The Books The Carried Me Through

For better or for worse (and trust me, there is a lot of "worse" - English lit. was scarce resource at some points), this was my reading list from the Rio Grande to Aruba.

The Power and the Glory
Guns, Germs, and Steel
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
A History of Latin America
The Metamorphosis
Love in the Time of Cholera
Slaughterhouse-Five
Foundation and Empire
The House on Mango Street
Far From the Maddening Crowd
Lapham's Quarterly (War)
La Divina Comedia
The Luncheon of the Boating Party
Relato de un náufrago
The Teahouse Fire
Newsweek Special Edition (July 2008)
The Economist (June 2008)
Barrel Fever and Other Stories
Into Thin Air
Light a Penny Candle/ The Lilac Bus
The Liar's Club
The Innocent Man
The Good Earth
The Path Between The Seas
Cien años de soledad
Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Longitude
Sailing Alone Around The World
The Agony and the Ecstacy
The Idiot
The Pillars of the Earth

I'm Back, or The Master Map

Two flights, two buses, and nine months later...





[Because, you know, I love maps.]

An Attempt At A Recap (For my memory as much as for posterity)

Day 1: Cartagena; Old Town
Day 2: Cartagena; La Popa and Castillo de San Felipe; Bus to Medellin
Day 3: Medellin; Palm Tree Hostel and Martina; Metro/ Teleferico/ Spanish Library/ Botanical Gardens/ Krishna Lunch
Day 4: Medellin; The Ignominious March to El Peñol (La Piedra)
Day 5: Manizales; Bus to Manizales; Rendezvous with Manisha, Tomas, and Doris; Coffee Farm Arrival (Jose, Cathy)
Day 6: Manizales; Highland hiking, stream swimming, highway hijinks, and dancing.
Day 7: Manizales; A day in Manizales
Day 8: Manizales; Abortive attempts at swimming; Agua panela con queso; onward to Salento; Teresa
Day 9: Salento; Valle de Cocora with Teresa, Marc, and Herlinda (60 meter wax palms and snow!)
Day 10: Salento; A day in Salento
Day 11: Salento to Pereira to Marsalla; Buses, cemeteries, and naked Bolivar - oh my!; Overnight to Bogota
Day 12: Bogota; History, politics, and culture: a day in Bogota; Israeli food!
Day 13: Bogota; Shopping Bogota and abortive attempts at theater
Day 14: Bogota; Climb Cerro Monserrate; Bus to Tunja
Day 15: Tunja morning; Villa de Leyva afternoon; a tale of two miradores; Laura, Jessie, and Oscar
Day 16: Villa de Leyva; in search of waterfalls near Santa Sofia; Paso de Los Angeles
Day 17: Villa de Leyva; biking through the countryside and through history: from dinosaur bones to prehispanic fertility cults and beyond; getting L-O-S-T; Overnight to Cucuta and the border
Day 18: Into Venezuela, slowly but surely; 28 hours by bus from Villa de Leyva, Colombia to Merida, Venezuela
Day 19: Merida; A Day in Merida; Planning
Day 20: Into the Andes; Hacienda El Carrizal
Day 21: Through the Andes; From El Carrizal to El Quino... without Boca e' Monte
Day 22: Descending Back to Earth
Day 23: Merida; Aguas Termales
Day 24: Merida; Pico de la Aguila, Paso del Condor; 4100 meters up, 8 degrees north of the equator and 8 degress above zero...
Day 25: Like a bat out of Venezuela and into Colombia (Santa Marta)
Day 26: Taganga; Life's a beach
Day 27: Taganga; ...more beach...
Day 28: Minca; the mountains, one last time
Day 29: Minca; waterfalls galore
Day 30: Taganga redux; Election Night - you, me, and CNN
Day 31: Cartagena; Welcome back to Astor

Some things just never go away

This is the second time in as many months I've been headed toward a sailboat and, likewise, the second time I've felt like this. I guess I never mentioned it before - things just got away from me, I suppose - but damn I miss my dad.

So...

... how about that President?

Bogotá

It was only inevitable that I would fall in love with Bogotá. After all, my travels thus far have made few things less abundantly obvious than my love for big cities. After all, where else do you find all this within one square kilometer?

Colonial Architectural


Public Transportation* - The Transmilenio

* No, seriously, gotta love the Transmilenio: it's a subway without the infrastructure costs and quite possibly the most brilliant thing I've ever seen.

Angry Protesters


Ciclovía Sundays!

A different country, a different tone.

Where Mexico had Frida Khalo, Colombia has Fernando Botero. While I of course appreciate the former - in fact, I dare say I prefer her - its hard not to be carried away by Botero. Especially in Medellin, his hometown, and Bogota where his art is everywhere. ... and I do mean everywhere: painter, sculptor, and satirist anywhere his work can go, it does.* Not that I am complaining; what´s not to love?



* Not bad for a living artist.

Mission Accomplished!

My hunt for mountains has led me farther south faster than I anticipated, so much the better!

Let me try to explain: Just as frustrated with hostels as I was with the flatlands, I contacted a (wonderful) CouchSurfer name Manisha and she's been as unbelievably welcoming from the word go. In fact, we just came back from two days of absurdity in Chinchina (not far from Manizales) where the landscape reminded me of Costa Rica and the people of the United Nations. Colombia in general and Manizales specifically is apparently a hotbed of English-language instruction to such an extent that it has attracted instructors from countries as diverse as India (Manisha), Nigeria (Doris), and The United States (Cathy). Throw into the mix a couple of locals (Jose, Carlos) and another [French] Couchsurfer and you have all the ingredients necessary for an unbelievable weekend, complete with hiking, swimming, and inadvertent hitchhiking.

I feel now like I am beginning to see the best Colombia has to offer and more than ever like I am the luckiest man alive!

Onward and (blissfully) upward!

It is amazing what you can and, ultimately, cannot get used to. For example, it took only a few months in the hill of Monterrey to make me a stauch devotee of mountain landscapes and it seems something easier to set than to break: after three weeks on flat ground in Panama or literally at sea level en route to Colombia* it was like my entire childhood was forgotten. Indeed, the driving heat of coastal Colombia was too much for me, and I left for higher and cooler climes yesterday. My first port of call is Medellín, some five hundred kilometers south and some 1500 meters further up. Oh and what a difference it is! The city is lovely, in its way - it reminds me a lot of Monterrey, in a way, and is likewise achingly modern but, well, greener - and the climate is idyllic. Here I am, wearing a sweater and everything! Unfortunately, though, the weather is only one half of the equation: now that I am among mountains, I want to be in them, too. Next stop: hiking!

* This from a Florida native!

Coffee! ¡Café! ¡Tinto!

Man, forget about Starbucks and try to remember everything you used to know about Juan Valdez and his friends: Colombian coffee is king. A delicious one, at that, and this royalty can be had for a song. This is particularly exciting for yours truly because after the horror that is Mexican [instant] Nescafé and the unbelievable expense of Costa Rican blends, even in Costa Rica.* No, no, here in Colombia the coffee is hot, (reasonably) fresh, and on almost every street corner and a cup will set you back about 200 Colombian pesos, or 13 cents. No, no, here it is good and cheap and plentiful and - given the complete absence of soda here and in my diet - almost worth the trip in and of itself.

* Which is especially ironic because Costa Rica is the number one exporter of coffee in all of Central America... but I digress.

All That From a Library

Like any good student of Medieval History, I adore churches and fortunately for me, Cartagena is chock full of particularly charming ones (the Spanish really did adore this city). What makes me absolutely love Cartagena, however, is not its churches but its library. [As a man of indeterminate faith but strong convictions, you see, a library will always be my sanctuary.] It is the first (non-national) one I have seen since Mexico and it is small and quiet and air-conditioned and wonderful. The other joys of the city notwithstanding, it reminds me of my earliest days in Monterrey - a library was my refuge then, too - and that much more cognizant of how far I have come in the intervening months. Forget the distance - the further I go and the more I miss my family and friends the less ¨impressive¨ geography becomes (much the contrary, actually) - and think instead of, well, everything else. Take, as I often do, Spanish as a yardstick. When I crossed the border into Mexico in April I could barely speak a word of Spanish - and what little I then thought I knew was dutifully corrected by Sergio and Erika - and pointed avoided non-English interactions at all costs. [Not my finest moments, I´ll admit, but fear not it - did not last long.]

Here and now, though, having been shot out of the bottom end of Central America, things are radically different. Now I speak not just for myself but for my crew aboard the Astor* and all I want to do is use this wonderful language I am learning as much as possible.

More telling still is the fact that now I not only understand border security but argue with them. I negotiate, make friends - and even jokes. It may not sound like much but it is proof positive that the Spanish Gamble** is paying off and that the days of ¿Donde esta la biblioteca? are long, long gone.

* A job translating was never something I expected... or qualify for!
** You know, the whole move to Latin America and learn Spanish thing? Yeah, that.

Surprise!: South America Here I Come

As the map above demonstrates, Cartagena, Colombia is clearly north of Panama* and therefore on the way home to Florida. Sure, right. Which, then, explains how exactly I ended up here [well, if add in the whole sailboat thing, I suppose], even if I wasn´t quite expecting to. Sure, right. In truth the decision was not mine - rather it was Astor´s captain, Richard´s - so even if I was not exactly expecting this, I am not exactly one to look a gift horse in the mouth; a little Colombia exploration is in order. (We will be in Cartagena for a few weeks, actually, waiting for hurricaine season to end, giving me more than enough time to explore in a somewhat limited range.)
After all, I started my trip southward thinking that there was no more necessary a stopping point than The Panama Canal - how was I to know it might just have been the beginning?

* ...and more to the point, of the San Blas Islands, from where the Astor began its trek northward.

Shipboard, again

My travels are increasingly being defined by abrupt left turns - you´ll forgive me if I even go so far as to call this one a jibe - but that suits me just fine. It feels good to be on a boat again, especially a boat such as this. Indeed, having spent so much of my time of late in water, it is nice for once simply to be on it. The boat, Astor, is itself incredible. 86ft (26m) long, but only 13 across (4m), she is a woodened-hulled schooner from 1923 that just cuts through the water. She was designed for racing and, according to Richard and Lani, even though her displacement is 63 tons she can go over 30 knots - and when she does, watch out: it can take her up to two miles to come to a full stop. It is, needless to say, the biggest boat I´ve ever sailed on and damned intimidating. Fortunately for me, her owners, the aforementioned Richard and Lani, are anything but. California retirees in their 60s who have been slowly sailing Astor around select parts of the world for the last eight years - they are warm, friendly and inviting. They, like the boat itself, are better than I could have ever hoped for.

As if all of this were not enough, however, get this: the first night´s menu was the absolute freshest lobster you have ever seen.

I could get used to this!

Into the drink, dear friends!

So, having now reached the Panama Canal - and let me tell you, seriously, wow - by way of the longest bus ride in recent memory (15 hours, San Jose to Panama City), my journey south has come to an end. Fortunately, however, my journey back north is just beginning! Through a strange serious of coincidences - the best kind, I always say - I have lucked into passage, as crew, aboard the very sailboat pictured above. The timing is not exactly perfect (thus my marathon travel session), but the set-up is, so this time tomorrow I will be working my way north from the San Blas Islands of Panama.*
I could not, I assure you, be more excited.
Next stop: the high seas!

* This also means that communication of all kind will have to be kept to a minimum. Phone calls, IMs, e-mails, and even this blog with pretty much dry up for the duration. On the bright side, the boat has an e-mail address, so you can sporadically check its progress here: http://www.astor.org/

Much by accident, I assure you!

Over the last few days I´ve been climbing Cerro Chirripo, Costa Rica´s highest mountain and the tallest point between Guatemala and Peru. To put it simply, the hike has been incredibly intense and took some three days in all. Not quite the vacation from work I was hoping for, but really, how many times can you stand in one place and see the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans at the same time? Incredible. More impressive pictures to follow [eventually].

At the same time, it suddenly occured to me after reaching the summit that I´ve come a long way from both the Smokeys and Mexico, hiking-wise. I have this habit, it appears, of over-estimating my previous climbing experiences* so when I thought my latest attempt - Cerro Chirripo, 3820m or 12532ft - was about on par with my earlier exploits, I guess I thought wrong. By, oh, about half. I mean, I´ve already made it to the top (getting back is a different matter entirely, actually), but it truly is an order magnitude greater than anything I have tried before: the next tallest thing I´ve climbed might actually have been Cerro de la Silla (1820m or 5971ft) all the way back in the early days of Monterrey. Even Maderas, which brought me such endorphin-induced joy a few weeks ago was smaller than that. I mean, that makes sense, in a way (both were one-day climbs, whereas Chirripo has become a three-day affair) but you try telling that to my aching feet...

Still, tired though I may be, the same old feelings are there: equal measures exhaustion and exaltation.

* Maybe this has something to do with the metric system or maybe it´s just a way for me to feel better the next day when my knees don´t work, but who knows?

Coming to terms with Costa Rica

If I have remained conspicuously silent about my life as it is now in Costa Rica, there is a reason: compared to what has recently transpired both my life and the country itself are exceptionally dull.

The former is obviously the easier of the two to explain: having moved the travel bag into storage for the duration and being somewhat gainfully employed, I now have what approaches a routine. As much as I like the consistency after so much that was decidedly not consistent, even I (in retrospect) am bored to tears by the minutiae of my day-to-day.

The country itself is a harder nut to crack. It is wonderfully beautiful and its residents are possibly even kinder than their Central American brethren, but still it leaves me wanting. Let me put it this way: after so many weeks on the road, in so many alarmingly different cultures whose various eccentricies prompted no small number of ¨only in Mexico, El Salvador, Nicaragua, etc.,¨ I find it all but impossible to say the same thing about Costa Rica. Wonderful it is, but different it is not. I mean, perhaps it is exceptional for its normalcy - the banal has historically been in short supply in this neck of the woods - but as beautiful, orderly, and safe as it is, at times I think I am no longer in Central America but rather Middle America.*

I like it here a lot, don´t get me wrong - I even like my job, such as it is - but I do miss the sense of adventure.

* This may mean nothing to the rest of you, but when I saw, in the central market of San Isidro, market stalls not only with electricity but refrigeration you could have knocked me over with a feather. I mean, imagine it - fish that stays cold from the catching all the way to the cooking... This is certainly a land more akin to Grand Rapids than Guatemala.

8-25 [Long Overdue]

All good things must come to an end, but fortunately for Seth and I, some good things end well, too. Just today he flew home, our whirlwind tour of Central America - the "impossible" five countries in twenty-five days - sadly at an end. Still, we arrived in Costa Rica with time to spare and electedto break with tradition. After so many temporary friends, here of all places we have the unique opportunity to meet old friends rather than make new ones. The world is, as I have come to know it, a strange and wonderful place made all that much more so by good friends, life of late has been made better still in the company of two of the best a fellow could ask for. My friends Kevin and Brooke - the former with whom I studied at UF and the latter his lovely wife - recently relocated to Costa Rica for work and [lucky us!] has spent the last few days playing host-cum-guides for both Seth and I. Indeed, it is with a happy heart that we have passed the last few days in northern Costa Rica not in hostels but in their homes, not with strangers but compadres. It is certainly the kind of thing a fellow could get used to: forget the perfect beach days - after so many weeks on strange roads with stranger people, perfect friends will do and then come.

8-23 [Welcome to Costa Rica]

Trip planning is, by its very nature, so completely removed from the actual act itself as to be almost absurd. What is talked about, sketched tentatively, and even planned for is inevitably so far off - and likewise foreign in fact and conception - that it is with no small sense of disbelief that I stand here, at long last, in Costa Rica. My first impressions of Costa Rica are, like so many of the countries before it, mixed. Neither overwhelmed of disappointed - I was, I knoq now, spoiled rotten by Mexico, El Salvador, and Nicaragua - I am nevertheless looking forward to putting my bag down for a minute and cultivating roots. Still, after eight weeks of travel, five months abroad, and no less than six countries, even I knoq that this will be less "journey's end" and more of "journey's respite." Still, whatever you call it, it will be a welcome change. Even if I know already that Costa Rica will not be a fantasyland of possibilities and opportunities, to my weary feet and aching back nothing sounds more sublime at the moment than going to a local market more than once, of finding a "favorite restaurant," of making honest-to-goodness friends again.* So here's my notice to the world: I'm on travel hiatus again; for now I'm just a resident.

* Not to knock "travel friends" - I love them, I do! - but they are decidedly temporary in nature.

8-21

How different things are today than yesterday. In fact, today´s tranquility could not stand in more sharp contrast to its predecessor´s frenetic pace. In fact, all we managed to do today was move from one side of the island to the other, leaving plenty of time to again enjoy the waters of Lake Nicaragua and, more importantly, rest our weary bones.
Tomorrow we´re off to Costa Rica, my soon-to-be home-away-from-home, but for now I think I´d rather enjoy the Lake a little more first. :)

8-20

I cannot remember the last time I felt this good, this happy, this complete. I climbed Maderas today, and frankly the eight-hour uphill hike has left me both mentally and physically exhausted. Which is fantastic, really. It´s the kind of bone weariness you only feel after some extreme exertion, and coupled as it is with the feeling you get of accomplishing some long-ago-imagined task... well, it´s perfection.
More than that, it´s the surest sign yet, as I nestle into my hammock on the side of a dormant volcano, that the absurd direction my life is currently heading in might actually be the right one.

8-19

We have, as the crow flies, barely moved a inch. Still, even if Granada and Isla de Ometepe seem miniscule, it took no less that two taxis, three buses, and a ferry to make to happen. [That´s not even included the kilometer-plus uphill walk with our bags!] The view of Lake Nicaragua isn´t the only thing that has changed, howeve3r - so, too, has the pace of like. After a few days of cityscapes Seth and I once again find ourselves off the beaten track and loving every minute of it. We´re holed up for the night in Finca Magadalena, a working agricultural cooperative that is located at the base of Maderas, one of Ometepe´s two volcanoes.
Below is the lake and above us the mountain - tonight we´ll swim and tomorrow we´ll climb!

8-18

Early on in the trip, Seth and took a calculated risk: in lieu of our planned stopover in Antigua, Guatemala we would visit Leon, Nicaragua instead. The reasons for this were many, not the least important being being the fact that I had already visited Antigua and, more importantly, quietly and irrationally hated my time there. Plus the scheduling to make it happen twice was going to be a nightmare of epic proportions. A visit to Leon, on the other dand, would afford us the opportunity to see Nicaragua´s two great colonial cities back-to-back and ¨judge¨ them accordingly.
Well, that which was planned has come to pass and the votes are in. The verdict? For me, Leon by a mile. Both are charming colonial cities, and although Leon is slightly older, Granada has aged better [no thanks to the American conquistador William Walker]. Still, for all its lustre, Granada feels all that much less ¨lived in¨ than Leon. Indeed, even in itsw slightly dilapidated form, Leon ended up being so much more than a colonial city. If Granada was prettier it was also shallower, and Leon´s warts bestowed an extra level of depth for all its homeliness.
Both had lovely churches, true, but the spaces between Leon´s were adorned with murals and museums, commemorating its turbulent past. For example, Leon had the museum of Revolutionary Hereos and Martyrs, while Granada had a museum of Precolombian atifacts, and I know I´m a terrible classicists to say this, but only the former left me thinking well into the night.

8-16

Lonely Planet, you´re not doing yourself any favors here. First you were off base with Alegria, El Salvador and now you´ve missed the mark with San Lorenzo, Honduras, as well. You´re on thin ice here, bub. Sure, it´s not the most beautiful town I´ve even seen, but I can assure it´s a far sight better than my last Honduran travel experience. Indeed, even if our border crossing was not as speedy as we might have hoped, San Lorenzo and the Gulf of Fonseca its perched on are both better than you led us to believe. I mean, we may be the only foreign tourists in town but hey, there´s a carnival tonight so it can´t be all bad, can it?

Editor´s Note: A large number of Candied Apples says that no, it cannot. :)

8-15

An Open Letter to Lonely Planet:
Dear Lp - can I call you LP? - I love your products, really I do, but the truth is we need to talk. The elephant in the room is Alegria, El Salvador, which is as lovely as you describe but otherwise not at all in line with your entry. Take for example, Alegria´s picturesque crater lake: although it is in fact stunning it is not 2km downhill from town [Fact: 3km uphill] and likewise not icy [Fact: warm and green].
You and I both know there are other issues but lets try not to let them get in the way of what has otherwise been a lovely day in El Salvador´s highest down. Let´s just promise to try harder next time, okay?
xoxo,
Frankel

PS Oh, one more thing. Why didn´t you tell me they sell gelt in El Salvador. One word: delicious.

8-14

Say what you will about the politics but leave the people of El Salvador be. Indeed, after only a day on La Rute de las Flores I´m already beginning to wonder why Guatemala recieves so many more visitors than its smalle, southern neighbor. [Fact: El Salvador recieved only 35,000 tourists last year - Guatemala welcomed more than half a million.] I mean, what more could you possibley want than amaiable people, adorable villages, and amazing landscapes? Take Juayua, the first stop on La Ruta, as a case in point. The town´s central park, strewn with flowers, complimented its colonial church, yes, but the seven sucessive waterfalls just a few kilometers outside of town make them pale in comparison. So, too, did our impromptu guide, eight-year-old Juan Carlos, who led Seth and I there and back (the lot of us keeping ourselves entertained with more animal calls than I can make (in Spanish) all for the company and eventually a chocolate sundae. Juan Carlos may be an extreme example, sure, but everyone we met along La Ruta was as helpful as the day is long and, amazingly, seemed downright pleased to see us. Smiles and pleasantries were the order of the day in both Apaneca and Ataco as well. Above all else, though, the latter was exceptionally well named: there, at long last, I had a taco (or three) that met my newfound Mexican standards...

8-13

Yesterday´s marathon of traveling seems to have been worth it - one day into El Salvador and its already exceeding my expectations. One of the clearest reasons for this may be the ruins at Tazumal, which were themselves much more impressive than I thought they´d be.* So, too, was Lago de Coatepeque, my first - but hopefully not last! - volcanic crater lake. Being now something of a swimming hole gourmand I feel I can say definitively that it, too, was an unexpected surprise. The combination of mountains, water, sky, and El Salvador seems a potent combination.

* More than that, though, they were also the final piece necessary to complete my Five Mayan Nations experience. Amazing, having had never before seen Mayan ruins as recently as May, I have now seen at least one site in each of the five countries there were active in. This just blows me away, really it does.

8-12

Another day, another border crossing. Although Seth and I started the day in Coban, Guatemala (deep in the central highlands of the country) we are ending it in Ahuachapan, El Salvador (some 16km south of the Guatemala border). Today has, once again, been a travel day, albeit an unsual one. Along the way we returned to Guatemala City (making it the second city in Central America I´ve been too twice), ostensibly so we could change busses but also so
Seth could see the National Palace and Cathedral.
Heck, even I was happy to be back, to go one last time to a restaurant I already knew (not Wendy´s!) and even take the Palace Tour again. Say what you will about Central American capitals, but I genuinely like this one.

PS What I like less are lengthy bus trips through the hinterland, but what´s done is done and now, at long last, I have all of El Salvador to explore.

8-11

Semuc Champey. Ah Semuc Champey. What can I say about Semuc Champey? Although it literally means ¨the river that flows beneath the ground¨ and it is ¨simply¨ a sumidero (underground and then resurfacing) waterway, its unofficial title as ¨eighth wonder of the world¨ is well deserved. Situated in the middle of the rain-fed brown waters of the Rio Cahabon sit a series of startlingly blue mountain steam-filled pools, each one lower, more tranquil, and more picture perfect than the last. As the name suggests, the Cahabon travels undisturbed beneath all of this, leaving this pristine ecosystem in effect suspended above the raging torrent beneath it. Even now, as I write this, as I describe it, I still find it difficult to grasp. Indeed, more unbelievable still, after so many beautiful rivers, valleys, and lakes, Semuc Champey truly unique unto itself.

8-10

Yesterday was uneventful, unfortunately, and largely consumed by transferring from Flores to Lanquin in the Guatemalan highlands.* We´re here to see Semuc Champey, a self-proclaimed ¨Wonder of the World,¨ but that isn´t until tomorrow. Instead, today was taken up by the wonders of our hostel, El Retiro. Sublime and perfectly described by Lonely Planet, it and the surrounding countryside, are, in my humble opìnion, heaven on earth. The Rio Cahabon winds through the region (even El Retiro) carving valleys and canyons that were made for hiking. So we did for a fair bit of the day, and nothing makes for a good hike like beginning and ending it with a dip in the aforementioned icy river.
I know I say this a lot, but God really does love this country. The landscape here isn´t the only charming thing, though: so too are its residents. Indeed, for most of our hike were were accompanied and dareIsay protected by an amiable stray dog we took to naming San Perro. (The people we met along the way were likewise friendly, if decidedly less loyal.) It seems to have even rubbed on on foreigners. The first night we met two wonderful Israelis - fitting, considering how Seth and I met) and spent this afternoon with another wonderful Dutch couple, Victorine and Nico.
With the two of them in tow, in fact, Seth and I went (on my friend German-cum-Nicaraguan friend Daniela´s half rememembered advice) to the nearby caves of Lanquin at sundown to see what can only be described as a bat exodus. It´s impossible to describe and I am still sans-pictures but know this: nothing compares to the feeling of thousands upon thousands of bats at once wizzing by your head as you and your companions cry out in every language they know!

* The ride wasn´t all a waste, however - the six-hour ride was easily made bearable by making the acquaintance of Hilda and Joris, a lovely Dutch couple who Seth and I inadvertantly introduced to the crudities of American humor... but that´s another story for another day.

8-8

Yesterday was D-Day, as in ¨How Delight I am that Seth Finally Arrived¨ Day. (You can see why I abbreviate that.) Our complicated rendezvous went off without a hitch* and now our travels together begin in earnest.
The eight-hour bus ride from Guatemala City to Flores was unpleasant is uneventful (no sleep for us!) and even proceeded ahead of schedule. In fact, although Tikal is fully 77km from Flores, where we are staying the night, we were at the park well before 9am. And what a park it is! Although I have been fortunate enough to see at least half a dozen major Major ruins (amazing, that) Tikal is itself a world apart. Hidden deep in the jungle like Palenque but with the monumental architecture like Chitzen Itza and under visited like El Tajin, it has hands down become my favorite. We spent seven hours there, tired as we were from our overnight travel, and climbed as many of the great temples as we were allowed, but still did not see everything. Amazing, truly amazing.
This evening once again finds me (now us) in Flores, the first and thus far only city in Central America I´ve visited twice. It´s nice, I have to say, to be able to show Seth my ¨favorite swimming hole¨ or to point out a good restaurant, but its also strange. Fortunately tomorrow were off to more uncharted territory: Lanquin and Semuc Champey!

* Oh, and while waiting as the bys station I had the unusual pleasure of meeting an American expat who plays for the Belizean national soccer team. What a strange world!

8-7

What a strange day. On a whim I decided to give myself a day in Guatemala City and I´m glad I did - but perhaps for all the wrong reasons! Guatemala City, to me, is what I once, long ago, expected Mexico City to be like (it was, instead, entirely diferrent and far better than I could have ever hoped), and by far the most cosmopolitan place I´ve been in ages. All that is besides the point, however. As Central America´s largest city it is also at the forefront of U.S. Globalization efforts. So, in addition to seeing the National Palace (which, being green, is I´m told, adorably nicknamed the ¨Great Guacamole¨ by locals) and passing by my first U.S. Embassy - seeing the eagle crest for the first time in six months made me feel intensely patriotic - I also went to a Wendy´s. In fact, I am there now, enjoying one of the best (and most expensive) meals I´ve had in weeks. Who knew my stomach was homesick for Chili and a Frosty?

PS Later there was Taco Bell and, I kid you not, it was the best taco I´ve had since leaving Mexico.

8-5

If I´ve been keeping a poorer record than usual, it´s not entirely my fault. After all, in the last few days both my paper journal and writing pen have gone missing - so you see it couldn´t be helped. (I am, scandalously, even going so far as to write this all-important first draft in pencil!) Aside from these losses, the last few days have found me on the move again, from Antigua to Lake Atitlan opposing shores and the towns of Panajachel and San Pedro la Laguna. Both were lovely, in their ways, but as is often the case, as different as night and day. Panajachel, the traditional point-of-entry for Atitlan tourists is simultaneously a tourist hub and commercial port in miniscule, and I hended only one day to decide its dolí frantic pace wasn´t for me. I hended a bit more time in San Pedro to discover the same thing. Almost too tranquil, San Pedro is two towns in one: tradicional highland village (of shorts) and, entirely separate from that, a backpacker haven. In both cases its the kind of place where time stands still and people get stuck. Lord knows I almost did – tose Norweigan girls can be bewitching.* Others were less (more?) fortunate. Still, both were an interesting slice of life, and like so much of Guatemala, achingly beautiful. Indeed, there is a campaign afoot in both communities to have Lake Atitlan declare one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World and they certainly have my vote.

PS Oh, and this bears repeating: every form of transportation I´ve used in Central America has officially broken down at least once, most recently (and notably) the tiny launcha I took across Lake Atitlan. No worries, though, all´s well that ends well and I love it here all the more for it!

* I´m looking at you here, Julie. :)

Nothing to see here, move along (to back-dated entries!)

Please Note: As part of my on-going effort to keep a semi-daily account of my travels again, I just uploaded five days worth of entries, travels in both Guatemala and Honduras. Enjoy!

Movin´ On Up [to a deluxe apartment in the sky]

How lovely it is to be traveling with people again! It seems misery loves company,* and six of us stranded in Copan Ruinas decided to try our hand for the greener pastures of Antigua – which is about as far removed from Honduras you can be in Central America. True, not every country can be a Mexico or a Guatemala, but Antigua is truly a world apart: unstuck in time, it is a gem of a city which, if overly touristic, is so with good reason. Indeed, here in the middle of Western Guatemala I am reminded not of Florida but of Florence. Better yet, it has the only Irish Pub in Guatemala and as two of my new traveling companions are [Northern] Irish, tonight is a night for Guinness.
In the event that I do not survive, remember me with a pint.

* How much worse I feel for those few who showed up as we were leaving!

This is not the kind of water therapy I was looking for!

I should have taken the hint. After five sunny days in Guatemala, it began to rain as soon as I crossed the border into Honduras. Still, my destination, Copan Ruinas, one of the southernmost Maya settlements ever built, is only fifteen kilometers from the border with Guatemala (the cradle of Maya Civilization) and almost directly in my path eastwards to Guatemala. So, on paper at least, in made sense – here, however, practice and theory diverge. My first twelve hours in Honduras can be summed up in one word: rain. It rained and rained and rained. It rained so much that my moderately-overpriced hostel – as well as the rest of the city of Copan Ruinas – lost both electricity and water by the next morning. The electricity I can do without, but the water is a different story.* Fortunately ruins, by their very nature, need neither and I will say the ruins of Copan were worth the trip. Still, few can blame me if I elected to beat a hasty retreat back to Guatemala far sooner than I expected.

* There is perhaps nothing sadder than cooking Ramen with bottled water by candlelight.

A Swimmer’s Life for Me

Ah, so where were we? Three days later, the homesickness has abated slightly and the cold considerable, thanks in no small part to some of the most exquisite swimming holes Guatemala has to offer. Get this: day 1 was off the dock of my waterfront hostel* in the aforementioned late Izabal, day 2 was in the shadow of a seventeenth-century Spanish Castillo De San Felipe, and day 3 – the crème de la crème, I think – was of the junction of a [bitterly cold ]mountain stream and a hot-waterfall. All we amazing but the last was simply one of a kind, so when I get the chance I’ll upload the photos. In the meantime, I am water-logged and well-rested, and ready for anything. Which is good, because tomorrow I set out for Honduras.

* Which ran only $2.75 a night, I might add

The irony of this kills me. Well, almost - my cold is doing the rest.

After more than four months in Mexico, four weeks of travel and midway through my self-imposed odyssey, I find myself in a place that reminds me so much of Doctor’s Inlet, of home, that it’s almost overwhelming. Let me explain: after two lovely, if uneventful, days of moderately successful ¨water therapy¨ in Flores, I decided today to relocate south, to the largest of Guatemala’s lakes, Lago Izabal. Which is all well and good, but what I didn’t know before I arrived is that Lago Izabal has an outlet on the Caribbean Sea and is therefore the safest place in the region for boaters to wait out hurricane season. Thus, as I sit here, thousands of kilometers from home, I am nevertheless reminded intensely of it, surrounded as I am by [largely American] boaters of all stripes (and even jet skis!) and enjoying a view not unlike that of my dock at home. So, given all that, and given my cold, which has steadily worsened,* as well as a long-delayed bout of homesickness that has set in with Kim and Kristen gone, I have to say, as sad as it is, today I miss home more than ever.

* More water therapy is clearly needed.

¡Bienvenidos a Guatemala!

With my Belizean master plan in ruins and what feels like a cold coming on,* I have decided to flee the country for [Guatemala’s] greener pastures. The plan is as follows: two weeks of ¨immersion therapy¨ by way of puddle jumping through Guatemala’s greatest lakes. After three months in the desert and a bathing suit that is simply crying out to be used, I have to say the idea sounds wonderful to me.

First stop: Flores and Lago Petén Itzá!

* How bizarre that, the kindness of its people not withstanding, three days in Belize seems to set to do what four months in Mexico could not: get me sick.

Nothing to see here, move along (to back-dated entries!)

Please Note: I am now working to keep a semi-daily account of my travels again, but can only post sporadically. As a result, I just uploaded five days worth of entries, covering my exit from Mexico through to my entry to Guatemala.

A Better Side of Belize

Forget the beaches, the jungles, and the ruins: Belize’s people are its star attraction. A bizarre conglomeration of indigenous Maya, Caribbean Africans, British settlers, and Chinese grocers* in my limited experience each and every one of them is a friendly as the day us long. So here´s my way of thanking (and remembering):

• Melva, who walked with my from the bus stop to the hostel because she was sure I wouldn’t be able to find my way [in the end she was right: I wouldn’t]
• Daniel the ferryman who ferried me, alone, across the Mopan river so I wouldn’t have to walk the extra mile and a half to the Mayan ruins at Xunantunich
• Philip, Michael, and Jan, a couple of locales I met at the swimming hole in Guanacaste Park near Roaring Creek
• The unnamed man who gave me a free lift in the back of his truck to the Belize-Guatemala Border. [Consider that my first and hopefully only experience with what was inadvertent hitchhiking].
I can honestly say that these are some of the nicest people on earth and I´ll be sorry to see them go. Still, their country, beautiful though it may be, is much to expensive for little ol´ me so Guatemala here we come!


*If you think the United States in the midst of a linguistic identity crisis, you should come on down to Belize, where everyone tries to speak the official English when necessary but normally uses some combination of it, Creole, Spanish, and Chinese!

Moving on, again...

What a difference a day makes! My first impression of Belize was like so many of my ¨Mexican¨ impressions: ¨God loves this country. Verdant and bountiful, it’s a far cry from the deserts of Monterrey. Still, even if God loves Belize, I I found its City wanting. No, wanting isn’t the right word: a farce is more like it. Things were never so complicated in Mexico, even when (especially when?) I didn’t speak the language. Still, even if the people in Belize City were in equal parts friendly and unsavoury* the limitations of my budget forced me to move on this morning. Which brings me to Hillview, in the Cayo district, simultaneously on the other side of the country and only three hours away. A little internet searching found the only hostel in the region – the ¨Falconview Back Pack Adventure Hostel¨ - which I later showed up to unannounced and am the only guest. What a difference a day makes. The owners, Ray (an American expat who first came to Belize when it was still British Honduras in 1959 and Silvia (who us actually Colombian and when to the University of South Florida of all places), are as charming as their hostel – which is saying something. So a miserably night in Belize City notwithstanding, things are looking up.

* Which, while normally a winning combination, was of unwieldy portions in Belize.

In Belize

So Chetumal has resolved itself of its own accord, and with it Mexico. How strange it is to say, but I feel like I’m leaving home all over again (even if I did leave what passes for my home in Mexico weeks ago). Still, after all my [incredibly fortunate] travels, Mexico is the country I was, uninterruptedly, in the longest. So, again, it’s strange to be going through another border cross and also bittersweet because I truly loved it there. I miss it already.
Still, the open road is calling my name and – surprisingly – its in English. I’m on the road now, halfway between Chetumal and Belize City, near Orange Walk Town – and it just feels strange to see so much English. To speak it, too, as the chicken bus I’m riding in has more English-speakers than not. A bizarre welcome to Belize, but a welcome nonetheless.

Next Bus to Belize, please!

This is one of those ¨official¨ notices that I´m so fond of: as of today, if all goes according to plan, I´ll be out of Mexico and into the rest of the world (which starts with Belize, of all places...). So right, there´s that - I´m off!

{Mexico I´m going to miss you!}

La Frontera!

Okay, so here’s the skinny: I left Kristin (as planned) in Tulum and headed south for the border with Belize by way of Chetumal, a large-ish city of 150,000 (huge for Yucateco standards) but with a squarely small-town vibe. Stupidly I had no reservation here (as per usual, but now I am alone and cellphoneless) but it doesn´t seem to have mattered: I went to the first hotel listed in my guide – Villa Deportiva – which, as the name suggests, in near a sports academy and as near as I can figure is run by a nurse. A very hospitable nurse at that . MXN$50 (or US$5) later, I am sitting on the edge of the ocean and two countries – so far so good.

Letter Home

This is the best approximation I can present of the current state of Frankel Affairs, in its entirely, from a letter home:

"I've been on the road for a few weeks now - Kim, sadly, is already on
her way back to the States I believe - but my frantic pace has finally
eased up long enough to sit down and right this letter. Kristin,
needless to say, is relieved to have the break. ^^ Things are almost
exactly as they should be: after a few wonderful days with Kim and her
friend Amy in Mexico City and Oaxaca [both of which were spectacular
in so many ways], Kristin and I have finally made it the point in my
journey which brings us closest to Florida - the Yucatan. So close and
yet so far. I'm on the northwestern side of the Peninsula, in the
small town of Celestun with some friends who live right on the beach.
It's almost idyllic: although so many things have changed since
leaving Monterrey (even the language; I hear more Mayan words every
day), the beer is still cold and the beach is gorgeous. Consistency is
nice, in that regard. It's nice to have the break, to be honest, to
sit back and reflect, to digest rather than experience for a few days.
The ruins as Palenque in the state of Chiapas were beautiful, for
example, but in many ways its only now, out of the heat and in
retrospect, that I can begin to truly appreciate it. Unfortunately,
I'm doing a lot my reminisces by way of memory because some theft
issues have left me without my laptop, cellphone, or camera. Don't
worry, I am perfectly fine, they were simply lifted from my bag when
it was out of my possession and I'm left with little recourse but, of
everything it's the photos I miss most of all. Even now, only a day
after the fact, I'm not angry, just disappointed and a little sad.
They were my lifelines back home and now I feel a little more adrift
that ever. I'll be replacing them when I can, so in the long run I
think little will be changing, so there we are: I am, if anything,
only temporarily at sea. Bad news aside, Mexico is amazing and perhaps
the reason I'm dealing with everything so well. Indeed, my classes are
over, the grades in, and with a little bit of paperwork I'll have my
Master's in December so, as I work my way south, everything is as it
should be in that respect, too. It's amazing, really. I've seen so
much already and fallen so much in love with this country (thieves
aside) that the distance between here and Costa Rica inspires far more
eagerness than trepidation."

So that's it. That's where things are. Sadly I have no exciting pictures or even good stories* for you today, but wherever you are I hope all is well.

* For that, I think, you have to be the one buying the beer... ^^

Notes from the Underground

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that it is harder to stay in touch on the road than I thought. Mostly, I think, because my "grand vision" does not include time in Internet Cafes.* Still, here I am, alive and well in San Cristobal de las Casas, approximately halfway through my Southern Mexico Odyssey. One day I may transcribe my unintelligible notes of the last few weeks, but for now you'll have to live with this: I love this country. I mean, I love my country, too, but Mexico stands apart. Mexico City, Tlaxcala, and Oaxaca were at all times better than I could have ever imagined** and the rest of the trip is gearing up to be more of the "same".

By way of farewell - is as much as this was ever a hello - let me explain the above picture, one of the most recent of the I've taken on the road. On Friday Kristin an I went hiking in the Sierra Norte of Oaxaca, in the small village of Cuajimoloyas, and I discovered that even after four months in Mexico, the country still has a few surprises for me. Stunningly beautiful, the area has pine forests competing with lupines, agaves and cacti competing for space - almost as though all of Mexico's biodiversity came together at 3000 meters.

More, as always, later, but I hope all is a well with you as it is with me.

* Today is something of an exception, clearly.
** I mean, if not Oaxaca where else can you see a political protest and a religious parade on the same day in the same square?

On the Road

Okay, so the road ahead of me may not look quite like this, but I could think of few better roadtrip films that Thelma and Louise.* That have been said, this is my official notice to the world: I'm on hiatus (from my hiatus). I'll keep in touch as much as possible and update when I can, but as of today I'm on a whole new trajectory.

* Here's hoping my own personal travels end better than theirs, clearly!

My word, it really is a global village...

... and a very, very strange village at that.
Allow me to (try and) explain. I just received two of the most disparate messages possible within five minutes of each other and both of them solely because I'm living in Monterrey. Here's the first one:


(I'm sure Nigeria is glad to be off the hook here, actually, so that's perhaps some kind of progress...)

But, as if presumably fraudulent Israelis trying to sell me on undoubtedly fraudulent business schemes wasn't enough, I then received this:



No, your eyes didn't deceive you: in less than twenty-four hours Electric Light Orchestra will be here in Monterrey.

In 2008, not 1978.

Good heavens, what is the Internet doing to the world?

Plans, or Quo Vadimus?

I feel this entry works better with [techno] musical accompaniment, so before we get carried away click below and read on...



Good. Having done that, let me say this: I am nothing if not predictable. Music aside, that, in fact, is the whole point of this post: faced with the unknown, I plan my little heart out. So now that classes are nearly over and I'm hitting the road with - as The Beatles would say - a little help from my friends I've done exactly that.

Without going into too many specifics, here's the flightplan:

Mexico With Kim, Kristin, and Amy Mexico City, D.F. Tlaxcala [Teotihuacán!] Oaxaca City, Oaxaca [Monte Alban!] Puerto Arista, Chiapas San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas [Palenque!] Merida, Yucatan [Chitzen Itza!] Cancun, Quintana Roo Chetumal, Quintana Roo

Central America With Sol, Seth, and company Belize City, Belize San Ignacio, Belize Flores [Tikal], Guatemala Rio Dulce, Guatemala Antigua, Guatemala La Ruta de las Flores, El Salvador Alegria and Berlin, El Salvador Gulf of Fonseca, Honduras Granada, Nicaragua Isla Ometepe, Nicaragua San Jose, Costa Rica Liberia, Costa Rica

I couldn't be more excited if I tried.

How can you go off track without a track?

I realized something wonderfully simple last night while talking to my friend Jenny: in less than a week I'll be done with my classes. I'll still have a few months before my Master's processes but, come July, the formal "education" portion of my life will be over. That means from here on out I get to define success - and I have some strangely wonderful rubrics, let me tell you.

I couldn't be less afraid afraid to tell you I'm just getting started

There's more than one border in the world...

Today, after ten weeks and at least as many trip trips to the local immigration office, I finally received my FM3 student visa today. I am, of course, ridiculously pleased because this allows me to stay in Mexico (if I so chose, which in fact I don't for reasons to be explained in slightly more detail below) until at least December. More importantly, it means that EGADE will release my transcripts to UF and I will, after some no doubt labyrinthine and complicate process, graduate with my Master's. This is especially fortunate because I'm closing in on what may be my last week of classes ever, but in truth that's not the point of this post.

This is: On the very day I received my visa, 21 Central American migrant workers were found by the Mexican equivalent of the INS not five kilometers from my apartment. 21 men who had nothing in their home countries but now have even less. I've been thinking about this unfortunate "coincidence" ever since and I find it almost impossible to describe how this makes me feel. Well, actually, that's not completely true; I know exactly how I feel even if I can't quite explain myself. I feel, of course, incredibly fortunate to have been born in the United States. I feel, too, for Mexico a strange sense of shame - a country whose own people flee north but which persecutes those that do the same - and pride - a country whose hard-won stability and relative prosperity mean that people flee not only from it but to it. Lastly, I feel even more now that this kind of thing should never have to happen.

The salient point is this: I chose to leave my home but no one should have to leave theirs and I want to spend as much of my life working to giving people the kinds of choices, the kinds of options, I have.

A tourist in my temporary home

Monterrey has always occupied a strange place in my mind. Because I more or less live here I've never really taken the time to explore it properly. I think the same thing is true of every placed I've ever lived, actually. Instead of being a destination they have always been way stations on the way to other things. The fact that I'm leaving so soon, though, had made me want to make up for "lost" time. (Especially since I haven't actually hit the road in a couple of weeks and my wanderlust is already starting to kick in.) So recently I decided to stop being a resident and start being a tourist again and it has reminded me just how lovely this city really is. Frankly, as sad as it is to say and as wonderful as the rest of Mexico has been and no doubt will be, I'm sorry that more of you won't have a chance to see it with me.

Plans, or what happens if you make someone with ADHD study for too long.

That picture could not be more perfect – changes just keep happening. It’s almost as if things are beginning to happen of their own free will and, frankly, the possibility thrills me.

I did the math today and, as hard as it is to believe, my time in Monterrey is nearly over. Like I mentioned before I am already knee-deep in final projects and I have my final exams all scheduled. My last anything for EGADE is June 30th at 2pm. I think I would be a little more sad about this if I didn't have so much else on the horizon.

Indeed, that horizon is chock-full of things far more exciting than anything related to my Master's:

First, my sister Kim and her friend Amy are flying into Mexico D.F. the day after my last final - sleep is for the weak - and my dear friend Kristin a few days after that. Together we'll explore a large part of the Mexico I haven't gotten to see yet, from D.F. to Oaxaca, to Chiapas and beyond.

Then comes the part that is truly under my complete control but as the same time forming itself of its own volition: from the Yucatan I'll head still further south, from Belize to Costa Rica. Maybe I'll even hit the Panama Canal, but who knows? [That's what makes this all so exhilarating!] Clearly this part of the plan is as of yet vastly underdeveloped, but it won't always be and when I know so will you.

Travel Hiatus

In as much as this is a "travel blog" - well if it's not then I am basically just talking to myself here, aren't I? - I feel its important to note, for the record, that I won't be traveling anywhere for a few weeks. After so much time on the road its time for me to spend a little time here in Monterrey on my actual studies. You remember them; they're the [ostensible] reason I'm here in the first place...

You'll be the first to know the moment things liven up, I promise.

In the meantime, as a small consolation to my wadering heart, I just found a fantastic copy of Wagner's opera Parsifal on sale in Zona Rosa and so even the library has a little more color than usual...

Real de Catorce

The sheer variety this country provides never ceases to amaze me. Last week I traveled southeast to the edge of the rainforest, this week I traveled southwest to the desert highlands. Real de Catorce, my ultimate destination, had no prehispanic ruins or Gulf Coast beaches. No, all it had was wide open space and plenty of it. Which is a-okay by me: after the crowded streets of Monterrey, I welcomed the isolation. Not that I was totally isolated. Although the town - a former silver mining settlement whose mines have long since petered out - has less than a thousand people, I met a charming Italian backpacker named Gianluca within minutes of arriving in the city. Spanish was, as it should be in Mexico, our common language and we serendipitously spent two days wandering the town's cobbled streets and cactus-laden mountainsides.

The city was charming and, to me, exceptionally unique: I have never before been to a settlement which was once larger than it is now. So it was with Real de Catorce, which is not quite a ghost town but nevertheless has a certain hollowness to it. Its bullring sits unused and so do the majority of its houses. Isolation has its advantages, however: the sunsets rivaled the moonrises and the cloudless sky was invariably full of stars.

Even the stars, however, we no match for the canyons. The area around Real de Catorce has long been of ceremonial importance to the Huichol people and it is little wonder why. I have had the good fortune to see the Wadi Rum desert of Jordan and, truth be told, it has nothing on Real de Catorce. Achingly beautiful, Gianluca and I walked to the top of Cerro Quemado and back for ten hours one day without seeing another person. So much the better for us, I suppose, but more's the pity for everyone else. Some 10,000 feet above sea level, where the air is thin and clear, you can see the for miles in every direction.

I think paradise looks a little something like this:







More pictures - including shots of, you know, the town itself - at: http://www.picasaweb.google.com/littlefrankel

Wow. No, really - wow.

I know this is something of break with the overall theme I've tried to establish here, but I wanted to take a quick moment (as I am wont to do) and let you all know that I feel like the luckiest man alive. This is not, like my blog, about my rapidly filling passport or really any one thing in particular, but I feel that I am finally beginning to lead a life of purpose, a life worth living. I'm terrified of the options I have and I couldn’t be happier.

Life is a beach - for today at least.

You know, as glamorous as all this gallivanting about may seem to the outside observer, it's actually pretty exhausting. Okay, not really, but still - it's nice to have a break from time to time. Today's break was brought to you (that is, me) by the seaside town of Tecolutla. Let's make no bones about it: I went to Tecolutla for the beach. In fact, as the city's population barely exceeds 4,000 people, I can't imagine I could have gone for another reason. Still, the city knows how to play its strength and its beaches are magnificent.
Erwin and I checked into a pretty nice hotel directly on the beach for less than it cost me in the Monterrey hostels two months ago. No, really. The air conditioning and three pools compliment the view (below) nicely, and I can happily report we've barely moved 250 meters past the hotel's front doors in the last 24 hours. [Well, except for an extended walk along the beach, but that's an understandable exception, no?]
Life is made for days, for places, like this. We go back to [Mexican] reality via tonight's bus and tomorrow's class but for the time being I can almost feel time slow...

We have arrived! (At El Tajin, that is)

Today was all about El Tajin - the very reason I set out on the odisea veracruzana. Once the capital of a Mesoamerican civilization which reached its apex centuries before the arrival of Columbus, it is now an UNESCO world heritage site and home of sprawling complex of temples, palaces, and other ruins. Again we were off the more off the "gringo trail" usual and again it was almost eerie: although we spent most of the day at El Tajin, we scarcely saw another person. Perhaps after trips to Cristo Redentor and Versailles I've come to associate crowds with "things worth seeing" but Mexico is certainly rewriting the rulebook. [As a result, most of my favorite places are all but deserted.] For this reason too, in additional to all of the obvious historical ones, El Tajin has quickly catapulted to the forefront of my favorite places ever. As if the ruins themselves were not enough - and if the pictures below and elsewhere don't do it justice, I can personally vouch for their "sufficiency" - the site's position deep in the heart of the Veracruz jungle made it possible hike within minutes from some of El Tajin's expansive ruins to deep jungle and back. Glorious.


THE Pyramid of the Niches, above.






You have no idea how hard it was to pick only five pictures. More at: http://www.picasaweb.google.com/littlefrankel

The Heart of... Veracruz.

Buses in Mexico are a bit of a mixed bag, it seems. The bus ride from Monterrey to Poza Rica was wonderfully uneventful - it gives me great hope for future night travels, actually - but at six hours the bus from Poza Rica to Veracruz was almost as long. This, then, is difference between primero and directo. Ah well, at least the ride back north to Papantla will give me a change to take stock of the trip thus far.
We arrived in Veracruz around 5pm on Thursday, which gave us just enough time to see the best of downtown Veracruz before nightfall. It is a pleasant city with a vibrant central square and a beautiful boardwalk, but it possesses little in the way of physical history. I guess I was expecting a lot from the first Spanish city in what is now Mexico - seriously, Hernan Cortes founded it as he first landed in the country - but the cities numerous invaders seem to have taken even its history. [One assumes my disapointment is a bit inconsequential where compared to the then-residents of the city, but still.] All this having been said, the ocean air was lovely and the seafood was fantastic! It's just so hard to describe how my Floridian pulse races as soon as I see the water. Say what you will, after so much yellow a little green and blue was just what the doctor ordered.
Despite the mariscos, though, Erwin and I thought it best to hit the road Friday morning. A short trip north brought us to the small Jose Cardel way-station for buses to tiny town of Zempoala. In fact, I think Zempoala has the rare distinction of being smaller now than it was when the Spanished arrived. For us, though, the specifics of its written history were second to its physical history: the city ruins of a distinct prehispanic civilization known as the Totonacs. As the pictures can attest, it was something almost unwordly. We were at the site for a few hours, and most of the time had the whole place to ourselves. In fact, when Erwin wanted to go to the onsite museum they had to open it just for us! Sometimes it pays to be off the "gringo trail."

PS Did I mention everything was green, oh so green? After so long in the desert that alone is simply spectacular.






As always, more pictures at: http://www.picasaweb.google.com/littlefrankel