourning their loss. Family members will visit the
cemeteries, taking huge wreaths of colourful flowers to adorn the head stones. There is
music and dancing and eating and drinking. In Mexico City there are huge carnival-style
parades, again with music and huge dancing skeletons.
I joined the coast road at Mazatlan, following it south all the way to Guatemala. I
stopped for a couple of nights in Acapulco, supposedly the paradise of Mexico. It is a
hot, steamy, traffic ridden city. I enjoyed the beach though and played football with some
local boys. The three months sitting on the bike are taking their toll. I played for ten
minutes before collapsing into a sweaty, exhausted heap. I was the cause of great
amusement.
I continued south, the road winding along the coast, through endless fishing villages, and
over countless rivers, where the women wash their colourful clothes and the children
splash and dive. It reminds me a lot of India at times - palm fringed roads, with country
folk carrying bundles on their heads, cattle-drawn carts and barefoot children, smiling
and waving.
At
the end of a long day's ride I tuned down a small, deserted road to the beach. I rounded a
corner to find a truck parked, blocking the whole road. I knew what it was immediately.
There were two young men sitting in the front, one with his feet on the dash, obviously
waiting for someone to come along. There was the tinniest of gaps in front of the truck,
which I gunned for, my panniers ripping at the greenery at the side of road. I saw the
guys reacting as I passed right in front of them, but they were too late. It was exactly
as I had been warned. A quiet road, a truck parked on a corner, blocking the way, waiting
for a tourist like me. I arrived at the beach, San Angustinillo, and told my story to a
café owner. He said that, just two days before, a whole bus had been stopped and every
passenger relieved of their cash. I had been lucky.
The beach was a little paradise, so I stayed for a couple of days, resting and surfing. I
made more international friends and even got to see a Leatherback turtle come up the beach
one night to lay her eggs. She had actually got the wrong beach, so the locals came down
to persuade her back into the water in the hope that she would find the correct beach, a
couple of miles further north. The village had lived from the turtle industry, culling
them for their shells, eggs and meat. They would kill up to 2000 a day. The government
finally intervened about nine years ago, protecting the turtles and turning the town into
a tourist resort to provide an alternative living for the locals.
I had to return up the bandit road to rejoin the main highway. Thankfully there was no one
waiting this time and I could make the Guatemalan border by the evening. The crossing was
simple if not a little fraught. There are hundreds of money-changers and people offering
their services to help you get through. It is actually fairly simple, and with a little
patience I crossed into Central America.
I am now in Costa Rica, having crossed Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua in
five days. I am anxious to make my deadline of New Year in Tierra del Fuego, so I am
hurrying through Central America, so that I can enjoy South America, especially Peru and
Bolivia at a more relaxed pace. I plan to come back to Honduras, which is a truly
beautiful country, to get to know it a little better.
I did stop at the Ruins of Copan, just over the border into Honduras. This is a huge
ancient Mayan settlement, complete with temples, residential areas and a network of
tunnels beneath the city. In fact, under ground level there are two more cities, one on
top of the other. These are being investigated at present, and will hopefully be open to
the public within a couple of years.
Although
there is not much to physically differentiate Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua, there are
vast social differences. Due to my speedy crossings, I wouldn't presume to say I explored
them at depth, but Guatemalans and Honduras are friendly relaxed people, obviously caring
enormously for their countries, which are tidy clean and with excellent roads. Nicaragua
had terrible roads, and it was the first place that I felt threatened and unwelcome and
was I glad to make the crossing into Costa Rica. The terrible devastation the rains and
storms these areas have suffered in the last couple of years are still very much in
evidence. Whole roads have been washed away and there are frequent landslides, blocking
roads for days. Bridges are being rebuilt and there are constant detours through muddy,
one-track roads. Sometimes I have had to ford rivers where the water has come so high that
it has spilled into my boots and had my exhaust spluttering.
One
fifty-mile stretch took me 3˝ hours of slipping and sliding and three drops because of
the mud that came up to the engine. I have been fortunate enough to come to Costa Rica
before. It is one of my favorite countries in the world. It is truly special, for its
beauty, its history and its people. I'll be here for at least a week, so I will tell all
in the next thrilling episode.
