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.