Slides and Freewheeling

Some 1500 vertical metres below Xela lies the wonderous water park of Xocomil (sounds like "chocomilk"), a theme park on a Mayan theme, resplendent with bright concrete "temples" that contain fast food restaurants and effurgies of glowering natives about to throw spears into the defenceless waterslide riders.

Through the local knowledge of one of the people that I had come to know I ended up freewheeling the vast majority of the route to the park on a rented bicycle over the course of an incredible hour and a half of high speed, steep corners on a road that dove through tunnels, of foliage through green rainforest and stone through mountains as stunning vistas shot past of towering cloud forests, deep ravines cut by fast flowing rivers and the impressive mountainous terrain of Guatemala.

I would be pompously self rightous about the rough riding of commercial opportunism for a Mayan theme park over cultural heritage if or weren't for the fact that the park is so much fun that anyone who spends longer than 10 minutes in it is reduced to a squealing childlike state. Personal favourites include the Speed Slide (shown below) and El Regresón, which spits the screaming flume rider some 30 feet up a large quarter pipe before gravity has a chance to do its thing.

Xela, Guatemala
9th August 2009

Ruined

Reflecting on the swift dash from the oven temperature depths of Chiapas to the Belizian redezvous with friends, it seemed somewhat daft to ignore the archelogical heavyweight of Palenque that I would be bussing straight past. Thus after a late night drop off in the tourist friendly spot of El Panchan, tucked neatly into the edge of the jungle in the amaiably run "Jungle Palace" collection of cabañas, I found myself lulled to sleep by the noisy chorus eminating from the foliage, hinting fears of the army of mosquitos that were no doubt poised to breach the cube of mosquito netting in which I was installed and drain me dry.

Fortunately the night passed without failure of my defense measures, and Lou and I found ourselves shuttled rapidly over the well greased path to the ruins by colectivo that hundreds of thousands of tourists had worn down over the years. Despite fears that we would be two heads in a vast seething crowd of tours, the site was really quiet. The ease of access and slick measures at the ticket booths for entry hinting at a much higher expected level of traffic and, coherent with experience elsewhere, showed the fairly devastating effect that negative public relations of swine flu and drug wars has exacted upon national tourism.

I wasn't complaining; wandering without aim around the site having given the brush off to countless offers of paid guidance was an impressive experience. They estimate that only 5% of the already vast site has been discovered and excavated to some degree, and that much was evident from the range of buildings on display. From the groomed and towering edifice of the palace, covered with workers chiselling stone, brushing dust and trimming grass, bringing it to as close a state as they dared to demonstrate it's former glory to the tucked away and overgrown residential housing blocks partially swallowed by jungle, the site (intentionally or not) gave a sense of discovery as you moved betwen buildings. The majority of the tourists going no further than the impressive entrance buildings in the main plaza left a sense of isolation, leaving us to duck in and out of the jungle that formed some of the most impressive views of the site as the sprawling ruins of a once powerful civilization did battle with the vegitation that was reclaiming them.

After dispiriting examples of a country's effort to showcase its natural drawcards, Palenque was a site in which I sensed a respect for the area in the way the tourist infrastructure was developed and the place was groomed and maintained. It is encouraging to see that despite some unfortunate reported behaviour of visitors (building guards describing examples of tourists taking stones from structures as keepsakes and using inner chambers as toilets), the keepers of the site have had the capacity to act with a perspective of sustainability, taste and intelligence.

Palenque

8th July 2009

Por Fin, el Canyon Sumidero

So, after some five months spent at the foot of the majestic Canyon Sumidero in my sweaty little pueblo, a visit from some of my aquaintances from Semana Santa finally prompted me to take an eco-tourist eco-boat ride down the eco-canyon.

Sumidero was an incredible spectacle, sheer rock faces rising up out of the muddy, sluggish river and bursting through the covering of trees that lined its edges.  However, it wasn't long before I started to feel somewhat jaded by the process of experience, shoehorned onto a fibreglass motorboat with a selection of Mexican and foreign tourists, all armed with cameras and camera phones who took every opportunity to point and shoot whenever our tour guide, acting with the token weariness of a seasoned driver, would point out the "features of interest", which regrettably paled into insignificance in relation to the Canyon itself.  We cheerfully drove up to members of the local crocodile population to sate the lust of the tourists for wildlife shots, bringing the boat within feet of them to prompt a grumpy shuffle back into the water or submergence out of sight to prove that they were more than inanimate models placed for the benefit of photo hungry tourists looking for a genuine experience (oh, the irony).

It got me thinking about the nature of tourism; why would I seek to experience things in such a manufactured and predestined way?  What personal significance and sense of development does it instill in me?  Aside from the memory of impressive vistas, the only tangible product that I take from the experience is photographs, and what is their purpose; to be shown to other people?  

So with this in mind, I hope you enjoy the photos for this entry.  They are probably much more impressive than wherever you are.

Chiapa de Corzo

3rd Junio 2009

Taking Corporate Mascots to the Next Level

Those of you aware of the loathsome cut price pharmacy chain Farmacias Similares will no doubt be aware of their cheerful quack mascot, Doctor Simi. In times ruled by the mobile phone camera and the tatty/glorious output of YouTube, the marketing geniuses of this company have decided to employ dispensing employees who have a natural affinity for dance and are willing to showcase their talents in the heat of the day inside a vast costume outside the numerous widespread stores that litter Mexico.

My first acquaintance with him was on the town square of Chiapa de Corzo to the sound of pounding techno music and I have long tried to capture the results on video, but a quick search of YouTube yields far more entertaining results, including the "anti-corporate" bunch of Mexican teenagers who have taken great delight in public mobbings of the cheerful (but now slightly wary) face of cheap dubious medical consultations.



Chiapa de Corzo
19th April 2009

The End of The Road, by Accident

Last weekend saw an escape from the rigors of teaching and learning Spanish up into the hills, rattling in a colectivo in the advancing dusk to San Cristobal De Las Casas where the evening was spent in various bars, steeped in live music and a carefully and very effectively cultivated ambiance. I was delighted to find that my Spanish had advanced an inordinate amount since my last outing some weeks ago, and celebrated by gleefully berating anyone who was willing to engage in conversation with me. Waking up the next day with my first sore head in months, I formulated a complete absence of plan with fellow teacher Willow to head to nearby Comitan, following notable recommendations from almost everyone that i´d spoken to about it. Once again, we piled onto an enthusiastically driven colectivo and shot across the rugged landscape, characterized by dry pine forests that were ready to ignite at the strike of a match.

Cometan was a peaceful place, it's subtle demeanor occasionally interrupted by houses of violent colour, or one of the infrequent trees with deep purple blossom that seemed to punch out between the buildings, littering the roads with a carpet of petals. The local market was the expected cacophony of noise, smells and bizarre sights, but with the interesting difference that the people seemed to regard us with a benign interest instead of the pushy entrepreneurial optimism that seemed to be a characteristic of daily life in Chiapa de Corzo.

Recommended by a local Italian resteraunteur who was in posession of one of the most magnificent noses that I`ve ever seen to the nearby national park which contained numerous lakes, we made the decision to leave sleepy Comitan beind and head further away, towards the border of Guatemala. Valleys and hills gave way to sweeping agricultural plains and villages surrounded by corn fields swaying in the breeze as we sank slowly into the feeling of increasing distance and remoteness.

Reaching the park, we were dropped beside a deep green lake in the middle of a silent and dense alpine forest. After refusing offers of horseback and truck tours in favour of stretching our legs, we wandered along roads and tracks through the forest with no particlar plan, occasionally stumbling across lakes of a fantastic range of hues, pinned in by dense woodland. The rustle of the wind through the trees served to exaggerate the quietness that settled over the place, and it made me realise how noisy and relentless life in Chiapa de Corzo is.

After walking for a couple of hours, with tired grumpiness starting to set in, we wandered down a track that suddenly opened out into a lakeside fronted by a range of dusty, dilapidated huts that fortunately included a restaurant of sorts presided over by a woman with a warm smile and incredible food to match, cooked over a wood fire that brought back memories of camping trips and outdoor adventures. With full bellies and hot chocolate in hand we sat by the side of the lake and watched as the wind pushed cloud shadows over the lush shoreline on the distant banks and gusts sent patches of ripples racing across the face of the deep blue water.

Eventually, with growing curiosity we scurried around the edge of the lake investigating the strange and deserted collection of buildings. The desolate feeling of our surroundings and the eerieness of the abandoned buildings did eveything to suggest that, almost entirely by accident, we had somehow reached the end of the road. With a strange heaviness, we turned around and began the walk back up the track, leaving dusty footprints on the first part of the long path back towards Chiapa de Corzo.

Chiapa de Corzo
22nd March 2009

Snow, you say?

Noting with surprise the pictures on the BBC website today, I thought it would appropriate to share the details of my first "Mexican holiday" in the depths of Chiapan winter that filled the gap between the end of my TEFL training and the start of the teaching semester.

All three of the freshly qualified teachers, myself, Martin and Laura, took a trip to Boca De Cielo, the closest peice of coastline to Chiapa de Corzo, roughly four hours away. The main beach of said town forms one of the extremities of a 40km long, narrow island that lies a few hundred metres off the mainland. The rest of the island is covered with coconut trees and palm leaf roofed cabanas, a tranqial getaway that was apparently enjoyed in a low season lull; in Semana Santa in April, the place is mobbed by Mexican tourists. On the mainland that we arrived from by way of a short boatride, the land rises up into a mountain range that sits hazy in the distance, seemingly a world away.


Winding our way down through the mountains from Chiapa de Corzo, I saw the same range for the first time through the window of the collectivo crested by a sheet of cloud that sat like a blanket, stretching for miles along its length. A short walk along the beach yielded a wonderful range of houses and camping plots perched on the edge of the other side of the spit, steadily being advanced upon by the eroding tidal current, a product of the unfortunately short sighted act by locals of destroying the mangroves to improve access and generate more beach front. In the mornings and evenings between games of beach football with local children and body surfing the waves, we gorged ourselves on fresh seafood, and afterwards lay under the stars in the warm night breezes.

The trip for this long weekend marks my first excursion from CDC since I arrived; it´s been 4 weeks of incredible pace, change and excitement since I walked out of that UK departure gate. Sitting on the buses as I moved progressively closer to the coast brought back nostalgic pangs of exotic trips gone by and I felt a strong desire to keep moving, further South and deeper into Latin America; I´ve been walking the same few blocks for the last months, wrapped up in the rigours of teacher training and the incessent festivities of January and it´s not been until this point, where my horizons have broadened and allowed me the opportunity to reflect, that I´ve realised how insular and focussed the last month has been. It´s going to be a great catalyst for my desire to use my spare time to travel, and keep opening doors to new adventures.

Boca de Cielo

3rd February 2009

Out and About

Taking the opportunity to bumble around the town in the heat of the day (I`m not due to start the TEFL course until Monday) was a wonderful assault on the senses and my poor, travel tired brain. The hustle and bustle of the weekend market pushed me past stalls purveying a range of fabrics, clothing, food and fantastic tat on to the long, shallow steps that fronted the west facing facade of the huge, colonial church, resplendent in a coat of white paint, edged by a deep terracotta red.
Standing on the steps shaded by a large tree whose fallen blossoms littered the steps, I was overwhelmed by their fragrance combined with the smell drifting over from the stalls cooking meats, nuts and sweet breads. All of this, combined with the insistent warmth on my shoulders and back brought memories flooding back of previous travels in central America and Asia.


Wandering down the steps, I came upon the banks of the river that we`d crossed earlier, furnished with a range of restaurants, or "cantinas". In the true spirit of opportunism , each one of these establishments had seized upon the realization that providing a trio of marimba musicians (a drummer and two keyboard players, both installed on the same huge wooden instrument) to furnish the patrons with music would bring more business. Any of these musical groups playing alone would have been a delight, as all the musicians were clearly very skilled, but unfortunately every single establishment had its own group, each of which were sometimes no further than ten feet of one another. The net result of this phenomenon was akin to the drawn out collision of two, marching band carrying, flatbed lorries. Hilariously, every single diner refused to acknowledge the hideous jumbled racket that ensued, and incredibly each separate ensemble managed to maintain perfect timing on its respective tune.

As I walked back from the river, I glimpsed a wonderful range of enterprises and activities through the multitude of open doors and windows of the back streets, fling wide to counter the heat of the day; a man cutting beams to length beside intricate carvings of Jesus; racks of coffins shrink wrapped and presumably awaiting owners; a room full of men sitting beside broken televisions, staring into space, a wedding with two hundred people dressed in their finery, green ribbons wrapped around tables and decorating the hall. At each of these, I glanced briefly and hurried past, feeling somewhat alienated by my surroundings and the acknowledgement of my inability to communicate and achieve a deeper understanding with these people.

Just before I reached my doorway, I noticed two small girls, no greater in age than six or seven. They were perched on a doorstep; one was playing with a mobile phone and the other was methodically removing matches from the box in her hand, striking them and flicking them into the street.

Chiapa de Corzo
Sunday 4th January 2009