Mexico – Ruins, Beaches and Speed Humps

 

What happens when the police force gives up on enforcing speed limits?  Mexico has the answer – apparently a far more effective method of slowing traffic is to place huge, vicious and unexpected speed humps at random intervals along the road.  These sharp mounds of concrete force even the most manic Mexican driver to slow to a crawl.   When they sneak up, un-signposted, in the dark when you’re travelling at 90km per hour, you realise why many cars in Mexico have no suspension left.  We learnt this lesson by being unceremoniously flung into the ceiling on many a bus ride.  On some of the more brutal ones, you can see long gauges in the asphalt from vehicles careening over and smashing the front end of their chassis into the road. 

We have to give them this though – it’s effective.     

Despite the speed humps, Mexico’s bus system is truly impressive – a massive interconnecting web of routes from the smallest town to the biggest city and everywhere in between.  With 110 million people to service and a domestic tourism clientele twice as large as the foreign one, it better be.  Mexican buses are renowned across the region for being the most comfortable, safe and reliable.  That said, 16 hours into a 19 hour overnight journey, when every speed bump slams your head against the window and every stop is accompanied by machine gun Spanish blaring through the overhead speakers, it can be hard to appreciate. 

On a bus from Palenque to San Cristobal through a treacherous, winding mountain pass, we began to second guess our choice in transportation.  When you look out of your window directly into a deep ravine and the side of your bus tightrope walking along the crumbling roadside edge, sometimes it is best to simply close your eyes.  At one part of the journey one of the aforementioned speed humps broke the back right-side suspension.  Not to worry, the bus driver got out, crawled under the bus, did something, fixed nothing and continued.  So far we’ve spent more than 57 hours travelling on buses through Mexico and have to say, we’re happy there are other forms of transportation.

Since our last post, we’ve made significant ground through Mexico and beyond.  We passed through the hot, dusty and dry Yucatan towns of Valladolid and Merida, pausing to marvel at Colonial Churches, galleries and bustling markets.  In Merida, we took a local bus for 2 hours to somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere to a Mayan temple called Mayapan.  As opposed to our experience at Chichen Itza, where crowds are abundant, we found ourselves completely alone amongst towering pinnacles of Mayan ruins.  We were able to climb, crawl and explore anywhere we liked which provided a unique and rewarding experience, often not found at other sites where enough fat tourists have fallen down the steps to warrant roping them off.

From Merida, we journeyed to Palenque, a town set amongst a dense jungle backdrop and 100% humidity.  Its main calling card is its spectacular ruins, jutting out of the jungle with tomb-raider style massive trees growing through the rock.  As we wondered through the thick jungle observing the ruins, we heard what could only be described as a dinosaur’s roar to our left.  A little unsettled, we paused, only to hear another to our right.  At this point we felt like we were in Jurassic Park – that part where the raptors stalked and killed the guy trying to restart the power generator.  ‘Clever girl’.  The first Spanish Conquistador to walk into this jungle must have run out the other side.  As it turns out, we were merely surrounded by howler monkeys - anyone who has heard them will know the booming, primeval sound they make.

From Palenque, we travelled to some amazing waterfalls, where we were greeted by a massive tropical storm.  With torrential rain pummelling the ground and bolts of lighting crashing around us, we still braved a swim and a few quick photographs.  Believe it or not that’s only the second rainfall we’ve seen in 7 weeks – the rainy season, starting imminently, is sure to be a shock.

After that, we went further west into the mountains to San Cristobal de las Casas, a hippy traveller’s hangout and coffee lover’s paradise.  The colonial town was an interesting mix of washed up, broke and a little unbalanced permanent travellers.  The sort of place where people stay because they don’t want to, or can’t, go home.  Watching dreadlocked and tattooed people in fisherman’s pants selling home-made beads or busking on the street, it was sometimes hard to tell who was travelling and who was homeless.  Who knows, maybe that’s a look into our future?! 

We took a horse-riding tour to a mountain village nearby and wandered through local markets where women dressed in brightly coloured indigenous clothes sell trinkets and food.  We also visited a Church with the most outrageous fire hazard known to man.  The floor was covered in tinder dry grass and straw and the local practise is to burn hundreds of candles in amongst it down to their stubs.  Meanwhile people, acting as dangerous trip hazards, lie all across the floor and slide along the slippery straw towards the altar.  It must be divine intervention that that place hasn’t burnt to the ground. 

After the cold mountains we felt the need to get back to the beach.  We found exactly what we were looking for at Puerto Escondido – Mexico’s equivalent to Pipeline where international surf competitions are held every year.  Despite lonely planet’s protestations that strong rips made the beach far too dangerous to swim, we went for one every day.  We laugh in the face of danger - they’ve got nothing on Aussie rips.  The upside was that we had a 10km stretch of beach almost entirely to ourselves.  A turtle even washed up next to us to check us out. 

If you ever make it to Puerto Escondido, go to Casa de Dan y Carmen, a Canadian run guest house and probably the best place we’ve stayed so far.  We were lucky enough to receive a free upgrade to a luxury suite, complete with a massive ocean view loft, hammocks, fridge, kitchen and lots of space.  A huge leap from the sweltering hostels we’re used to consisting of four walls and a bed.  We spent our days lazing in the sun, swimming in the treacherous ocean, watching brilliant sunsets and reading in our hammocks.  Not bad for 30 bucks.    

On the beach we encountered a darker side to the new tougher US immigration policy.  We met a guy who was for all intensive purposes, American, having lived there since he was 3 years old.  Despite having an American accent and speaking very little Spanish, he was caught driving without a license in America and almost instantly and unceremoniously deported back to a Country he had never lived in and knew little about Obviously the guy was distraught – imagine if you were deported from a country you had lived your entire life and sent somewhere you had no friends, no family and no language.  Other similar stories emerged of people desperately trying to return to the States where their life, sometimes even there children, resided.  It’s a pretty intractable problem – the lure of a better life in the US and the massive wealth disparity in Mexico makes the risks of crossing through the desert, often run by cartels, seem more attractive.  Apparently there are even spots in the desert containing skeletons of whole groups who have lost their way.  Pretty happy we’re Australian. 

As we write this blog, we’re surrounded by guns, explosions and active volcanoes in Guatemala.  But that’s just a teaser for next time J

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