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?