A VOLCANO GOES MISSING IN ANTIGUA

Volcan Agua and several other active volcanoes loom large in the skyline around the small town of Antigua, the smoke rising from their peaks a constant reminder to the people living below of the enormous power of volcanoes and the fragility of human life.

Unfortunately, 3,760 metre volcanoes can be difficult for Scottish travellers to locate amidst the mid-afternoon rainclouds of a Central American day. The volcano was definitely there when I arrived from Guatemala City yesterday and checked into my 8 pounds a night Antiguan Hotel, however just a few hours later, Agua had managed to disappear from the skyline when I resurfaced from bed (fully recovered from my overnight bus journey the previous night) and went out to take some photos of it.

I looked up and down the calles and avenidas of Antigua for the large volcano unsuccessfully, an increasing suspicion that my poor sense of direction had failed me yet again. Then the sun fell behind another volcano, and it became too dark to search for Agua, even if it was still there. In the end, I put Volcan Agua´s disappearance down to the enormous (magical) power of volcanoes that I have already mentioned, and went had a couple of Gallo beers.

On an altogether more positive note, Volcan Pacaya was exactly where it was supposed to be today when I went to climb it, allowing me to get face to face with a river of molten lava, or rather, as close as I could put my face to it without singing my eyebrows.

REFLECTIONS ON ANTIGUA

Antigua is the most beautiful town I have visited so far, and the place I´d most like to live in of the places I´ve seen. With its cobblestoned streets, thin pavements and colourfully-painted houses, I am reminded of Spain yet again.

A large glass monstrosity guared the causeway entrance to the island of Flores (next to where the women washed their clothes and the men fished from the rocks) a large Burger King sign on its frontage. Here in Antigua, civic planners have been a lot more clever, making the US fastfood chains operate out of existing adobe buildings to ensure they blend in with their surroundings.

I would definitely have liked to stay longer in Antigua and do a longer, more strenuous climb of Volcan Agua, however the blisters on my feet from Volcan Pacaya are fresh, and time is running short – I am supposed to meet someone in Guatemala City tomorrow.

When I fly back to Guatemala in late June to do a few weeks of Spanish language clases in the town of San Pedro on the backs of Lake Atitlan, I may well detour back through Antigua to conquer the volcano that sometimes disappears magically.

A COLD OVERNIGHT BUS JOURNEY FROM FLORES

As soon as I got on the 22:00 bus to Guatemala City, I realised I had made a fatal mistake. The temperature outside the bus had dropped about twenty degrees centigrade since the height of the midday sun, however the air-conditioning temperature inside the bus had not been changed at all. All the Guatemalan passengers were wearing jackets, trouser and carrying blankets. I was wearing shorts and a sleeveless vest and carrying a packet of Cheetohs. Immediately, I knew I was going to have an unpleasant 10-hour journey.

Even after putting on the long-sleeved top I had packed in my hand-luggage, I could feel my body temperature plummeting. As a couple of Guatemaltecos sitting nearby stared at me from underneath their fleece blankets, I tried not to think about the Marmot sleeping bag in my rucksack locked away underneath the bus, which boasts sleeping comfort to temperatures of -7 C.

Instead, I started to get creative. First. I repositioned myself as far as I could away from the window seat where a constant icy draught was blasting down from above. Then I pulled my socks up as far as they would go to keep an extra centimetre or two of ankle covered up. Then I crossed my legs to try and trap the heat between them.

Unfortunately none of this made a difference. I could still see my breath in front of me when I breathed. So I started to get more creative. First, I attempted some Jedi mind tricks to try and convince myself that I was actually really warm, but those didn´t work. I then briefly found religion, but nobody heard my prayers that the half-empty bus would fill up with fat, sweating passengers that would heat things up for me, only thin Guatemaltecos in jackets got on at every stop, blankets tucked casually under one arm. In desperation, I even started to consider wrapping the roll of toilet paper I had in my hand luggage around my cold, bare legs. I probably would have done it as well, if it had only been 4-ply quilted Andrex, and not 0.5-ply crepe paper I had stolen from a posada in Mexico for short-notice taco-induced emergency bowel movements.

In the end, it was my two cotton head scarfs that saved me. Around midnight, I discovered that if I wrapped one scarf around each bare leg, they gave me a little protection against the Artic temperatures onboard the 22:00 bus to Guatemala City. With my legs covered, and the collar of my long sleeve top pulled up above my ears, I eventually managed to get a few hours of miserable broken sleep.

Arriving in Guatemala City around 7AM (the morning heat hitting me like a clenched fist as I stepped off the freezing bus), I decided to head straight to Antigua to climb a volcano. However, Pacaya´s molten lava will need to wait until tomorrow. Today, I am going to catch up on sleep in my 8 pounds a night Antiguan hotel room, melt the icicles from each nostril, and try not to electrocute myself in the shower.

GUN CRIME IN GUATEMALA

Pages 3,4,5,6,7,8,10, 12 and 13 of the Guatemalan newspaper I bought this morning are filled with accounts of gun-related murders across the country, a quite significant proportion of the days news considering pages 1 and 2 are about a helicopter crash, and pages 9 and 11 are full page advertisements.

Of course, my own interaction with the local Guatemalans in Flores paint a completely different picture to this gloomy trigger-happy image of the country, and I am already finding them a friendly and inquisitive people. In Mexico, a lot of the locals avoided all eye contact with me, whereas here in Guatemala, almost everybody wants to talk, or at the very least bid me a good morning / afternoon / evening. It goes without saying that I also want to talk to them as well, particularly since the conversations I have already had has confirmed that the Guatemalan Spanish is a fairly ´pure´ Spanish, with the added bonus that the locals talk quite slowly so I get to understand more of what is said.

This evening brings to an end my time in Flores, as I am catching an overnight bus down to Guatemala City to meet a couple of people, see some of the surrounding area and climb a volcano, before heading north through Mexico and up to meet some amigos in San Francisco.



GUN CRIME FOOTNOTE
I wonder if the gun crime could in any way be related to shops such as EL CUERVO on the main street into Flores, whose owner told me, after informing me that I couldn´t buy a gun as I am an extranjero, that any Guatemalan can buy a gun as long as they are 18 years old and have the papers to prove it.

JUNGLE MAYAN RUINS AT TIKAL

On the drive through northern Guatemala yesterday, I wondered to myself what constituted a jungle being a jungle and not just a lot of trees. Today, I can confirm that Tikal is definitely in the jungle. Different signposts on the road to the Mayan ruins warn of numerous wild animals on the road, including deer, snakes, jaguars, wild turkeys and some other animal that I did not recognise. Surprisingly, there were no signs for chickens or goats, both of which caused the driver to slam on the brakes during the journey.

Inside the park, the jungle sounds of parrots, howler monkeys and the complaints from ignoramus englishmen in flipflops about having sore feet can all be heard. Spider monkeys in the trees apparently try to crap on the heads of passersby, but none took an interest in me. That said, I did nearly shit myself climbing the 106 shaky, almost vertical wooden steps to the top of Tikal's 56 metre high Temple V, as I realised that one wrong move could quickly bring the end of both my trip and also my life.

I sat at the top of the temple for a long while, taking in the spectacular views of the jungle canopy stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions around me, cursing the 60+ year old French woman that had overtaken me on the ladder on the way up with a cheerful "Ca va?", and most of all, wondering how the hell I was going to get back down to ground level without looking like a complete pussy.

A CHEAP DAY IN FLORES

The town of Flores is a small island in the middle of a lake in northeastern Guatemala, reached by either boat or a man-made strip of land. On one side of this made-made bridge, local women wash their clothes on the rocks. On the other, local men fisk off the rocks.

Flores reminds me of some parts of Spain, with its narrow cobblestoned streets, colourfully painted houses and exotically beautiful local women. However it is not the natural beauty of the pueblo and its surrounding lake that I like most about Flores. What I really like is that my hotel room costs the equivalent of GBP 5 per night, and still comes with a TV, private bathroom and a fan. What I also like about Flores is that my traditional Guatemalan chicken dinner tonight cost me the equivalent of GBP 7, and that included three Gallo beers and an 80 pence tip on top.

To celebrate the low cost of living in Flores, I bought a four pound t-shirt to wear in Tikal tomorrow, because all my other clothes are currently at the lavanderia for a Sunday wash.

CHEAP HOTEL FOOTNOTES


(1) This morning, a cockroach tried to join me whilst I was having a shower.
(2) This evening, a cockroach walked along my bedroom wall whilst I was deciding what to wear tomorrow.
(3) Tomorrow, I will find out where Guatemala's Ritz-Carlton's are located, and reorganise my travel plans accordingly.

A SINGLE WORLD CURRENCY PROPOSAL FROM FLORES

Having visited four countries in quick succession, and with another 10-15 still to come in the next few months, I have reached the conclusion today that the world's political leaders should get together and agree to a single monetary currency at their next international summit.

In the heat of the tropical day, it can often get difficult to remember what country you are in, let alone what to divide by to get the sterling equivalent when making a purchase. So far this has been 1.5 in Cuba, 18 in Mexico (if you refuse to pay in Abe Lincolns), 3.1 in Belize and now 11.9 in Guatemala, with the more complicated division by 2862 still lying ahead of me when I eventually get to Colombia.

A single world currency would unify countries that have historically not seen eye to eye, simplify world trade, eradicate fat cat bankers living off the spoils of exorbitant foreign exchange rate commissions, and improve the lives of simple travelers struggling with their long division.

Of course, any country with such a beautiful woman on their banknotes and coins as Belize should clearly be exempt from a single world currency, and instead be allowed to continue with their own independent currency.

BELIZE TO GUATEMALA IN AN UNOFFICAL MINIVAN

Tour guide books such as Frommer and Lonely Planet advise you not to go to Belize City without really telling you why. Luis, my dive guide back in Mexico told me it was because the people in Belize City will rob you blind. When I had told him I didn’t have anything worth stealing, he told me that had never stopped Belize City locals in the past.

In the end, I only spent about 5 minutes in Belize City, that was all the time it took to get off the boat from Caye Caulker and buy a bus ticket to Guatemala. Or rather, pay for a seat on a unoffical minivan for the four hour journey across the border.

As the minivan started the journey, I suddenly started to feel anxious. I hadn’t got a ticket or a receipt, and had basically paid the minivan driver the money at the side of his van in a car park. Perhaps the two women in the back of the minivan were not passengers. Perhaps they were his accomplices. Perhaps this minivan driver was not really a minivan driver, or at least not a minivan driver that was intending taking me to Guatemala. Perhaps his only intention was to drive me to the outskirts of Belize City, rob me blind and leave my lying in a ditch at the side of the road.

I relaxed somewhat fifteen minutes later, when the minivan driver put on his seatbelt as we approached a police checkpoint - this man was clearly someone that had respect for the law. I sighed with relief, realising I probably wasn't going to robbed of my eyesight today. The fact the minivan driver had been driving like a maniac without his seatbelt on for the last 15 minutes did not cross my mind, but this is probably because I was too busy staring at the large crack right the way along the minivan front windscreen, and quietly asking myself why the minivan driver kept overtaking other motorists at blind corners.

At the border to Guatemala, everybody started talking to me in Spanish again. A boy with a disfigured face wanted to sell me pipas. Several men contorted their faces when I told them I didn’t want to exchange unwanted currency at their exorbitant exchange rates. Belizean border control told me I needed to pay 15 pounds worth of Belizean currency to leave their country. A Guatemalan immigration woman whispered that I needed to pay some Guatemalan currency to enter theirs, but when I told them “No tengo dinero, necessito ir al banco”, she let me in all the same.

I will need to remember that tactic for future border crossings to see if it can save me being scammed. I will also need to remember to take my rucksack out the back of any unlicensed minivan I have been travelling in to walk across future border on foot.  That way I don’t have several minutes of panicking that the unofficial minivan driver and his two female accomplices have done a runner with it back to Belize City, the city that didn't rob me blind today.

THE BLUE HOLE, BELIZE

Today was all about how deep I dived at the Blue Hole. I sniffed with boredom at the flying fish gliding 30-40 metres along the water surface on the boat ride out, and gave little more than a passing glance at the large school of dolphins that started racing our boat further out from shore. The wall dive at Half Moon and the massive stingray at Long Caye today were of little consequence in the day's proceedings. Today, the depth I dove to at the Blue Hole was all that really mattered.

The descent was a straight down plummet. No gradual sloping incline, just a dark abyss to sink into, quickly if you weren't careful. At the lowest point in my dive, my pressure guage read 134 feet. This is 50+ feet more than my previous lowest depth I have ever dived to, and 16 feet above the maximum depth reading on the regulator pressure guage. Everything lower than 130 feet is RED for danger. Everything happens in a slow, dazed motion at 130 feet below sea level. Narcosis struck in from a lack of oxygen, even with my regulator air flow on max. My snorkal mask pushed into my face with such pressure that I thought the glass was going to crack. The dive master had to tell me my mask was half-filled with water at one stage, I was in such a confused trance.

Far above us in the Blue Hole was the distant silhouette of a reef-shark. Far above the shark was the boat. But you cannot afford to think that far ahead (and above) you when you are 133 feet under water and any little mistake could be fatal, so I focussed on checking my oxygen tank level with paranoid regularity. When I did later get back to the surface, I had an adrenalin buzz to match the narcosis buzz below the surface.

After all, today was all about the depth I got to at the Blue Hole.

 

A spectacular photo of the spectacular Blue Hole (that I didn't take)

LIFE ON 'DE' BELIZEAN ISLANDS

Daily life on San Pedro (on Caye Ambergris) and Caye Caulker has been slow, with electric golf carts the transport mode of choice for getting around. The locals are a mix of many countries and cultures, and I have heard Creole, Jamaican, Spanish, Lebanese, Chinese and English in my time walking around between scuba dives. The only word I was able to understand during an angry drunken exchange between some Jamaicans the other night was the 'F' word, and I was left wondering if the only reason for that is because Gordon Ramsey's cooking show airs on the television over here.

Talking of food, it has been a similar culinary mix of many countries and cultures, and I have enjoyed banana bread, a mammoth foot long burrito, jerk chicken and rice, plantain crisps and hopefully tonight, a shrimp curry in coconut sauce.

However great local cuisine aside, even if it wasn't for the dusty beaches and sea weedy sea, I don't think I would fancy permanent residency on the Belizean islands, as their flat topology makes them feel only a  few melted icebergs away from extinction. So I will leave the USD 4 Million island currently for sale nearby that boasts Leonardo Di Caprio as a next door neighbour for other interested parties, and head for the Belize mainland on Sunday after my dive at the Blue Hold tomorrow.

Life is sometimes slow on the islands

BLUE HOLE DIVE DELAYS AT CAYE CAULKER

My planned dive trip to the Blue Hole got postponed today. Big Fish Dive Centre in Caye Caulker only runs the trip with a minimum of seven divers due to the high petrol costs of the 4-hour round boat-trip out to the Lighthouse Reef Atoll where the 500-foot deep Blue Hole is located. Unfortunately, only three people signed up for today Friday, which might have left a bitter taste in my mough if it had not been for some more fantastic diving back at Esmeralda with nurse sharks, and then my first close encounter with wild turtles out at Cypress Tunnel.

Any bad feeling about my 1-day delay in getting to the Blue Hole was certainly less bitter than the politically motivated conspiracy theories currently airing on CNN here in Belize, as Republicans accuse the US President of wanting the current oil spill crisis in the Gulf Of Mexico to intensify so he can he it as an excuse no reduce further offshore oil/gas drilling and focus US efforts on renewable energy sources instead.

Watching the angry debates on the television over the last few days has left me wondering why none of the interviewers (Larry King, Anderson Cooper included) posted the question back to the sniping Republicans on what is so wrong with greener, renewable energy sources, particularly if they mean a diver can get to the Blue Hole on the day he originally planned.

DIVING IN SAN PEDRO

Luis, my dive guide with Playa Scuba in Mexico, recommended San Pedro and Caye Caulker as the two best places to dive when I came to Belize. Today, I did dives at Tackle Box, Esmerelda and Hol Chan marine reserve (all a short boat ride off the coast of San Pedro) and also a snorkel trip to Shark Ray Alley, and I definitely wasn't disappointed, seeing the most spectacular marine life I have ever seen whilst diving.

The highlight was swimming with wild nurse sharks, and when I say swimming, I mean touching, feeling and really getting up close with them, as another dive group had brough bait which attracted 8-10 of them to us within minutes of us starting our dive. Asides from the sharks, we saw moray eels, tarpon, spanish mackerel, lobster, sea horses, baracuda, eagle ray and southern sting rays, and even a turtle in the distance.

A maximum descent of 83 feet at Tackle Box is the deepest I have ever dived, and it was certainly the first time I have looked up and not been able to see the surface of the water. The exhiliration from that and swimming amongst wild sharks and rays has made me start to consider an advanced divers course when I get to Honduras, which is supposed to be extremely cheap for diving.

Although I am sorely tempted to stay another day in San Pedro and do another dive in Esmerelda, I will push onto Caye Caulker tomorrow to dive the Blue Hole, and then start heading west through mainland Belize to Gautemala.

THE MAYAN EMPIRE - EDUCATION IN CHETUMAL

Today I learned about the ancient Mayan civilisation in the Museo De La Cultura Maya in Chetumal. A civilisation that started around 2500 BC, the Mayans beautifying techniques included wooden vice-like devices to flatten their heads flatter, and placing a ball between the eyes of new-born babies so they became cross-eyed, again as it was a mark of beauty in the Mayan empire. Ialso  learned that the Mayan solar calender consisted of 20 months of 18 days and 5 other days that were considered extremely unlucky. Finally I learnt about the Mayans only using maguc mushrooms on special occassions, and how they hunted animals such as jaguars and turtles for sustenance.

Unfortunately, after a bowl of frijolles charros the previous night with the lovely Berenice in Chetumal, I myself was on the path of a turtles head by this point, and so had to cut my Mayan education short as the museum toilet was out of order.

Public Toilet Footnote:

My first visit to a Mexican public toilet brought the discovery that Mexican toilet cubicle doors are sized in accordance with most Yucatan Mexicans are not much over five foot tall. I could have had a fantastic view of the urinals if I was into that sort of thing, and indeed not busy focussing on being economical with the four sheets of toilet paper that the the attendant had given me when I paid my 3 pesos toilet entry fee.

I can confirm that consumption of frijolles charros necessitates at least six sheets of toilet paper the following day, plus another two to wipe the sweat from your brow half-way through.

WEIGHT LOSS IN MEXICO

Throughout University and my first few years of working in London, I was always a 34" waist size whenever I bought trousers or jeans. Then in the last few years of my twenties and early thirties as my metabolism slowed, I found my waistline increasing in a direct relationship to time spent sitting in front of a computer, first to 36", and in the last year or so, almost a 38" if I don' t hold in my stomach / not breath whenever I am out shopping for trousers.

I am therefore pleased to report an acutely embarrasing incident at Chetumal Bus Station today, where my 36" shorts almost fell down around my ankles whilst I was standing at the ticket counter buying a ticket for Belize.

This sudden weight loss can only be due to my travelling this last month, a combination of getting more exercise and eating a lot less food. It has been so successful that I may patent this weight loss program on my return to the UK, under the working title of the "HALAPEÑO TACO EATERS PROPULSION EXPULSION DIET".

Now that travelling and eating spicy tacos has proved itself to be a miracle cure in turning back the years of my body clock, I am left wondering how long it will be before I can start to grow a pony-tail.

MEXICAN TOPES

I have already grown to hate topes, the Mexican equivalent of the British speedbump. In the parts of Mexico I have seen so far, they have them on roads in build up areas to slow down traffic, but also on rural backroads and even on motorways.

My issue with topes is the frequency with which theyappear, it is sometimes possible to look out the front of the bus down a straight road and see three or four sets in a distance of just a few hundred metres. I presume their purpose is to reduce speeding-related accidents and not just increase my bus journey durations, but either way they are already the bain of my Mexican travels. Even at an almost stationary speed that bus drivers slow down to drive over them, the jolt of going over a tope always seems to be just enough to wake a weary traveller trying to catch up on sleep lost because of noisy cockerels, noisier strip-clubs and nightmares about scorpions in his shoe.

Tope Footnote:

Today I witnessed/caused my first tope-related traffic accident. I was standing at the side of the road waiting for some cars to pass so I could take the above photograph of some topes when I heard a bang. I looked up to see a woman in a van had driven into the back of a taxi diving slowly over some topes. I know it was me that caused the accident as seconds earlier, I had seen the woman staring at me out her window with her mouth hanging open. Fortunately no damage was done as both vehicles were travelling so slowly, but it did leave one question in my mind. Did I cause the accident because the woman was distracted by me taking photographs of topes, or was the woman distracted by my matching pink t-shirt and shorts. I hope I am not the mistaken victim of a homophobia-related drive-by shooting today.

INDECISION IN VALLADOLID

There are three buses that leave from Valladolid to Chetumal daily, departing at 05:20, 07:30 and 14:30. My initial plan yesterday was to sacrifice watching the Chelsea and Man Utd title decider matches today, and catch the 07:30 bus (needless to say, the 05:20 departure was never seriously considered). However when my alarm clock went off at 06:00 this morning, it suddenly seemed infinitively more sensible to turn my alarm off, have a long lie, watch the football, and spend an extra night in Valladolid catching up on my laundry and planning my route for the next month's travel through Belize, Guatemala and back up through Mexico to meet friends in San Francisco on June 6th.

Unfortunately, the reception of the Fox Sports cable television channel in my room turned out to be less than ideal, and when Liverpool rolled over as usual against Chelsea, watching the mighty Red Devils later on today took on a lot less importance. As a result, I have changed my mind again, and will catch the 14:30 bus this afternoon, and hope I can find a hotel quickly in Chetumal when I arrive in the twilight hours of Sunday.

Liverpool 0 - Chelsea 2

SOUVENIRS OF MEXICO

The problem with an extended period of travel is that you cannot buy all the presents and souvenirs that you might do if you are only on a fortnight´s holiday. I have already seen beautifully intricate Mayan and Aztec wood carvings, colourfully painted skulls and plates and lucha libre masks that I would have loved to have bought if it was not for the fact my rucksack is already full and I certainly don´t want it any heavier.

Today one of the Yucatan sellers at Chichen Itza showed me progressively smaller and smaller ítems when I told him I was on a long journey with a rucksack that was already too heavy. When I told another seller that it was the peso (weight) and not pesos (Mexican money) that was the reason I could not buy anything from him, he ingeniously suggested that I just gave him the money but didn´t actually take anything away from his stall, and that way my rucksack would not suffer.

The same street seller had already asked me how much I earned back in London, and then told me he earned $10 a day if he was lucky. I explained that London was a much more expensive place t olive, and we listened to each other´s complaints about the long hours that we worked. When I told him that the quality of life was a lot better in Mexico than in the UK, and the people generally happier with life from what I had seen, I was slightly surprised that he immediately agreed with me, and I realised that nota ll Mexicans are trying to smuggle themselves across the border to the north t olive the capitalistic, American dream.

Whilst on the subject of dreaming, here are the presents that I might have bought back for you if I didn´t have to consider the weight of my rucksack.

CHICHEN ITZA

“When you have seen one Greek ruin, you´ve seen them all.” Nadine the German/Greek girl told me yesterday as we walked around the ruins at Tulum. After visited Chichen Itza today, I can now confirm that when you´ve seen one Mayan ruin, you´ve also seen them all.