| June 14, 2002 Dear All:
Well, I am back in Mexico, and even putting miles under my wheels again . . . just
officially topped ONE THOUSAND MILES of full gear-carrying travel on Wednesday (1008 to be
exact).
My trip back to California was great, but exhausting. Trying to cram in
way to much in
13 days . . . I ended up not even sleeping the night before my flight, ah well. I don't
truly expect any sympathy, as not having to wake up for work every day does sort of make
up for any temporary inconveniences. (Please, don't hate me!) The only real disappointment
with the trip was when I foolishly bought pre-packaged tortillas at the local Albertson's.
GUACALA! Dry and tasteless; Mexico should consider a defamation lawsuit.
I arrived back in La Paz, and, after living there for four weeks, it sort of felt like
a homecoming. A good friend from my Spanish language school was still studying there, and
my teachers were still there, and, of course, I stopped to see the family I lived with.
All you may have read or heard about the warmth of the Mexican people is very true. It was
good to be back, to stroll the Malecon with friends, or visit at home with people I had
not known but a month ago, who made me feel like family. It became difficult to leave, and
I felt like I was in Hayward all over again, having difficulty getting on my bicycle.
Finally, on the third day, I just woke up and packed. I rode the 23 kilometers out to
Pichilingue, where the ferry docks for the 18 hour ride to Mazatlan (3:00 p.m. to 8:00
a.m. the next morning). The ferry looked sea-worthy, but only JUST. There was a
significant amount of deferred maintenance . . . some of which was being done during the
crossing. I had originally thought to simply buy a seat in the Salon (i.e., steerage), but
at the last minute decided to spring for a private cabin. GOOD MOVE! The boat was hot,
humid, and had a very high ratio of crying babies to adults. The folks in the Salon
certainly make the best of it though -- bringing sleeping bags or blankets and pillows,
and simply spreading out on the floor for the night. The kids roam the boat, exploring and
generally having a good time. Most people bring a significant amount of luggage and goods,
tied up in makeshift cardboard packing cases, or in 50 pound nylon potato sacks, or bikes
disassembled and tied with rope.
I, however, didn't know this and wheeled my bike on. It was immediately taken from me
and put in the cargo room, which was about 6 feet wide by 6 feet long by 6 feet high, and
looked plenty big for my bike. Until we landed in Mazatlan, and I saw that EVERYONE who
had boarded the boat after me had ALSO put luggage and equipment in there. Think of the
clown car at the circus and you get the idea of the boxes, bags, fans, suitcases, TV's,
etc. disgorging from the now VERY TINY looking cargo room. It of course occurred to me, as
I waited and waited and waited for my bike, that all this equipment was somehow piled on
TOP of my bicycle. I couldn't even bear to look. But, 25 minutes later, a cry went up from
a guy who had seen me boarding, and my bike came out, somehow not even scratched. I am an
endless source of amusement and curiosity to people, and they, in turn, really look out
for me. It's a nice feeling.
Mazatlan was pleasant. My hotel was in the heart of the old town, four blocks from the
central market and the 19th century Cathedral. The central market, as in most of the
mainland towns I have hit since, is a large city block, covered with a high corrugated
roof over a metal superstructure, and a few hundred stalls within. There is fruit row, and
butcher row, and pharmacy row, and fish row, etc. Really charming and bustling, and a
blast to wander through. Too, there was a smaller plaza about 4 blocks away where the
state (Sinaloa) and municipal government have beautifully renovated an 1820's theater. An
arts district with galleries, an art and an archaeology museum, restaurants and cafes, and
studio apartments, all in colonial style buildings, is flourishing.
After two days rest, I began again (with some fear) the bicycling, about 50 to 60 miles
a day to little towns called Rosario, Acaponeta, and here in Santiago Ixcuintla. Most are
a little bit off the main highway, and spotted first by the tower and dome of the local
church. There is one main paved road into town, and most of the rest are cobblestone.
Unlike the Baja towns, which were quite small and generally had one main drag only, you
can feel the history in all of the mainland towns, which are more or less on a standard
grid pattern, and have been around since the early 1800's, at least.
As I have ventured south, the landscape has changed from the last of the northern
mexico desert to lush (and humid) semi-jungle. It has been fun to watch the gradual change
with each mile I cycle south. Whereas Baja was cactus, cactus everywhere, with not a drop
to drink, Sinaloa and Nayarit are rivers, and mango trees, and the endless LOUD cacophony
of birds in the trees, and for the first time since arriving in Mexico, an actual lawn of
grass at the Pemex station, instead of rocks and dirt.
Owing to the humidity, most folks leave their doors open to allow circulation, so
walking the streets is a great chance to glance inside peoples' homes on the residential
streets and to practice my Spanish by reading all the little shop signs on the commercial
ones. While there certainly appears to be a significant middle class in Mexico, many
people still live in what appears to my eyes as somewhat challenging circumstances. The
mix of reasonable comfort right next door to apparent poverty is fairly common.
For me, though, that has become part of the specific joy of being here; the particular
feel of the place that comes from all of the surroundings. I think it is best exemplified
after sundown, when people generally come outdoors en masse to enjoy the cooler
temperatures, and hit the outdoor taco and hot dog stands, the helado y nieves (ice cream
- homemade popsicle) stores, gather in the central plaza, and stroll the streets. Pickup
trucks with loud speakers advertising goods or the local candidate for mayor or congress
circulate, blaring announcements or music at near ear shattering decibels. At those times,
especially, I can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
Today, I visited an ancient island fishing village, said to be the place from whence
the Aztecs left in 1115 to begin their trek to Tenochitlan (present day Mexico City),
where they arrived in 1325. I took the 5 a.m. bus (knowing enough to get there early, just
in case, as it left at 4:54 a.m.), and then a 15 minute colectivo launch through the
mangrove swamp to the 300 meter by 400 meter island. My companion on the bus and launch
was a middle aged woman who wandered the island calling out the tamales for sale which she
carried in a large red plastic basin on her head.
The island is quite small, a central plaza with the church, school, municipal building,
and hotel, with 12 streets radiating out from the center, and one long oval road that
circles the island halfway between shore and plaza. At the end of one street is a rickety
raised walkway of sticks that connects to a restaurant in the lagoon. The streets are
dirt, with high raised cement sidewalks along the edge, about 2 feet up, for walking on
when the lagoon and streets flood at the end of the rainy season in October. I wandered
the streets and ventured to the end of a few, sitting and watching the fisherman in their
small boats, some with motors, some powered by long poles, and an incredible variety of
water birds: storks, herons, pelicans, terns, and lots I couldn't identify. At one point,
a heron was standing right in front of me in the street, waiting to steal a fish from a
fisherman transferring his catch from an ice chest. At my approach, the heron just flapped
his wings twice and flew up to the red tile roof a foot or two above my head.
Next is San Blas (another coastal village with reputed amazing bird watching on the
river throught the jungle) and then Sunday or Monday, I will likely begin my climb up into
the mountains to Tepic (the capitol of Nayarit State), and then a day or two later to
Guadalajara, Mexico's second largest city, where I hope to spend a week or so. From there,
it looks as if there are many beautiful colonial towns, lakes, and mountains, with lots to
see and explore, all less than a day's travel from each other, and hopefully, a bit cooler
due to the mile high altitude.
So, all is well, the sightseeing is more than making up for the humidity and constant
sweating. All visitors are welcome.
Best, Jeffrey |
