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Too
much, the Chicken Bus - 01/04/04
First of all an explanation - Whilst writing the two emails I
sent from Mexico I felt a certain lack of motivation or interest
in writing them and was just going through the motions. I am
sure a result of this was that they were not as interesting to
read. For this I must apologise. However I have been subject to
a variety of stimuli over the past few weeks and have been
itching to pen (or rather type) this missive. So here goes...
After leaving you in Chetumal I crossed the border to Belize
(formerly British Honduras) and headed straight for Belize City,
the former capital and by far most popųlous city. It also has a
reputation for being one of the three most crime-ridden cities
in Central America (along with Guatemala City and Managua).
Again it was nowhere near as intimidating as I anticipated. The
first thing I encountered as I got off the bus was a big Rasta
guy coming at me with a clenched fist, but not with malice but
as a gesture of welcome and friendship which I quickly returned.
Belize is so different to Mexico its hard to believe they are in
such close vicinity, the sights, sounds, and smells all reflect
the amalgamation of their British and Caribbean past, from the
island patois spoken (same intonations and tempo as English but
virtually indecipherable) to the smell of fried plantains. The
people as well refelct an interesting mix of Black, creole,
hispanic, mayan and mennonites (look like Albino members of the
Walton family). It was such a refreshing change and I think my
few days in Belize helped to make Guatemala and El Salvador a
much fresher experience.
I spent my first day wandering around Belize City, passing
sights such as the court house, Fort St George district with its
tourist village enclave, the lighthouse and a rather
out-of-place Hindu temple. I also witnessed (along with most the
city) a severe house fire complete with the electrical wires
catching alight and gas/oil explosions. The Fire dept turned up
twenty minutes later as the fire had gutted the house and was
engulfing the next. People down the street were emptying their
houses, helped by many of the bystanders (I never saw so many TVīs
in one house) and the adjacent Chamber of Commerce was
evacuated.
After this day of excitement I took a boat the next morning to
Caye Caulker (21 miles of the coast). As you can imagine from
its name its a beautiful little spot in the shallow Caribbean
sea. There isnīt a beach as such but a small bathing area and I
spent a couple of days lying there, strolling along the sandy
lanes, and watching the sun set over the dock. Nice.
Caye Caulker
Returning to Belize City fully
relaxed I hopped on a bus to San Ignacio in the hills. I
actually got off the bus in Belmopan, the new capital as we
passed through. It has a population of 4000 and consists of
about four roads so I was intrigued and I have to award it the
honour of being the strangest capital city I have visited. After
about half an hour wandering I got the next bus to San Ignacio.
The Lonely Planet states as a negative point that there isnīt
much to do in town but this was the main attraction for me.
I walked down along the river, really peaceful and evocative of
Horstead Mill on the broads. I then walked half an hour
out of town to Green Iguana park where the Macal and Mopan
rivers meet. I crossed the Branchmouth bridge and spent the
afternoon sitting on the river bank. Itīs not in the Lonely
Planet so the only disturbance I had was the ubiqutous Bob
Marley blaring from somebodies stereo and even this didnīt
annoy me as much as it usually does. After five expensive days
(its a poor country, how can it be so expensive) I said goodbye
to Belize, paying an USD$18.75 departure tax AT A LAND BORDER as
a final monetary insult. It was 100% official as well.
My first stop in Guatemala was Flores/Santa Elena a twin town -
Flores being the beautiful cobbled island attached to dusty and
chaotic Santa Elena on the mainland. Of course I was staying in
Santa Elena. The main attraction in this part of Guatemala are
the ruins at Tikal and I took a daytrip to check them out. In a
crazy reverse of Central America practise I was charged under
the entrance fee (it stated Q50 everywhere but I paid Q20, no
chance of sneaking in). I was very impressed with Tikal, in a
jungle setting similar to Palenque but on a much grander scale.
There were many spots around the complex that you could just sit
and contemplate the history of the sight.
Ruins of Tikal
After the excitement of Tikal
sandwiched between days of wandering around Santa Elena and
Flores I headed south to Poptun. I didnīt stay in town but at
Finca (farm) Ixobel 5km outside. Like a cross between a
backpackers summer camp and health farm with fresh organic
foods, a National Geographic collection dating back to 1954,
swimming pond, football pitch, basketball hoop and a variety of
activities on offer including horse riding and caving. I spent
two days relaxing, exercising my mind reading through the NGīs,
and exercising my body with strenuous football games, opting out
of the additional activities. Another final highlight of
the Finca was the evening all-you-can-eat buffet.
Starting to pick up speed I headed further south to Rio Dulce on
the Lago Izabel. This was a drab and grey boring town with not
many redeeming features, its primary function being to ferry
people up river to Livingston on the Caribbean coast.
Entering a fit of depression I just got a bus the next day to
Guatemala City and a further one to Antigua, probably the
backpacker capital of Central America, crossing from the lush
tropical landscape of the Caribbean side to the more arid
scrubland of the Pacific slope, a pattern that exists throughout
Mexico and Central America. My mood didn't improve however as
the day of travelling irritated me further. In order to relax
and lighten up I spent three days in Antigua, not doing much
other than wandering its cobbled streets, admiring its colonial
architecture and loitering in book shops. I also bumped
into Luke and Poppy again and had a drink with them. In a
more positive frame of mind I moved on to the Lago de Atitlan,
described by Aldous Huxley as Ļthe most beautiful in the worldĻ.
Four buses later I was there. The lake certainly is nice with
two volcanoes looming on the horizon. Panajachel has been
nick-named Gringotenango because of the amount of foreign
tourists and the main strip is like a mini-Khao Sanh road with
souvenir stalls, restaurants, hotels and travel agents. I
found an out of the way guesthouse and spent the day wandering
up and down the strip, admiring the lakeside and relaxing in a
hammock. The next day I visited the famous market at
Chichicastenango. It was interesting, the usual garish
indigenous products, but I bought nothing apart from food. I
returned to Panajachel with a lack of anything to do which led
to me waking up the next morning with a change of heart -
instead of crossing the lake to San Pedro, famous for being a
haven for bohemian travellers (though their idea of bohemian and
mine are very different - here it means that they turned up in
about 1983, took too many drugs and couldn't leave, they now
supplement their meagre existence by growing coffee and
marijuana whilst of course not washing themselves or their
clothes and not shaving, the men their beards the women their
armpits and legs. Gross.) Anyway I digress, what I meant to say
was that I couldn't be arsed to go there. Maybe I will regret
it, it seems to be a big spot on most peoples itineraries but I
was itching for excitement. In order to provide this I headed
back to Guatemala City, getting dropped off way downtown and
having to walk and take a local bus into the centro. This was
just what I needed, the stimulus of a grimy, living city, albeit
one with a bad reputation. I spent the rest of the day
exploring its various nooks and crannies and sampling the
streets culinary delights - don't worry Mum, I was back inside
before dark, well almost!
From the frying pan into the fire I headed out of Guatemala and
into El Salvador, heading direct for San Salvador, the capital.
For the second biggest city in Central America the streets were
strangely deserted as I walked in search of a guest house.
San Salvador is an amazing city, it has slums, filthy market
streets and posh residential areas and the modern Blvd de los
Heroes with its Wendys, Burger King, Pizza Hut and the MetroCentro, a shiny shopping centre. Just two blocks east
however the veneer fades and you find yourself in the slums. Its
this mixture on top of each other which makes it such an
interesting place, there is no gradual change. I spent a
day wandering around these various areas as well as the Plaza de
los Americas and the Zona Rosa with its posh bars and clubs, one
of the best days of my trip so far and a level of optimism I
haven't experienced since Mexico City. In order to see
some of El Salavadorīs natural beauty I took a trip to the
Cerro Verde national park, which was more trouble than it was
worth as it was cloudy and I couldn't climb the volcano, though
watching a thunderstorm from above it was pretty cool. I spent a
day up at Suchitoto, a small colonial town that was the
scene of heavy fighting in the civil war from the very earliest
days. It was so hot however that I did nothing more than
a brief wander and enjoy a Raspa (cup of shaved ice with fruit
syrup ' popular all over Central America) in the square.
My final day I spent up at the twin towns of La Palma and San
Ignacio close to the Honduran border.
Suchitoto
I have been brief in my
description of where I have been because what really matters in
El Salvador is the people and the atmosphere they create.
Most of them have lived through civil war but seldom did I not
receive a smile and greeting from anyone (though I did get
attacked by a mad woman in San Salvador who seemed to blame me
for a lot of stuff - she hit me with such force that she fell
over and twisted her ankle poor dear!) The weekend before
I was there was the National election, a close run contest
between the far-right (and bank-rolled by the US govt) ARENA
party and the left FMLN party. ARENA won amidst accusations of
bribery ($20 per vote) and scandal (apparently they spread a
rumour that if FMLN won the US would block the money that
Salvadorans in the states send home - worth about 1.5 billion
dollars a year, a sizeable chunk of the GDP and also put up
billboards that said that FMLN would turn the country into
another Cuba, this might not be such a bad thing for the poorest
people). Everyone is happy to discuss it and there were a
lot of observers sent by various political, social, religious
and educational groups in the US which led to intense political
debates in the guesthouse! What the Salvadorans have achieved
with such small means and little or no support from their
corrupt govt is amazing, they have got together in small
community groups to improve their standard of living. I did feel
a tension amongst many people and wouldn't be surprised if
there wasn't some sort of uprising before this term of office
is through. I think El Salvador has been my favourite country so
far and I wish I had more time, money and could speak better
Spanish (at the minute its about as good as Del Boys French,
which is OK but I am getting sick of Mange-tout) I would of
stayed in El Salvador for over a month, rather than just
treating it as a side-trip between Guatemala and Honduras.
A final word about El Salavador. The national food is the pupusa,
a flattened dough of corn mass mixed with cheese, beans, fried
pork fat or all three, which you then top with pickled cabbage,
onions or chilis. I have been enjoying beaucoup pupusas
every night and as a result have put some of the weight on that I
had lost so far. They are incredibly cheap as well, I had 6 the
other night and two beers and it came to US$2.60. Yum.
On a lighter note I would like to finish with a word about
travelling around this region. All my travel so far has
been on īchickenī buses, old American school buses that have
been painted in horrid patterns of red, blue and yellow, spewing
fumes from their outdated engines. They are called chicken buses
because of the tendency of most passengers to take up the
already limited space (designed for school kids remember) with
all manner of goods, ranging from sacks of corn or vegetables to
spare tyres, lengths of cloth and stacks of Panama hats as well
as a menagerie of livestock, poultry and other animals. It is a
far cry from some of the air-con services in Mexico but a
refreshing change. In the past few weeks I have been sat on by
small children, slept on by tribal women, acted as an
intermediary between the passengers inside and food vendors
outside and generally been pushed from pillar to post and back
again. The one thing I still can't work out is the preference
for the front seats. People will squeeze three on each side at
the front and leave empty rows further back. I thought it might
be for comfort but its a bumpy ride wherever you sit and someone
told me to stay away from the front because if any bandits shoot
the driver you have more chance of being hit by a stray bullet.
Chicken Bus
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