That night, the now usual thunderstorms lit up the sky and I was hoping they would clear by morning. I packed the bike in the half light of drizzly morning and set off for the long ride to San Cristobal. I opted for a long stint on the toll roads because I was just eager to get there and avoid the rain that was forecast for later that day. Sadly, I didn`t quite make it. About an hour from San Cristobal, as the road climbed steadily into the mountains, the now dark and brooding skies unleashed a torrent of rain and by the time I arrived it was raining very heavily, so I just headed straight for the centre and quickly found a cheap, little hotel with secure, dry parking a few blocks from the central plaza.
After a short while the rain abated and lulled me into a false sense of security so I went out to have a look around and find somewhere to eat. I`d been on the road early and hadn`t eaten for over 6 hours. As I wandered the streets, it began to rain again, but this time I`d remembered to bring my trusty umbrella! I sat out the next deluge in a small cafe on the plaza and watched again as the street in front of me turned into a small river within a matter of minutes. Beginning to tire of the constant downpours I made my way back to dry out my now sodden shoes and socks and decided to try again later in the day.
When I finally made it to the central plaza at night, it was all I expected it to be. San Cristobal is an attractive, bohemian type of town that attracts artists, musicians, and those seeking an alternative type of lifestyle. You could easily spend hours wandering around the many bars and cafes soaking up the rich cultural atmosphere, which is exactly what I did for a day or so. At the same time I was also feeling a little unwell. I thought maybe I`d eaten something that disagreed with me, but I`d been really careful with my food. Maybe it was a side effect of the anti malarials I`d started taking, or maybe I was just totally worn out from the constant long days travelling. Whatever it was, I was beginning to feel very rough. I would have stayed another day to recover but I had been in contact with an American rider called Mark and had agreed to meet up with him the next day so we could cross the border into Guatemala together. He had also been on the road for over 3 months and like me, was looking for a bit of company on the road.
The next day I was on the road for the city of Comitan and my rendezvous with Mark. Comitan was just a short 80 km ride from the Guatemalan border so it was a good place to stay and do some final checks and maintenance on the bike before the next big challenge of Central America. Inevitably, it started to rain as I set off and by the time I arrived in Comitan I was thoroughly soaked. I`d followed directions from Mark and happily found the hotel very easily.
As I pulled up I was quite relieved to see it was a very nice hotel compared to the cheap and cheerful places I`d been recently staying in. The price reflected the quality, but it was worth it for the lovely hot shower and nice towels and wonderfully comfortable bed. After checking in I went to introduce myself to my new riding companion.
My usual habit of early mornings was clearly not followed by everyone, as a very bleary eyed Mark answered his door and mumbled something about having had a heavy night. It was only over breakfast that I realised he had been "entertaining" a "friend" over night!
We went out for breakfast and chatted about our experiences in Mexico. He had ridden down from New Jersey and was heading for Panama. It became clear that Mark`s experiences had been totally different from mine. Whereas I had ridden from Alaska to Mexico in 3 ½ months, he had spent the same amount of time just meandering around Mexico! His virtually fluent grasp of Spanish had enabled him to immerse himself in the culture of the country, meet people and go to places I could never have experienced. It became immediately apparent to me that I had to slow down. I had been riding too hard for too long. No wonder I was feeling burnt out and constantly tired.
We decided not to head for the border the next day but instead, take another day for me to rest and recover. That night Mark enlisted the services of Paco, a local taxi driver he had befriended, to take us to a couple of bars. It was so nice to have some company and it would certainly be much easier crossing the border with Mark`s ability to speak the language. I had been getting by with my limited Spanish but often felt the frustration of not being able to converse in anything other than short, carefully thought out sentences. I was envious of Mark`s ability to talk to anyone and knew that in the days and weeks to come this would prove invaluable. I was also hoping that his “meandering philosophy” would rub off on me and slow me down.
The night before our border crossing I endured a fitful sleep, happy I had company, but still apprehensive of what the next day would bring. My Mexican crossing hadn`t been as easy as it was supposed to be and all the Central American border crossings have notorious reputations for being at best, longwinded, bureaucratic nightmares and at worst full of corruption and extortion. We would have to be mentally switched on and totally prepared with all our paperwork in good order. Any mistakes made at the border could have serious ramifications later.
We loaded the bikes and with a final farewell and photo call rode towards the border. Before leaving Mexico, we had to go to the Mexican customs near the border and cancel out temporary import visa for the bikes and get our exit stamps in our passports. Failure to do so, could result in a hefty fine should we want to return to Mexico in the future. As my paperwork was being processed, the customs officer told us that due to the torrential rain Guatemala had been suffering (Tropical storm “Matthew” had been devastating Central America for days), there were many landslides and many of the roads were blocked. If we were to cancel our permits and we got stuck inside Guatemala and had to return and find another crossing, we would have to pay again. He suggested we take another border crossing 4 hrs away, but we decided to chance our luck. If the roads were blocked we thought we`d have a better chance of getting through on our bikes. So with even more trepidation we headed for the Guatemalan border.
With almost no hold ups or unnecessary bureaucracy, we negotiated customs, the banjercito (importing the bikes), the mandatory fumigation of the bikes (just another opportunity to extract a small payment) and the money changers (Pesos to Quetzals). The whole process was completed in less than an hour! Once again we were warned that the roads were blocked but we decided to go as far as we could. The other option was to find a hotel at the border town, but like all border towns it looked like bandit country, so that wasn`t an appealing thought.
Pleasantly surprised at the relative ease of the crossing we rode optimistically into Guatemala. We rode through many towns with no signs of any problems. With each passing mile I was feeling more confident that we might reach our destination of Huehuetenango, then, as we rounded a bend we ran into backed up traffic. We overtook the stationary line of cars, trucks and buses until we could go no further. Mark asked several people what was happening. Sure enough, the road was completely blocked and had been for days. It wouldn`t be clear today, maybe tomorrow he was told. A couple of people had said there was an alternative route over the mountains on a dirt road. If I had been travelling alone there was no way I would have even considered such a route, but Mark was keen to try, as he would be given his skill in off road riding and a much more suitable bike! I must admit, I was much more reluctant for obvious reasons.
We agreed to give it a go on the basis we could always turn back if it got too difficult and find a hotel for the night. With one final confirmation from another local that it was the right road, we headed up a steep, cobbled track which quickly turned to dirt (or mud, as it was by then). After climbing for what seemed like a long time but was probably only 20 mins, up a winding, twisting, often rutted dirt track, we eventually came to a fork in the road with of all things a small wood built shop! In the middle of nowhere, a tiny convenience store! It was an obvious place to stop and re-assess, besides which, neither of us had eaten all day and the nervous energy was beginning to sap my strength. A packet of Doritos and a coke later (Mark has to have caffeine on a regular basis) we asked the woman in the shop which was the right way. She unfortunately pointed back the way we had come.
“I didn`t notice passing any road back there?” I said, just getting a little worried.
“The only thing I saw was a track off to the right”, Mark replied. It seemed certain we had missed the turn, and so eyeing the darkening sky with some concern, I suggested we head back and check it out fairly soon. Mark agreed, but was clearly relishing the adventure, whereas I was just keen to get off this mountain in one piece.
We reversed our route and soon enough we came upon a very steep, very muddy, rutted track. As I was slowing down behind Mark, I lost control on the mud and ran in to the back of his bike, dropping mine and causing him to do the same. A passing driver helped us to pick up the bikes. There was no damage as it had been a very slow fall, but it brought home to me the situation we could easily get into if we were further up the hill and got into more serious problems. I was concerned about damaging the bike. It was just too heavily loaded for the kind of terrain we were attempting to ride through. We stood for a while discussing the options. Mark was still fairly Gung Ho and would have headed up the track if I had said “Let`s do it!”. I`m all in favour of stretching my “Comfort Zone” (I`d been doing it for nearly 4 months!), but common sense told me this was not a good move.
Having agreed the risk was too great we headed back down and it was with enormous relief we found a nice hotel a few miles away and settled down with a beer. Much the better option! I asked the waiter how long it would take to clear the road,
“Posiblemente manana”
So with the chance that it might be open the next day I was more than happy to sit it out in a hotel, rather than battle it out on the mountain. The next day over breakfast we got the news that the road had indeed been cleared enough to allow traffic through, but that there was now another landslide on the road from the border. It looked like we had got through just in time. It was clear Guatemala was going to prove an interesting and challenging country.
We set off after a leisurely breakfast and made for Huehuetenango. The road was littered with debris and mud and was down to single a track in many areas, so it was slow going. As we approached the town it began to rain again and by the time we arrived there we were soaked. We rode into town in very heavy traffic and just opted for the first hotel that had secure parking. I admit to getting a little tired of putting on wet and by now smelly riding gear virtually every day. Although Guatemala isn`t a huge country, and the mileages are nothing like Mexico, the road systems and adverse weather makes travel much more difficult. Our next destination was going to be the famous mountain market town of Chichicastenango.
As soon as we set off the rains began to fall heavily. We passed many landslides and had to spend a good deal of time riding on the other side of the dual carriageway which was pretty scary considering the average standard of driving in Guatemala. To compound the situation as we climbed higher we ran into thick cloud and visibility was now down to about 10 metres. I couldn`t see Mark in front of me, I could only hear his exhaust. As we rounded a bend we saw ahead of us another line of stationary traffic. The road was blocked by an accident. A sobering reminder of just what a danger these roads, conditions and crazy driving were. Because we had bikes we managed to navigate around the crash and continue on our journey. When we finally arrived at the town, we both needed a beer and Mark admitted,
“You know what ..... I`ve been riding over 30 yrs and done some crazy things, but that was the scariest riding I`ve ever done”
We were both looking forward to finding a place we could stay in for a few days and get some much need rest. Chichicastenango is primarily famous for its very colourful local market which takes place on Thursdays, which would be the following day, so we decided to check out the market and then head for Lake Atitlan which was only an hours ride away. Mark was keen to see the lake and the 3 volcanoes around its shore, but that night it rained incessantly which didn`t bode well for the following day. The market lived up to its reputation and was spectacularly colourful. Guatemalans certainly don`t dress down! By lunchtime and with the inevitable gathering storm clouds building, I suggested,
“I think we should pack up and go soon. I`d like to ride in dry conditions for once!”
Mark readily agreed and while he was packing his bike I was trying to get directions from the hotel owner of how to get out of the town. With tight, narrow and crowded streets it was impossible to know which direction to take and since my GPS had proved practically worthless since crossing the border we often had to resort to asking the locals. The hotel owner offered to jump on his bike and guide us out. On the way out, a “tuck tuck” driver shook his head at me and shouted something like,
“No paso!”
I didn`t think anything of it at the time but about 30 minutes later as we climbed an impossibly steep and winding road out of the town I knew what he was talking about. We ground to a halt in another stationary queue.
“Oh shit, not again!” I muttered inside my helmet.
This was getting ridiculous. Immediately thinking of one of my personal reasons for doing this trip. I wanted to learn patience and develop the ability to go with the flow. Guatemala was rapidly becoming my teacher, and I really didn`t like it one bit. We turned off our engines, got off our bikes, assessed our options and came to the conclusion that we didn`t have any.
“We could be here for quite a while”, observed Mark, as the rain steadily fell.
Resigning myself to the situation I was taking a few pictures when up ahead I could see some slow but discernible movement. The police had arrived and had somehow managed to unlock the tangled traffic, quickly donning our helmets and gloves, we fired up the bikes and joined the painfully slow procession up the twisty road. Thank God!
