october 1 2008 : mineral wells, texas, usa
After another day of glorious Oklahoman hospitality we loaded up the bus this morning and said our goodbyes. But before we left the Norman Transcript stopped by the house for an interview. It was just your standard run of the mill interview Who are you? Why are you doing this? Where are you going next? But it was fun, and it’s not every day you can become a minor celebrity in a major college town like Norman during football season.

Back on the road, with functioning brakes, we drove south along country roads that occasionally passed through small, mostly deserted towns. Along the way we stopped off to buy some beer. The cashier tried to wave us up to the drive-thru window, but we parked and went inside to peruse the selection. Sometimes the differences in demographics around the States amazes me. All I need to see are the available beers at the liquor stores to know where I am or at least that I’ve moved beyond one area and into another. I think beer selection tells a lot about a place and the people that live there. Here, in southern Oklahoma, the only beer available was Bud, Bud Light, Coors Light, Miller Lite, and thirty-packs of Keystone Light. Yikes. The only conclusion I can draw from that selection is that the only people who drink beer here are high-school kids.

october 3 2008 : carrizo springs, texas, usa
We spent the past couple of days simply driving south. We originally thought about driving to Austin and San Antonio, but opted to stay away from the big towns and stay on the farm roads instead. Last night we came to Luckenbach, a place that anybody who knows country music will recognize. Waylon and Willie and the boys weren’t there, but a bunch of local ol’ crooners were, and they had a nice little outdoor jam session under the trees with roosters crowing and cats lounging around.

Luckenbach is a pretty cool little place. Originally country legend Hondo Crouch bought the “town” in the 70’s and invited all of his country friends to come by, drink beer, and sing sad songs. It still has that vibe. The bar sits inside an old barn and looks out on a dirt floored patio where everyone hangs out together. With a campground just a mile down the road it was an easy laid back place to spend too many happy hours feeling no pain.

Today we realized just how ready we are to get out of Texas and never come back. Texas drivers have proven themselves once again to be the rudest, most inconsiderate, and impatient of anywhere we’ve ever traveled. At this point they’ve pretty well soured our feelings on the entire state. I can’t even count how many one ton pickups we’ve had tailgate us and then pass us without leaving the lane before they cut back in front of us just inches off our front bumper. They’re all angry, even though we are on tiny farm roads and you can see forever. Passing us shouldn’t consume more than about five seconds of their day. This is a state that we will make every effort to avoid in the future.

october 5 2008 : brownsville, texas, usa
It’s been a long hot haul across Texas, but today we pulled into Brownsville, a sprawling border town that makes a good place to camp for the last night in the States. Early tomorrow we’ll head across. This afternoon we stopped off at a few stores to get some last minute items that have been on our list. For Ali this included copious amounts of French Vanilla coffee, and for me she picked up some plumbing supplies at Home Depot so I could fix our leaking sink properly.

After settling in at the RV park Ali got busy on laundry and I banged out a short bus list. With those things done we are ready to hit Mexico tomorrow. We’re both extremely excited to get down there and are pretty happy that we should have nothing to do for our first few days except eat, drink, and work on our Spanish.

october 6 2008 : la pesca, tamaulipas, mexico, central america
Crossing the border into Canada we are greeted with more suspicion than we know what to do with. In Mexico they treat us like old friends. Driving across the bridge we pulled into a parking space underneath a shaded building to check in with the authorities. It’s up to the individual driving through to actually stop, which I always find amusing. Though if you plan on going anywhere in Mexico you are sure to be stopped by dozens of military patrols who are happy to check your paperwork and make sure that you did your job.

There was virtually nobody else at the border at nine a.m. on a Monday, so within an hour I had our tourist cards and vehicle permit. In a never-ending pursuit to push our luck I shrugged off the vehicle insurance guys. Even Napoleonic Law is no deterrent to my self-insuring ways. After a cursory inspection of the buses interior we were on our way through Matamoros. Fifteen minutes later we were on the highway out of town headed south.

We only had one errand to run, and that was to pick up beer. It’s funny, in a country where there sometimes seem to be no laws, we pull into the OXXO station only to find that they can’t sell us beer at 9:55, we have to wait until 10:00. This appears to be the one unbreakable rule of alcohol here. Right inside the door of each service station is a cooler full of individual ice cold beers just waiting to be drunk by truck drivers on their way down the highway, which is fine, as long as it’s after ten.

Actually one of my favorite things about Mexico is the utter lack of rigid rules. While driving, common sense and courtesy rule the day instead of cops and signs. In fact it is a rare sight indeed when you see a cop on the road. Standing on the corner in busy cities, yes, but out patrolling the highway for speeders, never. Best of all is that half the cars on the road aren’t capable of doing over 50 mph, so when faster drivers come up on us they aren’t instantly irate, they just settle in a nice distance behind us until the coast is clear. My absolute favorite example of the common sense and courtesy rule is that when a car is behind us all we have to do is flip on our left blinker and they will instantly pull out to pass. That blinker from us indicates to them that we can see ahead and it is clear for them to pass us, and that we will slow down if the need arises. How many times back home have you gone to pass somebody only to have them speed up so you can’t get by? There just isn’t any of that here.

Our first night back in Mexico is being spent in La Pesca, a tiny town along the coast that looks as if it has spent years being battered relentlessly by hurricanes. Whether or not it has I really have no idea, but it has that beat up look to it. Along the road to town we came across a sign for an RV campground. When we pulled in the driveway there was nobody in sight anywhere on the five acre property so we just pulled across the hundred yard long lawn to a row of palm trees running along the shore of a wide river. Almost instantly a girl appeared to collect some money, tell us we could use the pool and anything else, and then she was gone.

Ali and I were left alone on this huge property, a very nice eight room hotel stood empty nearby, and in front of it was one of the largest swimming pools I’ve ever seen outside of Las Vegas. We spent the rest of the day soaking up some much needed sunshine and drinking Tecates. By the time dinner time came around we were so content that we didn’t even bother heading back to town, settling on a bag of Jalapeño chips instead. A sure sign that we’ve arrived back in Mexico.

october 7 2008 : tampico, tamaulipas, mexico
Today was a virtual repeat of yesterday. We drove for a couple of hours in the morning, but with storm clouds looming we decided to pull in at a hotel with a huge parking lot out back set aside apparently for campers. October must be a seriously slow time in this area because there doesn’t seem to be another traveler in Mexico at the moment. The hotel has another huge pool, immaculately groomed grounds, a very good restaurant, and no customers. We aren’t minding a bit being all alone everywhere.

october 8 2008 : poza rica, veracruz, mexico
After today I think Ali will probably disagree with my take on Mexican drivers. I really don’t know what the heck happened this morning, but we got totally lost. We started out driving into Tampico, where we spotted one sign for the town we were heading to. The sign listed it as a quota (toll) road though, and I hadn’t thought the road we wanted was a toll, or that it should have been on this side of the city. So we continued on into the heart of Tampico, a surprisingly large and busy city with hundreds of stoplights. As we drove on the road went from three lanes to two and eventually to somewhat less than one, in a decidedly less than prosperous part of town. After an hour we gave up, and turned back. We missed our turn again, but after about two hours we thought we were finally on the right track.

We weren’t of course. Somehow we had ended up on a completely different highway, a one lane affair through an area of country that was experiencing some pretty terrible flooding. The road was washed out much of the way, and roadside shanty towns, barrios, were swimming in filthy water three feet deep. The conditions were reminiscent of what we saw in Haiti. Meanwhile whenever the road afforded anybody the opportunity to pass us they took it, often times leaving Ali screaming and bracing herself against the dashboard. As the driver I always felt in control, but I suppose from the passenger point of view, which includes no rear windows and no easy view out the mirrors, it would be pretty scary to have an overloaded truck passing within inches of us while climbing a blind hill.

Just before dark we pulled into Poza Rica, found a hotel that was happy to let us pay to sleep in their parking lot, ate an exceptionally good mexican meal, then went to bed. I had estimated before we left that morning that the drive should take about three hours. It took nine.

october 9 2008 : costa esmeralda, veracruz, mexico
This morning we visited the archaeological site of El Tajín. These sorts of sites are scattered all over Mexico, but this one is a little better preserved than many, and has the interesting Pyramid of the Niches. The pyramid is about sixty feet high and is covered with little niches. What else? There are 365 of them, making the pyramid a unique calendar.

When we arrived a group of voladores were preparing to put on their tourist show, jumping off a tall pole in a sort of group bungy jump. Tour buses had delivered a couple hundred tourists just in time for the show, and a voladore was walking around collecting twenty pesos from each person. These guys stood to make about one hundred times the average hourly wage of Mexico for this show with or without us, so Ali and I decided to skip it and get into the ruins before the hordes. It worked out well, as the entire place was empty, not a tourist or a tout was anywhere to be seen. It was a gray day, but that actually seemed to set the mood of the place pretty well. The pyramids were all sort of black and mildewy, while the grounds throughout the ruins were a thick dripping green. We really enjoyed the place, and were happy to have had it to ourselves.

Just an hours drive down the road we finally made it to the ocean. It is not nearly as easy to do this on the Gulf coast as it is on the Pacific. This stretch of highway is called the Emerald Coast and is lined with run down hotels and trailer parks. We chose our place based on the fact that it had giant palapas for us to park under for the next couple of days while the expected rains pass by. Our timing into Mexico has coincided with a tropical depression that is making its way directly up the middle of the country.

The park, like every other place we’ve been, was completely deserted. Though when we pulled in there was a girl standing behind the desk as if she had been waiting for us. We checked in, selected one of the twenty-four empty palapas overlooking the beach, and made ourselves at home. After going for a swim in the ocean we settled in next to one of our two large swimming pools and enjoyed what is predicted to be the last of the sun for now.

october 11 2008 : costa esmeralda
Sometimes in Mexico we just have to shake our heads. The people here are extremely hard workers, but when you see what they are working on sometimes you just have to wonder why. The campground/hotel we are at is crumbling. Anything made of concrete is falling apart in large chunks all around us. The whole place could use a fresh coat of paint. The pool is in pretty good shape but a little attention wouldn’t hurt. The two hot water heaters appear to have heated their last drop some time ago, and the wiring around the entire property is straight up frightening.

To take care of all of this are four employees. Two men and two girls. The girls appear to be in charge of the guest rooms. Ali and I are the only guests and we have no room. The two guys we have spent the past couple of days watching are engrossed in constructing a big star made of little white rocks in the dirt driveway. It looks nice I guess, but we just can’t help thinking their priorities are misplaced. Then again who are we to judge? We’re paying eighteen bucks a day to swim in the ocean ten yards away, swim in the pool ten feet away, and lounge around in our giant palapa with our bus parked underneath. You’re not going to hear us complaining to management about our cold water shower.

october 12 2008 : boca del rio, veracruz, mexico
On the road today the highway passed through a small town; the highways always do, even when they are toll roads. This particular town was big enough for a stoplight. There were kids all over the road with their window washing bottles, and in the process of waving them off I pulled too far forward at the red light to be able to see when it turned green. When the traffic across from me began to move I drove through. Meanwhile the cars behind me stayed put. We’d obviously just run a red light.

A couple miles down the road a cop came up alongside of us on his motorcycle. Not surprisingly he waved us over. We knew right away that he’d been alerted to our infraction by the window washer boys as they’d been yelling and waving at somebody behind us when we pulled away.

Anyway, the cop walked up, shook my hand, and then tried his best to explain to me the situation. We didn’t understand a thing except alto (stop). He jabbered on a while and we went along. Eventually we told him we’d follow him back, as that’s what it appeared he was motioning for us to do. A mile down the road he suddenly pulled off to a dirt track leading into a field of tall grasses. Ali and I both looked at each other and said, “We’re not following this guy down there.” I honked the horn and made it clear we weren’t driving down that deserted road, that we would go down the highway until there was a returno. He didn’t seem too happy with this, but he continued on down the highway, very slowly.

Eventually he pulled off again, off the highway, but in a somewhat public spot. He came up to the bus again and explained the way this was going to work. It was painfully obvious what this whole charade was about at this point; we aren’t rookies in this game. He told us that if we went back to town the fine would cost cinco mil, or roughly $450 USD. Ali and I just smiled at this. I mean come on, did he actually think we’d buy that? Fortunately for us there was another way. The fine could be paid on the spot. Just dos mil, $180 USD.

Well that’s certainly better than $450, right? What a helpful guy. Still, I said, “Oh no, too much. No dinero, we have to go to the banco.” The whole thing was a big charade by this point, with him acting very solemn and sorry for this whole occurrence, and me pretending not to understand 90% of what he said and only using about half of my actual Spanish to convey that.

Funny thing is, Ali and I knew we actually had broken a law this time, and we had no qualms about paying for it. If we hadn’t run the red light I would have sat there all day long with him with absolutely no intention of ever paying one single dime. As it was, we decided that it was just a matter of paying a fair amount. When he lowered his payoff to 800 pesos Ali pulled out a 200 peso bill. Eighteen dollars seemed a perfectly reasonable amount for a red light infraction. At the sight of the 200 his bargaining powers went to crap. “Six hundred.” “No, two.” “Four hundred.” “No, two.” “Three hundred.” “No, two.”

And then with a simple gimme motion of the hand it was over. I handed him the money, he handed me my drivers license, and in approximately four seconds he was disappearing down a side road, nothing but a cloud of dust to show that he had ever been there.

He’d performed admirably. He was cordial, friendly, and despite the fact that I’m sure we could have paid less, I hope that this underpaid civil servant and his family are eating well tonight.

october 14 2008 : oaxaca, mexico
In Veracruz we showed up at a small “eco-camp” to find no other eco-tourists in sight. The eco-camp consisted of a splat ball course, a small rope bridge, and a swimming pool located just yards from the beach. I’m not sure what exactly the eco qualifications are, but it was in the name so it must be true.

After spending the night alone on the beach we set out early for what we knew was going to be a long day’s drive to Oaxaca. The first couple of hours went great, we didn’t get lost once. But then we got onto our major highway through the Sierra Madre mountain range and began to question ourselves. The highway was suddenly a rough track about fifteen feet wide and suitable for speeds of less than twenty miles per hour.

For the next hundred miles we worked our way through the mountains. They were beautiful, steep, lush, steep, quiet, and steep. For much of the way we were relegated to second gear, climbing endlessly. The road never seemed to go down, though I’m sure it must have, because one hundred miles at 12% would surely have put us higher than we should be without oxygen. The switchbacks were insane, not fifty yards went by without a 90 to 180 degree turn, and for the first time I wished for power steering. By the end of the road I could hardly lift my arms any more.

Now we were both exhausted, and after having not been lost all day long we figured we were in for a not so pleasant drive through the city. Imagine our surprise then when we first, drove right into a Macca’s, and second, drove right through a narrow maze of a city to what is one of the best campgrounds we’ve ever been in.

High up above Oaxaca is a house perched on five acres of land in the middle of a typical Mexican neighborhood full of donkeys, stray dogs, nice homes, and homes made of leftover tin. The owner of the house has the property full of beautiful agave plants which he uses to produce mezcal. It’s a gorgeous place, and for some reason the American owner lets riff-raff like us come in and park on his property for six bucks a night. Best of all, there are three very fun dogs running all over the place and they have quickly fallen in love with Ali who spends all day long scratching and talking to them. She’s in dog lover heaven.

october 15 2008 : oaxaca
We hopped on the bus into downtown Oaxaca today. It’s a vibrant city lined with colorful two and three story buildings. The central square is where the city sort of radiates out from. There is about a ten block radius in which every street and every building is alive with activity. We walked and walked, checking out the churches and the shops along the way before settling down in the zócalo for people watching, micheladas, and food.

For some reason today we had a hard time with all of the beggars. I don’t mean hard time like they were bothering us, but that we actually felt like we had a heart. The part that was hard to cope with was just how old these poor people are. Also, I should say that the vast majority of them aren’t beggars, they are trying to sell something. Rugs, wooden spoons, candies, flowers, shirts, and a million other things are all being carried around and offered for sale. And most of the people selling them are women who appear to be upwards of 70 years old. It’s hard to imagine the long hard life they’ve lived, and even harder to figure if a few pesos from us to just a few of the hundreds of them is going to make any difference.

Fortunately, giving pesos away is much easier these days with the drubbing that the Peso took against the dollar last week. One day we were getting 11.1 pesos for a dollar and the next it was 13.3. Something like fifteen percent overnight. Now if we could just stop the free-falling U.S. economy we might be in good shape.

october 17 2008 : tehuantepec, oaxaca, mexico
We spent all day yesterday driving to the Pacific coast. We pulled into a filthy little campground a block off the beach in Puerto Angel and then went for a walk to get our feet wet and find a place to eat. Along the beach we quickly came across a bunch of naked Europeans, men included. We’re not total prudes, but we always find this to be completely out of place in Mexico. Mexicans are pretty reserved people from what we’ve seen, often swimming with t-shirts on and occasionally even pants of some sort. Certainly the last thing any of them would do would be to strip naked and lie on the beach at six o’clock at night. So, prudes or not, it just seems to us that tourists should show a little common sense when visiting another country. If they want to be nude in October, go to Rio.

So, anyway, after I convinced Ali to put her clothes back on dinner was a lot less awkward.

The weather along this coast was oppressive. Hot, muggy, and bug infested. Before going to Alaska this summer we had been at a store and I had grabbed a two dollar mosquito net. Ali looked at it and said, “When have we ever had bugs?” It was true, we hadn’t, so we didn’t spend the two bucks. Now for the last week or so I’ve gotten to lord that decision over her. We’ve been devoured at night lately, alternating between the need for some breeze in the bus, and the need to avoid having all of our blood sucked from our bodies. In the end we’ve lost on all accounts. Our legs look like we have been stricken with a severe case of chicken pox, and we’ve each managed about three hours of restless hot sleep per night.

We had planned to visit a couple of other beach towns along the coast in the area, but after that dreadful night we knew we needed to keep moving, and maybe head for higher ground. We didn’t get higher, but we did get to Tehuantepec, a place feared by sailors who are well aware of the crazy winds that whip down off of the mountains here. Fifty to a hundred know winds aren’t uncommon. Sucks for the sailors, but certainly works for those of us sleeping in a bus.

Along the coast road Mex 200 today we were stopped four times for military checkpoints. The thing is, Mex 200 between the two points we were traveling has absolutely no inlet/outlet roads to any other highway. Despite this fact we were searched four times in one hundred miles. At the first checkpoint of the day the officer spoke pretty good English, so I decided to chat him up.

“So, what is it you guys are looking for?”
“Oh, explosives. And drugs too.”
“Do you ever find any?” I asked.
“Yes, many many explosives. Many drugs too.”
Ali, who just wasn’t in a searching type mood this morning blurted out, “On tourists?!”
“Si, tourists . . . and others.”
“But you only stop tourists, everybody else gets waved through.”
“No. Stop everybody.”

The fact is, we hardly ever see another car get searched. We’ll see a dozen cars get waved through ahead of us, and the second they spot our white heads they suddenly perk up and wave us to the side. True, the searches are utterly harmless, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that they are also pointless. Each searcher does the exact same thing. Literally every one.

First we step out of the car. They then poke, but don’t open, my tool bags behind the seat, and tap lightly on the ceiling. Then I open the cargo doors. They run their hand over the smooth metal finish next to the sink, look around admiringly, and then notice the storage space under the couch. They pull that open and look at our shoes. With that done we move to the back gate. During the day this area is filled with our bedding, and our container of clothes. Since they can’t really get at anything else each and every one of them squishes our pillows. It’s gotten hard for me to keep from laughing when they do this. Once the pillows are proven to be soft we are free to go.

So, for those of you looking to smuggle a few hundred pounds of drugs south from the U.S. to, say, Guatemala, (a very common drug smuggling route) I would highly recommend hiding them in the engine compartment. Or the refrigerator. Or better yet, right up top on the roof rack in a beer case. These spots are guaranteed safe from prying eyes.

october 18 2008 : san cristóbal de las casas, chiapas (200 nights in the bus : 33,871 miles)
Today we ascended from the coast to San Cristóbal, some seven thousand feet up in the mountains. Along the way we were driving along a nice straight flat road at about 45 mph when a pickup truck passed us. A hundred yards further on he passed another car. Seconds later we watched as he somehow lost control, veered sharply left across the other lane, and crashed dead on into the sheer wall of the hill that had been cut out for the road. From sixty to zero instantly. The truck hit the wall and fell on its side.

For the third time in as many years we had a bad accident happen directly in front of us. And once again I was the first person at the car, holding my breath and hoping it wouldn’t be a bloody mess. This time I found three young guys lying in a heap on the passenger side. The driver stood up, but seemed pretty out of it. The guy on the bottom was sort of trying to crawl through a small space between the window and the ground, and the guy who’d been in the middle and cracked the windshield with his head was lying unconscious. Fortunately within just thirty seconds or so there were two dozen Mexicans around the truck. After some argument about trying to push the truck back over they decided that wasn’t the way to go and they instead began to slide the men out gently. We didn’t stick around long enough to see how that guy in the middle turned out.

Later on, sitting at a stoplight a newspaper vendor tried to sell me a copy by showing me the front page picture, a gruesome photo of a Norte Americano motorcyclist who’d met his maker head on with a truck the day before. The Mexican newspaper/tabloids love these pictures, and somehow every day they find a fresh one. Bullet riddled drug smugglers are their favorites from what I’ve seen.

october 20 2008 : palenque, chiapas, mexico
A couple of nights ago we celebrated our 200th night in the bus. I’m not sure a lot of people would find that something to be proud of, but we think it’s a pretty cool milestone. One of the things I like about that number is that with the help of the website Ali and I can look back at those two hundred nights and remember something specific about each and every one of them. In a normal life two hundred nights could pass without anything memorable happening, certainly not anything you would reminisce about. Yet in the bus each night has a story; most of which we can laugh about now.

San Cristóbal was an active, and attractive town. We visited on a Sunday and found that pretty much the whole town had turned out to walk the streets, visit the restaurants, and watch the concert out front of the church. There were giant posters hanging from every church in town announcing some sort of happening at the main cathedral at four. The posters showed a big Jesus Christ coming out of the clouds above the church and we thought that might make it worth being there for.

The town was filled with hundreds of restaurants and somehow we picked one with tacos that reached our top five list, making us very happy indeed. This Jesus day was looking up indeed. Then we found a secondhand book store with an awesome collection, enabling us to exchange a stack of books and refill it with other good reads. Something that is not always all that easy to do when on the road. Again we thought, maybe there’s something to those posters after all.

At four o’clock we were standing in the square, out front of the cathedral with hundreds of others. They weren’t looking to the sky, but I had one eye on the clouds. A stage had been set up, they played jazz, and by 4:20 it was clear the posters were full of crap, so we walked to the market instead.

Usually we walk around markets and don’t buy a thing. They’re full of stuff we don’t need. But San Cristóbal is different in that it is a mainly Indian area, filled with a different sort of people and culture than the Mexico that we are used to. Thus the market was filled with different goods than we are used to. In no time at all we’d purchased more stuff than we had in the previous fifty markets we’ve wandered through. Now we just have to figure out how to get the stuff packed up and sent home. Either that or add an addition on to the bus.

All in all we really enjoyed San Cristóbal. The people were friendly, tacos were first rate, the town was neat and clean, there were parades going on, Jesus was supposed to drop out of the sky, the churros were hot and fresh, and the Indians make the cutest stuffed animals you’ve ever seen. And the campground was just a short walk from the town center. What’s not to like about any of that?

october 23 2008 : isla aguada, chiapas, mexico
From San Cristóbal we traveled north, out of the mountains to Palenque, home of some famous Mayan ruins. Palenque is located right at the foot of the lush tropical mountains and seemed to get the same wet weather. The ruins were just up the road from the campground where we had spent the night alone yet again.

Palenque was a beautiful place, well preserved by the jungle that engulfed it for a thousand years or so before archaeologists began the long process of uncovering it. I don’t know that there’s a whole lot to say about the different ruins we visit without sounding like I’m regurgitating an encyclopedia entry, so I’ll just say that we had a pleasant visit climbing all over and through the buildings which thankfully didn’t all look like they had been rebuilt just so tourists would be able to tell what they were looking at.

After a long rainy day spent in the campground bar we hit the road for the Gulf Coast again. We found the fields here to be badly flooded, and even freaked out for a moment when we saw two horses in water up to their heads. They appeared to be moving along though. Along one road where the water was lapping up at the edges we found hundreds of Mexicans with masks and snorkels just floating in the water spearing small fish. Some of the curbside camps appeared to have been there quite a while.

We stopped at a few checkpoints along the way, our favorite of which was the divining rod checkpoint. At this one an officer slowly walked alongside the bus with what appeared to be a divining rod, like they would use to find water in the desert. I’m sure it was slightly more technical than that, but after it didn’t detect anything we were free to go without the typical pillow squishing inside the bus, which was nice.

In Isla Aguada we found a gorgeous campground where we parked the bus just thirty feet from the water. It was surprising because the town was so run down; nothing more than a fishing village with one road, a grocery store, a butcher, and a cell phone shop. We quickly drew the attention of a number of ragged looking beach mutts whom Ali felt incredibly guilty over because we had nothing to feed them. The last cans of dog food had fed a couple of cats in Palenque. I couldn’t deal with her guilt so I ran down to the store and replenished our dog food supply. Everybody went to bed happy last night, and today we’ve had one dog with us all day long, sleeping under the bus and walking everywhere we go.

october 24 2008 : uxmal, chiapas, mexico
The drive today was supposed to be a short one, just a couple of hours up to Campeche. When we got there however we found ourselves lost just trying to get to the City Centro. Generally in Mexican cities there is a main square, which is simple to find either by following the signs or just following the main traffic. But here we just didn’t get that friendly interesting vibe, and when even the City Centro signs lead you nowhere it’s a safe bet it isn’t worth finding in the first place. We decided to move on to our next stop, the ruins at Uxmal.

Along the road we ran into a couple of checkpoints. Nothing unusual there, I’d say we’re up to at least a hundred stops (we’ve been waved through exactly twice!) in our 10,000 or so Mexican miles. Today though, it was my turn to just not be in the mood for them.

At the first stop we watched as a few cars in front of us got waved right through. Then they pointed us to the side of the road and waved a few more Mexicans along. When the officer (today’s stops weren’t military but some sort of police instead) came up to us he asked us to step out so he could search the car. I didn’t get out but instead asked why? “For the search,” he said. “Search for what?” “The search,” he repeated. I then made a show of how he waved all the Mexicans through, but only stopped us touristas. There were now three cops and they huddled by the back bumper for a few seconds consultation before coming up and waving us through. No search. We were pretty pleased with ourselves.

In Mexico there is generally only one road between Point A and Point B. Along each new road there is guaranteed to be a checkpoint of some kind. Sometimes three or four, but always at least one. So when we took the turn for Uxmal it was no surprise to find the black clad police officers standing there again. Obviously very bored they waved through car after car until we popped up. Instantly alert they pointed off to the side of the road, and moved a cone out of the way so we wouldn’t block the traffic that wasn’t being slowed down for searching. This time went pretty much the same way, except the officer asked for our passports. We both got out, Ali climbed in the back to retrieve them, and I started in on the injustice of it all. “Tourista, alto, alto, alto. Mexicano, no alto, no alto, no alto. Me, stop, stop, stop, all day long. No stopping the Mexicans.” Sadly I couldn’t come up with any better words to get my point across. But somehow this did the trick. Again some quick conferencing was held between the group of cops, they flipped through our passports for a few seconds, and then waved us along.

It was kind of fun being a pain in the butt about this for once. Usually we just go along with it, let them pretend to be doing something, and then drive on. But today I was in a mood. Ali just kept telling me not to push it too far. And that really is the trick, since the last thing in the world we want to have happen is for some cop to take offense to my offense and decide that he’s going to rip our bus down to bare metal. Because they could do it and there wouldn’t be a thing in the world we could do about it. So anyway, that’s our new game, seeing how many checkpoints we can be stopped at, and how many we can get away from without getting a fingerprint in the back of the bus.

Along the road today we spotted a toad the size of a football, which I thought was pretty cool. We also spotted a dog that was so thin he was nearly invisible, despite wearing a collar. We pulled over and got him some food, which he happily scarfed down. Meanwhile a gaggle of kids started poking their noses out of the thick vegetation along the side of the road. Unfortunately we couldn’t do anything about fattening them up.

Today was an unusual day in that we got to Uxmal, went to the first campground we knew about, were told they no longer allowed camping, then drove to the next one, and were told the same thing. Uxmal is clearly not long for the RV circuit. We finally found an empty lot right outside the main gate of the ruins themselves where we could stay for a few bucks. Not the worst situation we could have found ourselves in right at dark I guess.

Hey, with the recent freefall of both oil and the Mexican Peso we are just about buying gas for under two bucks a gallon. How great is that? On the flipside of that, the bus’ MPG has dropped from 23 just a few months ago to 18.5 recently. I’ve started tweaking a few things, but haven’t seemed to come up with a solution to that mystery yet.

october 26 2008 : cancún, quintana roo, mexico
The ruins at Uxmal were nice. There wasn’t a lot to see, but there were a couple of large buildings and a pyramid. Nothing all that exciting, but from atop the pyramid we had unobstructed views over the treetops and the Yucatán as far as we could see.

When we finished up there we drove a few hours over to more ruins, the famous Chichén Itzá. Famous more so probably because of its proximity to Cancún than anything else. In town we stopped in at the campground only to once again find it abandoned. The hotel next door was supposed to allow campers, and there was a small RV in the parking lot, but it was raining and the location was about six feet from the main highway running through town. Not the nicest spot, especially after roughing it the night before in a parking lot with no facilities. We decided it was time for a hotel night. Fortunately it’s the off-season, and by paying in Pesos we we able to secure ourselves a room in the fanciest hotel in the area for half the price listed in the Lonely Planet.

I was in the parking lot later on getting something out of the bus when a young Japanese couple pulled up next to me. “Excuse me, do you speak English?” he asked. “Si. I mean yes.” “Oh thank God. We’re trying to get to Mexico City, can you tell me which way to go?” He pulled out a tiny tourist map of Cancún and I asked if that was all he had. It was, so I grabbed my map out of the bus. I then unfolded it about six pages from where we were and pointed at Mexico City, probably a thousand miles away. “How far!” I told him it would take me five or six days to drive there. He and his wife had hoped to drive there that night without any clue how far it was. He and I finally had a good laugh about it, but the wife didn’t seem to think it was funny at all.

This morning we wandered around Chichén Itzá. During our walk we determined that we’ve been ruined, no pun intended, by places like Egypt and Petra. Frankly nothing even comes remotely close to comparing to Egypt, and they’re 4000 years or so older. These were alright again; they had another big pyramid, an interesting observatory building unlike anything else we’ve seen, and the biggest ball court anywhere. I like the ball courts because the losers of the game would be sacrificed, held down and stabbed in front of what I’m sure was an out of control crowd eating popcorn and drinking beer.

Another few hours on the road and we arrived in Cancún. We’ve never seen this place before, and frankly after fifteen minutes wouldn’t have minded at all if it had stayed that way. This is the least attractive tourist city we’ve ever seen. It really only looks fitting for college kids on spring break. And the campground here didn’t disappoint either, ranking smack dab at the bottom of our list as the worst we’ve ever stayed at. We’ve resigned ourselves to twelve hours here and at first light will be on our way.

Our Mexico traveling is drawing to a close soon. We’ll be heading into Belize in a couple of days and then on to Guatemala. I have to say that the Gulf Coast and Yucatán really didn’t do it for us. If you’re really into ruins then great, but as far as beaches, campgrounds, and towns go, we just didn’t find much to like about it. We greatly prefer Baja beaches, the central plateau cities, and even the Pacific side tourist RV parks. We especially missed having the great cities like Guanajuato, Taxco, Guadalajara, and Mexico City. Oh well, now we know.

october 29 2008 : tulum, quintana roo, mexico
About six years ago Ali and I rented a beach house in Tulum. It was our first real visit to Mexico and was when we first fell in love with the country. Tulum was a one street town, about five blocks long, and lined with dirt floored restaurants. We loved how rustic and authentic it felt at the time. Because of this we were a little nervous to revisit it, afraid we’d ruin our memory of the place.

The highway down the coast was a little disconcerting. At least a couple dozen huge mega resorts had gone up or were in the building process. Ali and I had a little argument over the value of these places. The main point was that she thinks they at least give the locals work, and my view was that the locals are building these places that are completely inaccessible to Mexicans except as employees.

By the time we got to Tulum we weren’t expecting much, but the town surprised us. It’s managed to keep much of its original charm, even with all the internet cafés and knick-knack shops. One of our Bum friends came through for us here too, handing over the keys to his house right in town where for the past couple of nights we have sat up on our balcony listening to music from the bar next door and watching the neighborhood kids play soccer in the street. During the day we hung out on what has to be one of the best beaches in all of Mexico. Fine white sand and water with a million shades of blue. It was a nice stop for us before heading into new countries again.

october 30 2008 : corozal town, belize, central america
Last night we drove south from Tulum to Bacalar, where we had a bit of a hard time finding a place to spend the night, but eventually asked at a nice little hotel that was happy to have us. Bacalar is an interesting place to come across after miles and miles of relatively nothing. The town is built on the banks of Laguna Bacalar, a white sand bottom freshwater lagoon whose water looks just like Caribbean Sea when viewed from above, like the perch from the perfect 250 year old fort just up the hill. We visited the fort, which was small but well preserved and fun to walk through. It was the sort of place that, as a guy, I think how cool it would be to have as my house. The fort was actually built to defend against pirates who came to the area to chop down the trees which were used to make different colored dyes. Something that made them as valuable as gold at that point in history.

This morning it was just a quick jaunt down the road to the Belize border. After clearing out with Mexico we crossed a bridge and proceeded to check into Belize. First we had to buy insurance. At $14.50 a week it wasn’t too bad, and I’m sure that the coverage is superb, though I wasn’t told what it was. Up the road a bit was the fumigation booth where a dirty guy sprayed our wheels with 99% water and charged us five bucks. Then finally customs and immigration. After shaking off a “porter” we entered the building to do our business with our English speaking friends.

That was the strangest thing about entering Belize, speaking English again. Well, that and all the black people. Not a black person in all of Mexico, and then a hundred yards across a bridge we find a bunch of Creole tinged reggae listening Caribbean people. We get so used to the ethnic diversity of the United States that it always comes as something of a surprise to see just how ethnically un-diverse the majority of the countries in the world really are. Anyway, it was fun to feel the difference so radically. Customs and immigration charged us nothing and we were soon on our way.

Only about ten miles down the road was our stop for the night. A well known campground in Corozal Town. A good place to call it a day and get our feet wet in a new country. We wandered around town and found more ethnicity, this time in the form of Chinese. The town was a solid wall of Chinese restaurants and knick-knack stores with Chinese shopkeepers. We had lunner and circled the town a couple of times, including the central square, but this was not a happening place and there really wasn’t much to keep us occupied. The town itself has a much more Caribbean feel to it than any place in Mexico. The buildings and the colors brought us back to the Bahamas.

Back at the campground, we must have surprised the owner that he was soon busy mowing the lawn ten feet away from us as we sat outside. Ali and I sat there being covered with blowing grass and dodging flying pebbles, laughing the whole time, as the owner all dressed in slacks and dress shirt went about his helpful business.