Ghosts in Mexico

March 16, 2010 to March 20, 2010

The Photos

Leaving Mexico certainly elicited more excitement than getting in.  For one thing we delayed a day or two to become travel ready (but you’ve read that sad tale already).  We arrived at the bus station with little time to spare and headed to Palenque, Chiapas.  In Ocosingo, Chiapas approximately two hours into our five hour voyage, our bus slowed and then stopped.  Initially of course we had no idea why or for how long we would be delayed.  When the driver shut off the engine, we realized this was no short stop.  Noticing the vast number of smaller transport vehicles backing their way up the other side of the two lane road should have clued us to major happenings.  Eventually we disembark and wander up to discover the problem.  Zapatistas have closed down the road, with a rather intimidating 2x4 full of nails, in protest of the privatization of the jungle and the eviction of the locals from their land.  Initially we think waiting it out is our only option but once we find out that the projected wait ranges from 2 hours to a literally unknown quantity of time we start thinking about other plans.  Fortunately for us, some fellow travelers beat us to this thought.  I am kicking myself for not remembering their names, but she started feeling sick and the wait on a now unairconditioned bus increased her discomfort so her boyfriend found a taxi to Palenque for $60.  Split between the two couples it was as much as the bus had cost but relieved our impatience at the wait and uncomfortableness in the heat of the day.

Palenque seemed in the process of being completely rebuilt.  We can’t be sure that the increase in construction will cause the tourist boom they obviously expect but the city will definitely be able to handle it IF it happens.  Getting to the ‘city’ and finding a hotel amenable to the now four traveling companions wiped two of us almost completely.  So we rested while our cohorts saw the ruins.  We all bought tickets to Flores, El Petén, Guatemala, shared dinner and a tequila shot and retired for our morning shuttle.  Six A.M. came early, as bleary eyed we made our way outside the hotel to wait and take bets on which approaching vehicle was ours.  My aunt used to contend that the best way to make your food come at a restaurant was to light a cigarette, so I facilitated the arrival of our bus by taking off my unreasonably cumbersome backpack.

Eight of us, as 4 sets of couples, made the shuttle ride to the Mexico Guatemala border.  Our arrival at the border seemed filled with confusion.  Neither Gregory or I spoke enough Spanish to fully figure out what needed to happen.  We think that we were supposed to get a magical form filled out in Palenque saying we had paid the appropriate amount of money, 25 dollars, to leave.  Also adding to the confusion was our lack of a passport stamp saying when and where we had come into Mexico.  Not having the proper forms or even any Mexican money, thoroughly confused the man behind the counter and eventually he just washed his hands of us.  He stated that he didn’t know what trouble we would have in Guatemala but we ceased being his concern.  We walked down to the end of the road where we expected a 30 minute boat ride on the Usumacinta River.  Again confusion struck.  Our driver was nowhere to be found and none of the boat taxies were owning up to expecting a group from the tour company we used.  Eventually someone came to our rescue, paying the ferry man and sending us up the river into Guatemala.

Thirty minutes later, we trudge up a steep muddy bank into Guatemala.  The ferry man responsible for paying our next shuttle driver deftly passed that job on to one of the other tourists among the two boatloads.  Our group of 8 remarkably doubled in size as we wait for our next chariot.  It eventually arrived with just barely room for all of us and our baggage.  The next untold number of hours were spent on just about the worst country road one could imagine, in a 20 passenger shuttle van that had made the trip several times more that the shocks were warrantied for.  With a little bit of Gin and Vermouth we would have been perfect martinis ... thoroughly shaken.

Eventually we arrive at the immigration office of Guatemala.  We let a little more that half the group go before we went in.  Giving us plenty of time to try to figure out how much trouble we were in for not getting stamped in Mexico.  The consensus was that we were not supposed to pay anything (that’s what ALL the guide books said).  Each group of people heading in was adamant that they were going to fight it.  Strangely each group came back out paying their fee and moving on, a true testament to the power of bureaucracy.  We of course had no desire to be difficult and when it was our turn we were very friendly, apologetic and tractable.  After being reprimanded for knowing better but not doing better, we paid our five American dollars each, were duly processed through and allowed to continue on our journey.  Hugh sighs of relief, followed by sardine-ing back onto the bus and continuing more countless hours (on eventually better roads) to our destination.

About an hour before we reached Flores, the translator put on his tour guide hat and became quite adamant that he schedule the rest of our stay in Flores.  Unwilling to be railroaded into tour packages and hotel stays we listened patiently and rebuffed him graciously.  Fortunately there were enough people willing to be scheduled that he left us to our own devices.  Our arrival in Flores was halted by several attempts to procure cash, the better to pay for our prearranged tour packages.  If it hadn’t been so very frustrating, I sure we would have found it amusing.  Finally we arrive, to be ferried around to the ‘best’ hotels around (or at least the ones with the fattest kickback).  None of the offerings entice us, so we break off from the group and just begin to walk around.  An old man sitting by the road asked if we were looking for amigos and not really understanding what was being asked (yes we knew it meant friends, but we had just left the ‘friends’ we had ... hence the confusion) we followed his indicated direction to a great hostel called Los Amigos.

Our first night was in a shared room with a couple completely crashed out from a hot day exploring Tikal and since we were so exhausted from the agonizing drive we likewise crashed.  The next days and nights however were remarkable.  We moved to a tree house type room overlooking the common area, talked to plenty of travelers to get more suggestions for destinations, uploaded pictures while downloading movies on their blazing fast internet and ate wonderful vegetarian meals.  Our chosen hostel had similar tour packages for the Tikal ruins and we eventually planned an early morning wander without tour guide based on the information we had gathered from our fellow travelers.

This time 6 in the morning seemed even earlier as we piled into a bus headed to the Mayan ruins.  Gregory and I had agreed that we would go as deeply into the jungle ruins as quickly as possible then slowly wander our way back to the front and thereby avoid the sheople mentality of the guided groups.  This ended up being a brilliant plan and for the most part we were the only ones at the majority of the temples we explored.  ‘Disaster’ did strike towards the end of our adventure when with the help of a communication error we were separated for a couple of hours.

My version of the story... I left Gregory listening to a tour guide because he was hot and tired and I still wanted to explore the back side of the main plaza.  I thought he would stay in the general area I had left him in, so when I came back and he wasn’t there I went into only a slightly panicked mode.  I attempted to calmly stay near where I had left him thinking he had just wandered as I had and would come back.  I felt fortunate that I had remembered to bring a book and with some people watching and some book reading I fretfully passed a completely unknown quantity of time.  Eventually I decided that he wasn’t just wandering nearby and wasn’t coming back so I tearfully headed towards the exit without any more site seeing and fervently hoped that an obvious waiting spot would present itself so that we wouldn’t further miss each other.  Fortunately, at the gate our paths crossed and neither of us was lost for ever in the jungles of Tikal.

Gregory’s addition ~ Rebecca’s version is essentially correct, but I will say that before we parted ways unexpectedly the plan was to head toward the front gate to leave, when I could not find her, I went to the front gate.  When she didn’t turn up as I expected, I began asking people if they had seen my Purple French Mushroom and had just begun to head back to the last place I had seen her when we found each other.  

Happily reunited, we returned to our hostel and planned a day of rest and relaxation.  This included a pampering visit for a massage and steam bath from a flyer in the hostel.  I cannot honestly say what I expected but I can say that the experience was an experience.  I went first for the massage and at Gregory’s urging requested an hour long session.  The unimposing little Guatemalan man was only able to offer a limited amount of small talk and shortly the massage commenced.  Initially it was interrupted by at least one phone call and a trip to secure an open window shade.  However, eventually it proceeded as one expects.  That is until he flipped me over on my back.  Gradually it became apparent to me that one hand was doing more probing than massaging and after arguing in my head about was and wasn’t appropriate in a massage I said, “Please Stop.”  This was met with an increase in pressure and feigned incomprehension.  My “STOP” was repeated louder and with more force, which resulted in stopping of the pressure but NOT removal of the hand and the act of not understanding English.  Immediately, I moved to the offensive with a more forceful “ALTO” and he removed his hands from my body and began to appease me.  He complemented my body and beautiful skin but I remained firm in my stand to NOT have him touch me again and the so called massage was over.  He left the room and I prepared to change places with Gregory who had been in and out of the steam bath in the next room.

My hour in the steam bath was spent reliving the scene and trying to come up with the best Spanish delivery of the story to Gregory.  Eventually I landed on the phrase ‘Tu pagar por el feliz terminado?’  To which I expected a ‘no’ and the follow up phrase of ‘incluido en hora masaje!’  However, Gregory is hardly ever predictable and the verbal exchange went nothing like I expected.  We showered quickly and prepared to pay and leave.  The increase in the time made the expected price misunderstood and unarguable but eventually we gave him enough money that he determined we could leave.  Except the adventure was not over yet, as he insisted on giving us a ride back to our hostel.  We had been prepared to take a TukTuk back, but he was adamant.  So we get into his car and start down the road, only to run out of gas a few blocks away.  Glad to escape and not feeling particularly bad about abandoning him, we scrambled out and grabbed the next TukTuk for home (which in case I haven’t mentioned before home is where ever our stuff is at the time).

Next up... Death Defying Adventures, Crime and Religion!