Living Guate style

So there I stand again, with the same confused look on my face, somewhere between boredom and acceptance, as my new host explains something to me in Spanish. It’s only a 5’ by 4’ rectangle after all – what can possibly warrant us standing in the doorway for more than a moment. But I oblige to the customary questions and looking at the bed and room before agreeing to accept my new home. You see, this won’t just be another lodging for me, for there has been so very many over the last 5 months, this will be a home for me – for a few weeks at least. Mine and our first time staying with a local family, in a very rural and tranquil village on the shores of Lake Atitlan, Guatemala.



Melissa with her 2 helpers



Repairing one victim of the incident

After my hospital escapades and a quiet few days recovering in a hostel, we agreed that I indeed fell in quite a fortunate part of the country, on our descent to the lakeside village of San Marcos - a beautiful, sunny, quiet and traditional village that sits on the shores of Central America’s deepest and arguably most beautiful lake, flanked by 3 volcanoes and ridges of mountains stretching into the distance. So I guess if I had to choose where to dismount my bike so gracefully and thus be compounded to rest, this wasn’t a bad place to do it.

View of the lake from the hillside

So for half the price of all other accommodations in town, our new host Patty, along with her 2 excited children, friendly husband, Mayan sauna in the yard, assortment of chickens and one hungry dog, was happy for us to rent one of her spare rooms. Mud brick homes, dirt laneways and the clap of tortillas being made by smiling local women characterized this part of town. Up on a hill in a neighborhood and a short stroll to the “centre of town”, we were excited to immerse ourselves in Guatemalan culture for a few weeks while we took some Spanish lessons and taught some local kids English (or at least tried to). Having access to our own kitchen was going to be a treat right from the outset as we decreased our dependence on restaurants which varied between too expensive and delicious or cheap and rice, eggs and beans. Time to hit the fresh veg and fruit market and tune up my cooking skills again!

View from the dock before boarding our daily boat

Our adopted helper

Travelling and living in Guatemala…..a 2 word synopsis.

Having now spent a total of 2 months travelling, cycling and now living in beautiful and crazy Guatemala, I will try and surmise the experience.

2 words – Noise and Time……this is how I describe Guatemalan culture as succinctly as possible.

Noise…..where to start, from the buzz of tuk tuk taxis, the roar of diesel powered chicken buses ascending high mountain passes, the incessant hooting of horns for unknown purposes to un comprehensibly loud music blaring from any device unfortunate enough to plug into a sound system, the noise doesn’t stop, EVER.

Now having the pleasure of living with a family, we also have the joy of waking up to a variety of charming alarms. The cackle of roosters at insane times (I counted 12 crows per minute this morning as I lay awake), the chorus of local dogs singing to each other all night, the radio wars of Christmas/rave/church/ballad music at all hours of the day and my personal favourite – fire crackers – any time, any place, there is always fire crackers….this is all before the alarm goes off to get us up and ready for our Spanish classes. Now I am not complaining, for every experience is just that, an experience, I just cannot get in my head the complexity, variety and diversity of all the sounds that abuse my sensory system daily.

It confuses me to say the least, people’s reactions to all of this, but more of that shortly.

This brings me to time…..a simple word, so eloquently used to convey a sense of need, urgency and significance to all of life’s details, both small and large. What time is lunch, what time is it, what time do you finish, what time will you be homes……no-one can argue that time plays an important role in their daily lives. Time is, well, just not important here. At all. Ever. It’s crazy really, the lack of time being a bounding constraint on social and business matters. If people are late, they are late. If the bus doesn’t run on time, it doesn’t run on time. No problem, no concern. If the store is closed, then so be it. No big deal. The striking variance between how our North American culture values time and how it is of such utter insignificance here borders on comical. But guess what – everything still works – late, but it works. There is no rush, no hustle and bustle, no urgent running for this and that and shockingly, everyone still smiles. Who would have guessed that….

However, as charming and alluring the complete separation from the importance of time can be, it can also be, let’s face it, bloody infuriating at times. “The bus leaves a few times in the afternoon and a few times in the morning” is not an uncommon response when asking how to get somewhere. If you are in a rush to get around here, or get anything done for that matter, than forget it, you will go crazy – and sometimes I have. But here’s a trick – don’t be in a rush. Life goes smoother that way. The view on time has a somewhat calming effect (most of the time) and a certain way of slowing down one’s thinking and living, creating a present awareness on all things beautiful and interesting as each day passes by. I could get used to it really.

However, as alluded to previously, what really strikes me are people’s reactions to dealing with both noise and time. It really does confuse me to no end. The two are never better illustrated to me than being on the great people and cultural exhibition that is the public bus. You can be stopped dead in a traffic jam, cars tooting all around, people selling who knows what as they stride down the proverbial market that is the bus’ center aisle, church music blaring into everyone’s ears and a preacher at the front selling who knows what faith to whoever would listen and you know what people’s reaction is? NOTHING. Nada, naught. Everyone just sits and waits, patiently or blindly, like there is no hurry in the world to get anywhere and it’s as if everyone is fitted with internal ear plugs to the sensory overload around them. More than once I have turned to Melissa and questioned, with a typical exasperated and confused tone, why no-one says or does anything. Nothing – everyone just sits there and smiles.

My favourite example was when Quiche and I sat patiently in Honduras as the bus driver pulled over and went into the front yard of his house to play with his kids and get a drink from his smiling wife. Charming I thought, to see the kids during a work day, but wasn’t he forgetting something? The bus full of passengers who had paid to get to where they presumably needed to be? We waited and waited for someone to hang out the window and question his motives but nothing – the bus load just sat there and waited for him to return, like nothing was happening. Now let me ask you this, if you were sitting on a  bus at home and this happened, how long before someone would complain?  How long til someone’s shouts how important it is that he immediately gets to his meeting, or appointment, date or whatever? Is it that in our over padded and coddled environment that we are more important and thus our destination requires a more prompt delivery service, or should we just chill out like the folks in this part of the world? I am sure everyone had to get somewhere that day, it’s just the time they arrived was of less significance. And they were better off for that.

Or, how about a few nights ago, when the local basketball court decided to blast power schmaltz rock through the entire village (we live at least 500m from the court) to the wee hours in the morning in celebration of a win at an inconceivable volume – something that represented the feeling of a marching band playing in our bedroom. The raw sounds interspersed only by the shrieks of roosters and crack of fireworks as we rocked to sleep. I wonder what the neighbours reaction would be at mine or your home to such a display of exuberance. I have had police show up to parties that emitted less auditory assault. Do our precious bodies require more sleep, are the locals used to it or does everyone just accept it as part of life and hence doesn’t let it bother them…..I am still wondering.

One thing is for sure, people are close here, they live close together, work close together and play close together. They walk through each others homes, squash 15 deep into pickup trucks and 3 wide on bus seats without the flutter of an eyelid. And they chat, laugh and smile as they do it. Maybe this closeness brings an acceptance of the noise and tolerance of the concept of time, creating a more laid back culture. Or maybe everyone resents it all, wishes for a “better” life and is brooding with rage underneath their smiling faces……somehow I think it’s the former.

Now excuse me while I reach for my earplugs and set the alarm for – oh, let’s see – the morning sometime….

Launching into the lake

The good, the bad and the bloody

An epiphany struck me lately....maybe it was in an overcrowded rickety bus, jammed in Guatemala City peak hour traffic with ancient piano music blasting in my ear as we fought our way around the city in search for bike boxes. Or maybe it was when I was wincing in pain as my Guatemalan nurse "gently" scrubbed copious amounts of Highway CA-10 out of various limbs. I'm not sure, but the question is still lingering for me......"maybe this cycling thing isn't for me"

But wait, let's back track to where we left off as we try and ascertain the fate of this whole cycling gig.
After a beautiful few weeks in Nicaragua, surfing, cycling flat roads in warm sunshine and marvelling at volcanoes, it was time to head back North. A forgetful 2 days of buses, rip off taxi drivers, endless discussions of why I don't think we should pay extra for bikes and coaches later, we found ourselves in a remote Western part of Honduras, La Esperanza. The highest town in Honduras at over 2,300m, you could have excused us for thinking the next few days of cycling was going to be predominantly
downhill. This little nugget of information was of no comfort to us at all as we climbed up and down the "road" out of town and into the Western Honduran highlands. Bumpy is not an adequate adjective for the first few hours of riding on day 1 and there were more than a few smiles when our track morphed back into some type of bitumen.

Local traffic

Hills and hills

crossing back onto a road



wasn't much conversation happening up this hill

Sweat and sore legs aside, the scenery was spectacular as we dipped and climbed through small villages escorted by smiling children, confused elders and over excited teenage boys eager to test their charm on Melissa.

The change in terrain from Nicaragua was stark. No longer were we greeted with picturesque volcanoes in the distance, flat roads and lakes, replaced by green rolling mountains, coffee plantations and mud shack villages. The incessant honking of car horns that is so prevalent in this part of the world remained though. It was difficult to discrimnate between the encouraging toots and the sleazy toots coupled with kisses and hisses directed at the female half of the group. I like to believe some of the latter were directed at me also....

So after a few hard days cycling, we arrived in Copan, right on the Guatemalan border. Home to ancient Mayan civilisations, the town draws tourists from all around to visit the famed Mayan ruins site. Quite a sight it is, I must say. It was quite surreal to be marching around through the lush green forest and through the remains of an ancient civilisation. Relaxing and memorable, to say the least.

From Wikipedia...

Copán had an occupational history that spanned more than two thousand years, from the Early Preclassic period right through to the Postclassic. The city developed a distinctive sculptural style within the tradition of the lowland Maya, perhaps to emphasize the Maya ethnicity of the city's rulers.^[4]

Mayan ruins

Copan wildlife

Ruins

With that experience in the bank, so was our short foray into Honduras. Next up was a crossing back in familar territory for me, Guatemala.

Again regretting cycling this section as we climbed several hundred meters out of Coban, I was quickly regretting my promise of "all downhill to the border".....we did however get rewarded with some stunning views back over the valley and were eventually rewarded with a very fast descent to the border town where we would pay our fees, get our stamps and continue climbing mountains to our next destination, some 60km away in southern Guatemala. What was turning into a fast and rewarding day took a turn, as Melissa's derailer cable decided to snap. 2 towns, 14 different directions and one very good bike mechanic later, we were back the road and finally made it to town for our first night in Guatemala.

lunch break

And this is where the fun starts again. After a long bus ride, we arrived in Antigua where we planned to stay for one night. The plan was to find a local bike store, get some boxes for our bikes in preparation for shipping, store them and continue on our journey into the Highlands where we would live for a few weeks, volunteering and exploring. Quite simple I thought.....wrong!

After several loops of town we had to bite the bullet and catch a bus back to Guatemala city in order to find our boxes. Although some locals in Antigua were keen to help us "make a box that would work", we decided that the city would be the only place to find the required box. Now, for those who haven't had the pleasure of a crowded chicken bus ride in Guate City, you are not missing anything. Crowded, hot, smelly, bumpy, slow and downright annoying would be the best way to describe it. And that is BEFORE you have 2 massive boxes to load on also. A day I would like to forget....

So with our boxes stored for future use and spirits renewed we were back on the bus and heading to Lake Atitlan, a wonderful volcanic crater lake where we would chill out for a few days, do some riding and then keep heading North. So after a few hours on multiple buses, I decided it was time to jump off and cycle the last 25km or so as I knew it was a really steep downhill.

Now this maybe where my epipany struck me.....Now, we can't be sure of the exact sequence of events, but as we were rolling down towards the lake, descending from 2,300m to around 1,000 over a very short distance and somewhere between "oh" and "shit", I ran into a few issues. My front wheel, who had faithfully been serving me quite well, decided that enough was enough and it was time to leave my bike for a while. This would have been fine.....if I wasn't on the bike at the time and the bike wasn't travelling at a breezy 40 km/hr!!! The force and speed in which I hit the ground was something I haven't been through before and I am thankful that I am still in tact enough to be writing, let alone riding.
It all happened so fast, something like....

''Gee this is a fun and fast section''.......''hmmm, that wobbling is odd''........''why do I have 20 people standing over me asking if I am ok?"".......''why can't I feel my arm?''.......''I hope my bike is ok''.

So there I was, shorts ripped open, bare knees and thigh similarly ripped up, both hands scraped and bloodied, a numb forearm ripped open and with nice big holes in my gore tex jacket wondering what the hell just happened. Luckliy, I guess, I happened to be coming into a town at the time and there were dozens of onlookers keen to help. Thankfully Melissa was there also as I alternated between trying to see if the bike was ok and laying down to avoid vomiting and fainting. Our new best friend, Mr Spanish / English speaker must have thought everything was serious enough because before I knew it I was
in the back of an ambulance bound for the hospital. And that is where my lovely nurse came in.

Now, I don't scrub the toilet very often, but if I had to, I would scrub with more finesse than she used on my open wounds as she told me to "relax"..."lots of road in there" she said in Spanish and she scraped and dug sections of highway out of me. Thankfully her help was soon over and after a quick exam by the doctor, I was on my way.

Guatemalan ER

New shorts will be welcomed for Christmas

All patched up

Casualty list

ripped elbow, forearm, knee, right hand and thumb, left hand, gore tex jacket, favourite shorts, dry storage bag,
ripped up handlebars, water bottle and last but not least.....dignity.

Of course now I couldn't ride and the road the bus takes was closed, so there we were, in the middle of nowhere, in the dark,with a half broken bike and a fully broken me trying to get to the oasis which would be our hotel. We made it...eventually and I have never been so happy to see a warm bed. 9 hours, 2 buses, 1 ride, 1 ambulance, 2 taxi's and a boat and we could finally relax again and plan the rest of our journey to the highlands of Western Guatemala.

So now I sit, dabbing aloe vera in various places and readjusting my bandages, pondering.....is this cycling thing really for me.....

My private nurse hard at work.....

Sweet rum, broad lakes, rising surf breaks, smoking volcanoes and smoking cigars.........How to spend 3 weeks in a mysterious land........

Week 1

Welcome the arrival of a new member to the wolfpack, this time a wolfette to help curb the testosterone fuelled preceding weeks of misadventure. Melissa arrived to a welcoming marching band and parade, with myself trying to feign interest in catching up, while assembling my bike, which she had bought down. Not much time for rest though as we were promptly testing ourselves and our bikes on a short trip down to the closest coast from Leon. A confused river crossing and a beach walk later and we arrived on a remote island with a small lodge where we would rest and swim and rest some more. Nothing like a hammock strung up in front of your own private cabana on a private beach to really put your mind to ease.

Carrying local produce

river crossings with bikes = fun

Melissa making friends with the locals

Time for contemplation

View from the cabana

Paradise couldn't last forever though and a few days later we were off again on the bikes to Leon where we teamed up with a volunteer trekking company to tackle some volcano boarding along with an overnight hike over a few volcanoes. Camping on the side of a volcano while overlooking a perfectly shaped, active volcano sitting in a lake with the ocean to the East in the distance.....it was like Nicaragua was competing for the world's best viewpoints at every turn.

Sweet outfits for volcano boarding

Down we come

Top of the hike

In the top 10 of my camp spots of all time

Sun setting over the pacific in the distance

Returning to Leon we decided it was time to head to the hills in Northern Nicaragua to try out some local highland culture. The fact that cigar, rum and chocolate factories were also located in this region is of pure coincidence. Tours of chocolate factories and cigar factories followed with some samples taken back to the lab for testing of course.

Local samples

Lab testing

Pumped up after a few days of excess rum, high cocoa rated chocolate (after our tour we now know all the intricate facts about chocolate production) and regional cigars, it was time to split the wolfpack up for a few days, with the 2 more hardy members cycling way up, then back down the northern hills and towards Granada, a quaint colonial town straddling Lake Nicaragua, Central America's largest lake. Quiche made the quicker and decidedly drier trip on the bus and set up shop there before we arrived discovering the best coffee places and bakeries, all the important things....The 2 tough members fought out some km's through the hills and rain all the way there. Melissa was enjoying a nice intro to cycling in Central America with the men, young and old, seemingly oblivious to her being accompanied by another male were hooting and cheering her every time she rode past. One ingenious fello even managed to hang from a moving bus and, without knocking her off, get a full grab of her rear end as she cycled. As you can imagine, she was less than flattered but I thought the whole effort was nothing short of bloody impressive.

Ah the rain

Fixing flats while fixing a drink - more my style

The region around Granada included some quieter villages and with only 2 bicycles and 3 people, we decided there was only one option - scooters! So off we went, scooting around, honking horns and dodging cows along the bumpy roads through small villages and against all plans and better judgement, somehow ending up smack bang in the capital city of Nicaragua, at night. Probably not the safest option but we buzzed out of there quick enough. Spending money and eating gelati at a higher than desirable rate, it was time to get out of tourist towns and head for the lake...



Melissa on the scooter

 Week 2

With a tear in our eye, we boarded a rustic ferry to cross the massive lake towards the beautiful Isle de Ometepe. Why a tear you ask? Well, Quiche got the call up from the international mountain goat association and was invited to be a key note speaker in their Vietnam AGM and had to leave suddenly, leaving me with no reasonable excuse to drink excessive rum on weeknights. Life must digress though and the island was just the place to do that. I say island, but really it is just a chunk of land formed by volcanic flows of the 2 massive volcanoes jutting out of the lake. People make their living from fishing, farming and generally taking life as slow as humanly possible. Buses run occasionally, roads get fixed sporadically, but everyone has time for lunchtime siestas and a cold beer as the sun sets. This was life the way the higher powers intended it.



Crossing the lake




Sunsetting back over Granada

 Swimming in the lake, horseriding the mountains and cycling old dusty roads, while continually being in the shadow of a 1,600m monster volcano was an eerie and very rewarding experience. The line "I could live here" has never been uttered from my lips in such high volume as the 5 nights we spent on Ometepe. Truly a special place.

Cycling on Ometepe island

Refreshing lake swimming

Dodging the local traffic

Melissa making friends again

Hammock camping with a view

Add caption

Add caption

This one's for Quiche

Week 3

After a very stressful week on the island.......ok, I can't even type that with a straight face....we got the morning ferry back to the mainland and reality. Well reality at least for a few hours as we pedalled straight for the south west coast to a neat little village called San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua's surfing capital. While apparently overun with white folk, we found it very chilled and relaxing. Sure, there was more than a little foreign investment and a distinct tourist feel, but how can you blame the place. Snug in a cover and surrounded by picture perfect beaches with nice surf breaks. A day of surfing and a few more of general relaxing, while developing amazing business plans based around living in this new paradise were just enough for us.



Making friends with the hostel cat

 So now we sit, sweaty and tired in a dodgy neighbourhood in Managua, waiting for a 5am bus to Honduras tomorrow where we will continue our assault on mountain regions and small villages on our bicyles. No day dreaming on fantasy islands in the schedule unfortunately....

A note on Nicaraguan's

While I feel, as I do in all places where I haven't spent sufficient time, inadequate to summarise a culture in a paragraph, I will note down some observations, both good and bad, about a country and it's people that we really enjoyed spending 3 weeks with

Relaxed, laid back and easy going. For a country barely out of civil war conflict, the culture and the people are remarkably welcoming, friendly and chilled out. In fact, in some communities, if they moved any slower, they'd almost be going backwards. Almost everyone we met (aside from the sleezeballs hissing at Melissa from car window's) were eager to talk to us, hear our stories, share their's and assist with any request we had for help or directions, even if they had no idea where they were going themselves. I learnt more from the semi trailer driver who picked us up stranded in the rain one day and made us sit in his cab while making his brother sit on the flat deck in the rain, than I have from some of my close mates.

As with other Central American countries visited so far, there seems to be a very wide gap between the countries rich and poor. Brand new American built trucks driving through impoverished villages in not an uncommon site, particularly in the tourist invested South West. Young kids aspire to some North American cultural ideals as do many people in other countries but the focus and importance of family is evident at every turn. Homes are built around a central common area where the family sits and eats and discussed life, all together. An ideal that is lost on some more developed economies' cultures unfortunately.

So with an interesting culture, warm people, stunning landscapes and scope for adventure, Nicaragua is firmly planted in my mind for future travels.

Let's see what Honduras has in store.....

Until next time Nicaragua