Central America: the Epilogue

Perdón. Hay algo extraño en mi bolsa que debe saber sobre. Es un regalo. Es una cabeza humana.

Before you read any further - assuming you don't speak Spanish - pop that into Google Translator. I doubt you´ll find it in a Spanish text book. I certainly didn't rote learn it anywhere.

Nonetheless, I thought it prudent to let the Guatemalan customs official know exactly what she would see in her little X-ray machine before it went through. Rachel pissed herself laughing. Mort, my new pet skull (photo to come), smiled his pearly smile, as per usual.

In the end, the customs official batted not an eyelid. Instead, she confiscated Rachels hand sanitizer; didn't even open my bag. Apparently, carrying human skulls in carry-on luggage is just fine. Go figure.

So, Central America. Done. Dusted. Stamped, catalogued and placed into the Indiana Jones warehouse that is human memory. How do you sum it up? This was the question flirting between the the newly-pierced Rachel and I as we sat in our hotel room in Guatemala City, the night before our flight to Peru, South America.

Central America is like a long night at a cocktail bar. The sheer number of flavours is bewildering, no two particularly similar. Each country - nay, each region - has its' own very unique flavour. Each is a different kind of drunk. Three months on, as we stumble out, intoxicated, it's hard to know where the time has gone. Is it closing time already? One more tune?

Mexico was a bewildering surprise. From the overplayed danger of Mexico City to the quaintness of Oaxaca, it went against everything we'd ever read, seen or heard about the country. Mexico gets a bad rap. It´s an incredible place. Amazing food. Oh, and nobody parties like a Mexican.

The spectre of the swine flu "epidemic" made it even more special. Some days, we would be the only Caucasian faces we'd see. Many a conversation were had about the timing of the media frenzy around swine flu; the economic benefits of having the worlds' most ailing economy keeping all its' citizens at home, spending money in the USA rather than abroad.

Me, I love conspiracy theories. I'll leave you to judge the merit of that one.

Then came Cancun, Playa del Carmen and Tulum. Enjoyable as these Caribbean destinations were, the odour of bland brand Global Tourism hangs over them like a fug. One of my new pet hates has to be seeing prices for things listed in a currency not native to a country (ie. $US instead of Mexican Pesos). Grrr.

Thing is; how can you rightfully stop people from getting maximum value for their skills and services? If the holidaying majority, with only two weeks relaxation to pack in, want to pay obscene money for a sanitized, safe and fake experience - the kind they could receive in any tourist mecca from here to Bombay - then opposition is folly. I can't understand it though. I'm just not the kind of person who wants bacon and eggs for breakfast, AFL on the telly or a Burger King on every corner when I'm miles from home. Each to their own.

Belize on the other hand was a total surprise. Firstly, English. Everyone speaks it! Who would have thought? Secondly, expensive. No doubt related to the fact that the currency is locked into the $US to the tune of 2:1.

Enjoyable though. We never did make it to Caye Caulker, though others told of an amazing little Caribbean island akin to paradise. San Ignacio was very cool, though insanely hot. In the search for global business opportunities, it shone out as a place I could stay for a bit. With the ATM cave but a stones throw away, it could do with a seriously well-organised hostel operation.

Leaving Belize, we both believed that the trip to Honduras would take but a few days. The reality - influenced mainly by the military coup - was a nine day hiatus through the eastern side of Guatemala. Flores was cute. Tikal breathtaking. Our swamp in Rio Dulce was amusing. Livingston was a flea-infested dump, with La Casa de la Iguana hostel offering a solitary shining light. That part of the trip offered no clue to the brilliance of our second trip to Guatemala.

Then Honduras. Utila. The Bay Islands. What a little island. A place of such contradictions. Cheap, cheap diving with, when compared to places like Australia and Thailand, so very little to actually see under the water. Sandflies that eat you alive, but water so warm taking a bath means getting colder. Add to the mix a 12pm curfew every bloody night curtailing (but not stopping!) shenanigans in their tracks. Not even the chance to practice Spanish. Every bugger speaks English, in some form or another.

Still, we well loved every minute of it. We got qualified as Advanced Adventurer, then Stress & Rescue divers for starters. Meanwhile, island life is something else. Utila is another place in this beautiful world I could so very easily live, albeit for two or three months a year at most. It's a place where a lot of people get caught.

However, of all the places in Central America, my heart was captured most by Guatemala. Busing our way up toward Guatemala City and Antigua, it first became apparent how beautiful the country was. Lush, green mountains plunging up and down into the distance. Guatemala is an unspoilt paradise. Is it coincidence that it's also one of the poorest countries in the world?

Really, it doesn't matter what I write here about Guatemala. Neither words nor photos will do it justice. I could whittle on forever about the merits of the country. We both loved it. It's a magical place that would be very very easy to live in.

But the real thing is; it's not the landscape, or the food, or the culture that makes these place so amazing. I'm going to sound like Katrina Rowntree with nothing better say on this one, but it's the local people that make Central America so amazing.

Theirs seems like a very, very different world to ours. They may not have the the airconditioned homes, big cars, designer clothes and cutting-edge technology that counts for the norm in the West, but they do seem to have a full, happy and rich lives. They seem to live in a simpler world, and they seem more connected to their own human communities.

It makes me wonder about life back in Oz sometimes. How healthy is our "Western" lifestyle? Have we been lulled a little onto a false quest, heading for a goal we don't really know is good for us, ending in a destination which might just be a little foolish?

I know how that must sound to you reading this back home. I´d probably think the same if I were in your shoes, bloody hippy talk. I don´t particularly count myself as an anti-capitalist or anything like that. However, this is the question that Central America has stirred up in me. Read into that whatever you will.

It's too heavy note to end on. So I think I should reminisce on the people we've met. Viktor the mad Swede in Mexico City, and the energizer bunny that is Gerraldo. Darcy, an Irish lass without compare. Matt, and his American tourist suit. Bryce and Laura in San Ignacio and, later, Rio Dulce - an American couple on a two-person mission to improve the worldwide image on the US of A. Crazy Thea in Flores and her Irish insultee, Joe. Sophia and her crew, who so kindly allowed Froukje, Bryce and I to crash their party. English Anna, bitten to hell but still standing and ready for more. Vicki and Lee in Utila; Vicki being the only divemaster to formerly be scared of water. Matt and his legendary phallus. Pru and Alice and Tex/Kate and Damo. Danish Anna and all who sail upon her. Pedro and Dean and even Meme and all that he stood for. We salute you all. Through thicker and thinner. Through sober and schozzled. We salute the conversations, the capers and even the codshit. May we meet again, soon. God speed and good luck.

This wasn't the end. It wasn't even the beginning of the end. It's the end of the beginning. Next: Peru. Bolivia. Argentina. Brazil. Machu Pichu. La Paz. Mendoza. Iguazu. Stevie and Jenni. Tom and (hopefully) Irenne. Maybe even Esther?

Here we come. Ready or not.

Day 93 - A big fat Lake (Atitlan) in the sky

There are things that are quite nice to look at. Like a gaggle of playful puppies, an icy cold, frothy beer or a sparkling pool on a hot day.

Then, there are things that grab you by the eyeballs and scream, Kath and Kim vs Muriel's Wedding style "Look at moi, LOOK AT MOI, Oi'm beautiful!" Things like this, or this, or - at a stretch - even this.

Then there are things that make you feel like someone has kicked you in the stomach, stolen your breath, yet delivered a sight that changes your perception of beautiful forever.

Let's get it out of the way early. Lake Atitlan is very beautiful. In a very awesome way. It's virtually impossible to catch it from a bad angle. It doesn't look scruffy first thing in the morning, all misty and millpond flat. Nor does it suck during the day, when the sun glistens off the swell like P-Diddy entering a nightclub. And at night, it provides a silhouetted reminder of the awesome power that surrounds you, in the form of three fat volcanoes; Atitlan, Toliman and San Pedro.

We climbed the latter, named after the town that nestles at it's foot. For the record, it's a bitch of a climb and a lot higher at the top (3,000m) than it looks from the bottom. You see, the obvious but easily overlooked (by me anyway) thing about volcanoes is they get steeper the further up you go. Plus, above 2,500m the thin air gives you the respiratory system of a 95 year old man. I'm glad I did it once. I truly believe only a masochist would do it twice. Still, it was good practice for Machu Pichu in three weeks time.

The other little known fact about Atitlan (other than it's awesome volcanic past, which I'm not going to bore you with - if you're interested you can read about it here) is that (according to me) it sits in the middle of a huge gravity anti-well. What is a gravity anti-well I hear you ask? et me explain.

As we all know, a clever chap called Einstein devised a theory called General Relativity. One of the attributes of this theory is that gravity affects time. It slows it down. A watch at sea level will run slower than an identical one atop Everest, where gravity is weaker (because it's further away from the massive weight of the earths' core). Basically, the stronger the gravity, the slower time supposedly moves. Physics lesson over.

Well, although you wouldn't know it from walking about, Atitlan has much less gravity than everywhere else on the planet. Time moves very fast here. Very fast indeed. Three hours of Spanish lessons a day, a couple of meals and a few drinks in a bar or two at night and...BOOM!...next thing you know, two weeks have whizzed by like a Robin Williams monologue.

In trying to work out how it happened, you look down at your hands. You're both wearing beautifully hand-crafted rings that you kinda recall buying from a dreadlocked Argentinian artisan in San Pedro. You realise that you can now speak pretty decent Spanish. There's an ornamental skull packed in paper in your backpack (you both know his name is Mort). You've been offered a job working at an awesome restaurant called D'Noz. You know the names and histories of a whole bunch of very cool people with names like Danish Anna, Matt, Henry, Chloe, Jake, Pedro, Alex and Dean. Rachel has a hole in her nose filled with a small, sparkly pin. There are vague and shameful memories of being dressed in drag one night at a place called La Iguana Perdida.

Not to mention the fact you've managed to bump into about seven people you've met at other places along the way. Why-hullo-there Thea from Flores! Oi Pru and Alice from Utila! G'day Tex and Damo, also from Utila! 'Sup Canadian chick from Oaxaca whose name I should know but too much time has passed for me to ask what it is!

Yeh, yeh, I know everyone is traveling similar routes and it's inevitable. But the "Wow, what a small world" moment is a buzz nonetheless.

I really liked Atitlan. It's the kind of place that I can see myself living. It's the kind of place I could see myself bringing children to live for a year or two.

I'd do it to teach them more than they can learn from just being at school. That outside of our econo-clyptic Western World, where "rich" and "wealthy" are assumed to be interchangeable, there is another world. A place where life is simpler. Where everyone always stops to say hi. Where are great meal costs $5. Where you can swim in the lake without worrying about mercury levels. A place where kids walk home from school on their own.

The Atitlan we experienced probably won't be there in ten years. Guatemala is a poor country and her people - so very friendly, so very open - deserve much more than their hard work currently receives. I guess that's a part of what makes Atitlan so wonderful too. It's a place where two communities - foreigners and locals - exist in a mutually beneficial, symbiotic relationship to improve everyone's lot, whilst protecting the beauty that exists. Can you say the same thing about Cancun? Ibiza? The Great Barrier Reef?

Oh, we also went to Antigua too. It's the city equivalent of Heather Graham. It's really nice to look at, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot going on.

I'd also be lying if I said that spending time with so many cool people, in a great place, around a beautiful body of water didn't make me a little homesick...


Pics from Atitlan and Antigua are here...