Welcome To Paradise

I'd made it to Guatemala, and with it, the first completely new-to-me country of the trip. I didn't quite know what to expect, but one first impression was quite obvious as I rode away from La Mesilla and rejoined the Panamerican Highway: Guatemala is, as far as you can see in almost any direction from anywhere, absolutely beautiful. The highway (generous term, as it wasn't wide enough for two buses to easily pass each other) followed a small river through a narrow canyon, sheer cliffs on both sides, and in the late afternoon light, it was gorgeous. The only downside was that there was almost nowhere to pull over and take a picture without a reasonable risk of being run over by a bus or truck.

A note about the "chicken" buses that provide most of the cross-country transport in Guatemala; they are a genuine part of the culture, and have been an unexpected and ongoing highlight of riding the highways. Nearly all are converted school buses, but with wild paint schemes, lights, horns, and decorations covering the outside. The primary means of getting goods to market for many rural farmers and small producers, and in addition to luggage, you are more than likely to see the roof racks stuffed with bundles of produce, sacks of coffee, chicken crates, and the occasional person riding topside to keep it all from flying off onto the road.

My first night in Guatemala would be spent in Huehuetenago, a relatively large town only a couple of hours from the border. After some miscommunication and wrong turns, I made it to the home of my host, Selene, and her family who greeted me with dinner, a safe place for the bike, and lots of inquiries about my trip so far. They were a family of musicians and artists, along with a couple of other couch surfers, and I had a lovely night there. The next morning, I set off for one of the places I'd been looking forward to since I'd started planning this trip: Lago de Atitlán. A large lake formed from an ancient caldera and overlooked by two dormant volcanoes, Atitlán had been described to me as not just one of the highlights of Guatemala, but all of Latin America. 

Riding east on the Panamerican Highway from Huehuetenago was a constant and unfolding series of incredible vistas, only getting better as the elevation increased; there are few flat places in Western Guatemala, and the result is that at nearly every turn, you are confronted with mountain landscapes covered by tropical cloud forest, only broken by the valleys in which most of Guatemala's cities lie. It was hard to stay focused on the road at times. The closer I got to Atitlan, the more the clouds closed in, and soon I was pushing through fog and rain, obscuring most of the mountains around.

The road to the lake and surrounding towns was one of the most challenging pieces of pavement I've ever been on, in any vehicle, with steep, narrow switchbacks and extreme elevation changes, made worse by the rain and the full load I was carrying. When I finally made it through the clouds, I was presented with a view so incredibly beautiful that I nearly ran off the road staring at it. Lago de Atitlan stretched out below me, surrounded by the high cliffs of the crater that formed it, with the twin volcanoes of San Pedro and Atitlan towering over the southern shore and the sun just beginning to break through again. I have been to 13 countries including my own, and with the possible exception of Isla Bartolome in the Galapagos Islands, Atitlan is the single most beautiful place I've ever been. Recovering my wits, I made my way down to my hostel in the hopes of dropping my things and getting settled in time to catch the sunset.

I would be staying at Operation Groundswell's Guatemala Hub for the night, a combination organic farm, hostel, and teaching venue for sustainable farming and construction techniques built on a repurposed coffee plantation. Operation Groundswell is an NGO that coordinates volunteer and educational programs all over the world, with a particular focus on direct engagement with the communities and locals they partner with, rather than simply dropping volunteers in a given location. The Hub brings Groundswell's philosophies of travel and education together, and besides the wonderful location, is a genuinely interesting project. You can find out more about Operation Groundswell and the programs they run all over the world at https://operationgroundswell.com.

With a few hours of light remaining, I went down to the water's edge and started taking photos; the scene in front of me was almost unbelievable, shared only with the flock of egrets I had for company, and I once again marveled at the fact that I'd even made it far enough to be enjoying this view in the first place.

The next morning I woke up, made one of the better breakfasts I've had all trip courtesy of pancake fixings left by a previous group, and set off to San Pedro, one of the larger communities around Lake Atitlan. My hope was to rent a kayak and spend some time on the water exploring the lake, and after navigating San Pedro's surprisingly convoluted and very steep streets, I found my way to the water. Parking in the midst of a number of motorcycles, I ended up in the midst of several of their riders, all of whom wanted to know how I'd ended up in Atitlan with a bike that stood out as much as the Twin, and all were excited to hear my stories of the trip. One of the guys I was talking to turned out to be the proprietor of the kayak rental I'd been looking for, and I was soon gliding over Atitlan's clear waters. The view in the daytime was equally awe-inspiring, whether it was from the water or from the small black sand beach I reached after about 45 minutes of paddling.

I'm simply at a loss to describe the scenes that greeted me everywhere I went on and around Lake Atitlan, even if the paddle back tired me out. I'd fully planned on a relaxing afternoon followed by another day of exploring the lake, until I got a message from my friend in Antigua, a few hours down the road, that she'd be leaving town earlier than expected, and that our only chance to meet up would be the next day. Cue rapid-fire packing up and a ride back up the ultra-steep road, which was thankfully much easier without pouring rain; next stop Antigua, and a whole other post; thanks again for reading!

Friends, Fever, and una Frontera

I fully acknowledge the Spanglish in the title. The last few days of the trip have run the gamut from utterly relaxing to panic-inducing over a wide range of territory, but as always, things have turned out OK.

I left Oaxaca early on Monday morning 8/18 to start the long ride to San Cristobal de las Casas, nestled high in the mountains of Chiapas state, with the coastal town of Salina Cruz as a pitstop on what would otherwise be a 12-hour ride. I'd like to tell you that the route to Salina Cruz was something amazing and special, but really, it was five hours spent mostly cruising on the autopista, dodging occasional rain showers. Salina Cruz is a thriving and rapidly growing port town on the Pacific Coast of Mexico; as I approached, the haze over the town seemed to indicate more showers, until I passed through it and realized that what I'd thought was distant rain was actually coming from an oil refinery on the outskirts, and that Salina Cruz itself was perfectly clear. I mentally apologized to my lungs.

My AirBnB for the night was located on a large natural breakwater full of unnamed streets, which made finding the actual place somewhat difficult until my hosts flagged me down outside, figuring that the conspicuously large motorcycle had to be carrying their customer. Once I'd situated myself, I found a nearby meal of shrimp tacos and took a short walk around the nearby beach; with night gathering and fatigue from multiple days of riding and exploring starting to take its toll, I opted against diving into the waves, and went to bed far earlier than usual.

I woke up to rain spattering against the windows, and groaned to myself, already anticipating the day I was about to have. I don't mind getting rained on while riding, but an entire day of that didn't sound terribly appealing. I'd been able to pull the bike under shelter overnight, so at least I could say I'd started out dry. Thankfully, it hadn't rained enough for the roads to my AirBnB and around Salina Cruz to flood, so I was able to make my way out of town easily.

The road leaving Salina Cruz and heading back towards the highlands of Mexico wasn't anything special, but the scenery around it, even with rain falling, was an unexpected surprise. As I traversed what locals call the Isthmus of Mexico, I was met with the sight of the largest wind farm I'd ever seen by far; hundreds, if not thousands of windmills stretching over several square miles to catch the winds blowing in from the ocean, so many they disappeared into the fog in every direction. Had it not been raining steadily, I'd have stopped for photos, and I'm still kicking myself for not doing so even with the possibility of soaking my camera. Surrounded by fog, rain, and the first few foothills indicating that I was leaving the coast, it was a memorable sight. The further I rode, the more I realized how much of a toll riding in the rain takes over a long distance; I was feeling far more fatigued than usual, and at times was starting to worry that I'd have to stop for the night at one of the many autohoteles scattered around most of Mexico's main highways. At some point I caught a second wind, and as I approached Tuxtla Gutierrez, the largest city in Chiapas, the rain finally let up and gave me a chance to dry out a bit.

The route up to San Cristobal from Tuxtla ascended rapidly into the mountains, and with the rain having moved on and the sun poking through in places, I had the chance to take a real look around. Readers who've never been to Mexico may hear stories about Chiapas being a dangerous or violent place, and there is some merit to that given incidents that have occurred in previous years (though nothing significant since 2017 or so), but I can tell you from first-hand experience that Chiapas is an absolutely, stunningly beautiful part of Mexico. The mountains I was riding up were high enough that for much of the time, I was even with or above the clouds, and the glimpses I got of the cloud forest landscape below were breathtaking.

The only problem was the road itself; after a smooth ascent, the road abruptly changed to torn-up, grooved construction-zone pavement. For the non-motorcyclists out there who didn't immediately cringe when they read that, imagine riding a bicycle with someone trying to yank the bars back and forth, and you'll get some sense of what riding a motorcycle over grooved pavement is like. It was bad enough that even at a crawl, I'm not sure my wheels were ever in line for more than a few seconds. Luckily, I soon arrived in San Cristobal, and met my hosts for the next few days. Ron and Katherine (Kippy) were old friends of my father's, with Ron and my dad having grown up as neighbors, and had been living in Mexico since 1970; Ron is a professor of anthropology, and Kippy owns La Casa del Pan, a bakery and restaurant in downtown San Cristobal, with a second location in Mexico City. They met me outside of town and guided me up to their amazing house overlooking San Cristobal. When I say amazing, I mean it; Ron and Kippy's place is likely the best lodging I'll have all trip, with what amounted to a private suite to myself. Not seeing a garage, I found a convenient tree to part the Twin under, but Kippy insisted that that wouldn't do. This was her solution:

Yes, that is my motorcycle wedged into my bedroom, and yes, that is me looking utterly silly about it. Probably the best digs she'd have the whole trip, too. The large, furry welcoming committee that became my shadow for the next few days didn't hurt, either.

I spent a total of three nights with Ron and Kippy, and enjoyed every minute of it. Kippy and I took a short afternoon trip to El Arcotete on my first full day there, a large natural bridge spanning over a river of the same name that runs down through San Cristobal. The river was beautiful, but the caves winding through the natural bridge and cliffs overhead were amazing, with intricate stalactites and stalagmites everywhere, sometimes making it difficult for certain 6'+ Americans to get through, but offering something interesting to look at everywhere you turned.

Later that day, Kippy took me downtown for a tour of La Casa del Pan, which turned out to be far more than just a restaurant; in addition to the adjacent bakery, the building contains a yoga and massage studio, apartments, and a green roof on which the restaurant staff cultivate many of their own herbs and vegetables, with many more coming from Ron and Kippy's own extensive garden. They produce an organic, all-vegetarian menu, and you can look them up at http://casadelpan.com. The surrounding downtown area was gorgeous as well, with several streets closed to cars and easily walkable, at least when we weren't being pelted by the strong afternoon storms typical of late summer in Mexico.

My three days with Ron and Kippy in San Cristobal were the first I'd been able to truly relax since crossing the border almost two weeks earlier, and the breather was more than welcome; my second day there, I started feeling fatigued, achy and feverish, and took full advantage of an extra day and night of rest. I had a reasonable suspicion that I'd contracted a mild case of Dengue Fever, given the symptoms, the onset approximately four days after I'd been eaten alive by mosquitoes in Oaxaca, and the fact that I'd positively identified at least a few of the Aedes aegypti mosquitoes that carry both Dengue and yellow fever (vaccinated already, don't worry). I was still feeling a little under the weather as I packed up and said my goodbyes on Thursday morning, but I wanted to keep pushing onward.

My next destination, and my final stop in Mexico before crossing the border, was the area of Lagunas de Montebello, a group of 59 lakes and cenotes close to the Guatemalan border famous for their colorful waters and gorgeous scenery. I arrived late Thursday evening to the cabin I'd rented on Lake Tziscao, met by a host who turned out to have spent several years working in a factory in Shelbyville, Kentucky. We exchanged pleasantries before I turned in early for one more fever-filled night.

The next morning, I woke up feeling almost entirely fine, and set out to explore the area around the lakes. After following a few signs for caves and swimming areas that either ended in disappearing roads or barbed-wire fences and once again testing the Twin's off-road ability while fully loaded, I finally found myself looking out over a few of the gorgeous, deep blue lagunas, and further on, found one of the swimming areas I'd been hoping for. The cool, blue water washed away the last traces of fever, and I felt all sorts of refreshed as I made myself a quick lunch by the lakeside before drying off and striking out for the Guatemalan border.

I planned on crossing at La Mesilla, one of the busier entry points into Guatemala, but one I knew for sure had the proper entry/exit facilities for vehicles (there are several uncontrolled points of entry on the border, but that is absolutely not advised if you're traveling with your own vehicle). It was here that I ran into my first genuine problem on the trip; remember way back to my post about crossing the Mexican border in Laredo, when I'd mentioned the border control officer who inspected my motorcycle taking my documents for a few minutes, handing them back to me, and waving me on? I'd failed to notice, in my anxious state and with multiple Mexican stamps already in my passport, that the officer hadn't actually stamped it THAT time, and thus I had no actual proof of having entered Mexico legally. I had a brief moment of panic, hoping that I wouldn't be denied exit status and have to go all the way to the US Consulate in Oaxaca to figure things out. After explaining the situation and what had happened at the US border to the officer examining my passport, and a few minutes of debate, he figured that the border control officer in Laredo had assumed that, like the vast majority of people crossing there, I'd only planned on shopping around in Mexico and returning later that day, in which case they rarely stamp passports. He had me pay the exit tax, made a note in my passport, stamped it and sent me on. To say that I was relieved would possibly be the understatement of the trip. Regardless, after the required fumigation by Guatemalan authorities, and waiting for over an hour while their passport control system crashed in the middle of processing my application, I officially crossed into Guatemala, and the first truly new country of the trip!

According to the bike's odometer, I had ridden 2,070 miles since crossing over in Laredo two weeks earlier. In that time, I'd met a whole series of incredible people, seen places I'd had no idea existed before starting out on this trip, gained a litany of lifelong memories, and fallen in love with Mexico in all kinds of ways. I'd left a few marks on the bike, but had come through largely uninjured, and mostly healthy. Mexico will be a very hard act to follow, but I'm looking forward to what comes next!


Mileage: 3,605.

Three Days in Oaxaca

I woke up early on the morning of August 15th ready to get on the road. Puebla to Oaxaca would be my longest single day of riding since entering Mexico, over seven hours and 400 km; I'd learned to add at least an hour to any time estimate Google gave me, so I was expecting an entirely full day in the saddle.

I certainly got what I expected, but it was by no means the long slog one might think. The first 100 km or so from Oaxaca were a fairly uneventful ride on the Autopista, but as I transitioned to the back roads and crested a rise in the otherwise fairly flat landscape, I was greeted with a site so spectacular I nearly ran off the road gawking at it.

This was Pico de Orizaba, or Citlaltepetl, the highest peak in Mexico, third-highest in North America, and the second-highest volcano in the world after Mt. Kilimanjaro. I'd seen mountains for much of the trip, and a few volcanoes already, but something about Citlaltepetl's glacier-capped peak held my attention like none other. I ate a quick lunch in view of the mountain, and then continued on. I'd seen Mexico change nearly every day I'd been on the road, and today was no exception; the relatively flat plains of Oaxaca gave way to mountains once again, but with sheer, rust-red cliffs bordering the roads and forests covering nearly everything else. I realize that I'm wearing out the word "spectacular", but as the mountains climbed, the roads twisted, and the valleys unfolded below, it was hard to call it anything else. I was only a short way into the state of Oaxaca, but I was already floored by the natural beauty I was witnessing.

I arrived in Oaxaca as the sun went down, greeted by Clarissa, my host for the next few days, and her extremely friendly dog. She first insisted that I try a tlayuda, one of Oaxaca's signature dishes; something like a large quesadilla full of Oaxaca's signature quesillo, refried beans, and peppers, it was delicious. Over tlayudas, we discussed all the things I needed to do and see in Oaxaca, and I immediately decided to extend my stay another day; even two full days probably wouldn't be enough, but timetables are what they are.

The next morning, I woke up early, jumped on the bike, and made the short but steep ride up above Oaxaca to Monte Alban. Dating back to approximately 500 B.C., Monte Alban was one of the largest and oldest Zapotec cities, and though excavations have been going on since the 1930s, many parts of the city remain buried. The parts that were accessible to the public were more than enough to convey a sense of the sprawling scale of Monte Alban; I had ridden through many modern-day towns on my journey that were smaller than the ancient city I was now exploring.

The degree of preservation was astounding as well, with many of the stone carvings on building exteriors clearly visible, and several free-standing stelae returned to their original positions. It made it easier to imagine what the city must have been like in its heyday as one of the most important trading and religious centers in all of pre-Colombian Mexico.

After thoroughly exploring Monte Alban, I rode back down the mountain and into the historic center of Oaxaca to look around on foot. The center of Oaxaca contains a large number of art and history museums, and is full of colorful colonial-era architecture similar to that of Puebla. Photos of the city proved difficult, however, as the streets of the historic district were filled with vendor tents and stands selling every variety of clothing and souvenirs imaginable, which fit with Oaxaca's history as an important trading center.

Clarissa insisted that we go dancing that night, and after a stop at a local Mezcal bar, another product Oaxaca is well known for, we ended up at one of the more popular salsa bars in town. I realized very quickly that I'd forgotten nearly all of the steps I'd learned a decade ago in Ecuador and later on, but a crash-course refresher and a little more Mezcal ensured that I still had fun. I enjoyed telling stories of my trip to a few other guys wondering what a gringo was doing in a place only locals typically knew about, and good times were had by all.

The next day, I set off on a two-stop day trip. My first destination was Mitla, a small town approximately 45 minutes east of Oaxaca that contained a thriving artisan's market and another very well-preserved Zapotec ruin. The ruins weren't nearly as large as those of Monte Alban the previous day, but the degree of preservation was amazing; several rooms of intricate stonework were open to the public with very little degradation, along with two underground tombs displaying similar detail. Paint used in the original construction was even visible in places!

After perusing the markets for a bit and then realizing that I didn't have room for anything substantial since I'd taken all the bags off the bike, I hopped back on and moved on to Hierve el Agua. Even family friends of mine who live in Mexico hadn't heard of this park, but my host insisted that I had to see it for myself. Following Google's directions from the carretera and then hand-painted signs in a small town pointing the way, I had unwelcome flashbacks to my ordeal in Real de Catorce when the pavement abruptly ended and took a steep turn up a mountain. "Second time's the charm, and don't get off the throttle," I thought to myself. I needn't have worried; although the surface was crisscrossed with ruts, the ascent wasn't nearly as steep as the road that had cost me my windshield and mirror, and the surface was almost entirely packed dirt and gravel, which the Twin blitzed through with almost serene ease. My first impression of Hierve el Agua was that it looked like any other resort; a set of cabins surrounded by food and drink stands. It took me a minute to figure out that past all the vendors sat natural springs and pools that formed the top of a natural phenomenon I'd never seen before.

Hierve el Agua is famous for its cascadas petrificadas, or petrified waterfalls, and the name is not an exaggeration; over thousands of years, calcium-rich water from the springs has trickled over the nearby cliffs, leaving behind deposits that eventually formed huge, flowing formations down their sides. Canals that appear to be part of an irrigation system constructed in the Zapotec era are visible in parts of the park, but have not been fully excavated yet. The springs continue to bubble steadily, feeding a series of man-made pools on top of the smaller of the two cliffs making up the primary formations, and adding to both the cascada chica and lower cascada grande, the real treat of the trip. Though the trail down the cliff leading to the cascada grande was somewhat challenging and had me out of breath by the time I got back up, the payoff was worth it. The cascada grande drops nearly 100 vertical feet off the cliff that holds it, and looks almost otherworldly from any angle.

My host was right; Hierve el Agua had definitely been worth the trip, and was even worth the rain showers that followed me all the way back to Oaxaca. Between the ancient history of the area, the mix of modern and old city that I'd seen, a taste of the nightlife, and the amazing natural features, I'd had possibly the most complete experience of any city I'd yet visited, given the short time I had in each.

A Moto-Trip for Mole

With the Twin looking and feeling much closer to fully repaired, I set out from Mexico City for Puebla. This was one of the days I'd been looking forward to the most; I'd heard a great about the famous colonial-era tile covering many of the buildings in the Historic District, as well as the legendary mole and chiles en nogada that made the city a destination for anyone seeking truly authentic Mexican cuisine.

Continuing my attempt at a running theme, I hit the back roads as soon as I extricated myself from Mexico City, no easy feat given the constant, heavy traffic at nearly all times of the day; it took me nearly an hour and a half just to leave Mexico City proper, by which time I had sweated through everything I was wearing and my left wrist was aching from working the clutch. I was rewarded with a genuinely incredible view for my troubles, however; as I ascended from Mexico City and crossed the border between the states of Mexico and Puebla, I looked to my right and was greeted by a spectacular unfolding landscape with the peak of a snow-capped volcano breaking through the clouds.

I was fairly sure this was Iztaccihuatl, one of the two volcanoes overlooking Puebla, and that I'd be making a half-circuit around in order to get there. I continued through the mountains, with my view soon swallowed by thick forest, and without much to see outside the trees, few other vehicles on the road, and miles of curves ahead of me, I allowed myself a bit of fun through the curves. As I approached Puebla, Iztaccuitl's twin volcano, Popocatepetl, came into view alongside it; still very much active, I could see wisps of steam rising from the caldera at the top, mixing with the clouds gathering over the twin peaks.

Worryingly, more ominous clouds were building up to my other side, columns of rain visible to my west and south, and with the sun sinking, I was worried I was going to end up caught in both a storm and the nighttime, neither of which particularly appealed to me. I twisted the throttle a little further, and with the rain thankfully holding off, was soon in Puebla. After some confusion with the one-way streets, I found my lodging for the next two nights. I would be staying in the studios of Pequeno Axolote, a sort of design studio/collective run by a group of architects and designers in their spare time. Nearly everything in the studio, including the low beds, was handmade from recycled materials, and I very much enjoyed getting to know the five and helping out in a small way with a few of the things they were working on. Their work can be found on Instagram @pequeno_axolote.

The next morning, I got up early and set off to the historic center of Puebla. Puebla is known worldwide for three major things: architecture, tile, and food. The city's historic center contains some of the best examples of colonial architecture in Mexico, and many of the buildings are accented by elaborate and intricate tilework.

From the many enormous churches with colorful tile patterns covering their roofs and facades, to some of the smallest buildings, Puebla offered bright colors and artistic flair at nearly every turn. Even the sinks in the restaurant I had lunch at looked like explosions of color:

I was also on a mission to sample two of Puebla's signature dishes, mole poblano and chiles en nogada. The first restaurant I stopped at served up an amazing plate of mole and chalupas, and for the equivalent of only a few dollars, presented the best meal I'd had since leaving Nashville three weeks prior.

Full of tasty things, I continued to take in the colorful buildings and tile as I made my way back to the studio. My plan for the afternoon was to visit Cholula, an adjacent town containing a large Zapoteca-era city and partially buried pyramid. First settled between 500-200 B.C., Cholula contains extensive ruins, capped off by the largest pyramid by length/width in the Americas, though it was entirely overgrown by the time the Spanish arrived in the late 1500's. The Cholula-Mixteca style of pre-Colombian art originated in Cholula, and prior to the arrival of the Spanish, it was one of the largest trading centers in Mexico. Much of the indigenous population was slaughtered by the Spanish upon their settlement of the area, but fortunately the ruins survive to this day. I was even able to walk through some of the tunnels dug underneath the pyramid when it was first excavated and explored, an entirely fascinating experience.

After settling the area and killing most of the native population, the Spanish built an enormous cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mary on top of what was once the great pyramid of Cholula, and it has become a center of religious festivals throughout the year; the bells were ringing and people around the church were shooting off fireworks for most of the time I spent in the city, adding to the atmosphere. The cathedral itself was a beautiful construction in classic old Spanish style, and though photographs aren't allowed inside, I can say that the iconography inside was similarly beautiful.

After walking all over the ruins and then up the hill to the cathedral, I was feeling spent. After a short ride out from Cholula for some better views of the volcanoes, I turned back to Puebla in search of the other food I needed to try; an hour or so later, I was enjoying excellent chiles en nogada back in the Centro Historico. Ngaire and I had attempted to make our own for Christmas dinner years ago, but that paled in comparison to the real thing:

In the space of a day, I'd explored most of the historic part of Puebla, toured the first of what I'm sure will be many pre-Colombian ruins, had the best food by far of the trip, and seen some amazing views all throughout, plus one of the more interesting homestays I'd experienced thus far. It's difficult to pick out any single day of the trip as the "best", but if I had to, my time in Puebla would be a strong contender. Onward to Oaxaca!