San Cristobal de las Casas

Rested and ready to go we set off for San Cristobal de las Casas (SC) knowing that while the trek would only be 140km, it would take most of the day. The road is nothing but twisties. The sun was out and we were hungry for the road and new sights. We had already covered part of this road the day before when we drove out to a waterfall not far our hotel. I forgot to mention that in the last post. Needless to say it was beautiful. Something right out of a Hollywood adventure movie. We climbed up and behind the falls into a cave cut by the relentless waters. I went swimming in the pristine pool below and almost broke my tailbone on the slippery rock. The locals got a good laugh at my lack of grace. Back to this story. Almost immediately the road snaked before us always curving before we could see it´s head. We climbed into a beautiful lush landscape dotted with white puffs of clouds below us. It was tempting to stop for pictures but where to stop. It was all picturesque.

There is another beautiful waterfall along our route which we stopped at. We were some of the first turistas there. We were greeted by two local boys about 8 years old who spoke very little Spanish and even less English. They conveyed that they would watch our bikes for 10 pesos each. Ten pesos? That´s outrageous! Five and not a peso more! Agreed! So after handshakes between us men we went to gawk at the falls. While walking the path towards the falls two darling girls of 5 and maybe 8 respectively showed up wearing traditional clothes of their village. Most women do this, with the men it´s hit or miss. The lovely girls were selling mini bananas. Sweet and almost custard like who could refuse these adorable hard working girls. I was so taken by them I had them follow me back to my bike for some of my daughters donated Beanie Babies. The girls beamed and then quickly asked for two more for their sisters back home. I think I was getting hustled. The boys were still lurking around the bikes so I pulled out some super balls and got the same spiel about brothers back home. Man these kids are quick! Finally we set off for the falls. OK, their beautiful, they all are. Once I get around to posting pictures you can see for yourself.

Back to the road.....

If you remember from my earlier post this is Zapatista country. It´s up to you to do your own research on this popular uprising. Well up to this point we hadn´t seen much of a rebel presence. The government has for the most part put an end to the uprising. That was until this year when similar peoples in Oaxaca had had enough and revolted but that´s another story. Not long into our ride we slowed for the topes (evil speed bumps infecting every town with suspension breaking efficiency) and came across a large sign which said to the effect ¨This is Zapatista country. The people govern here¨. As I told you before my Spanish skills are very low but that was the gist of it. I turned around to get a picture and as I did the locals came out of there homes (shacks) to gawk at the gringos on the big bikes (most motorcycles here are very small). We smiled and wave and they smiled and waved back. I pointed to their sign and gave a thumbs up, they in turn did the same and clapped. We waved once more our goodbye and off we went. A note about these people. Most are incomprehensibly poor. The eat corn products everyday and whatever they can grow. You see them by the side of the road selling melons, squash, corn, firewood or whatever can be sold. Rarely if ever do you see someone with their hands out looking for money for nothing. In fact the only time we´ve seen this is with the severally handicapped or the extreme elderly. I´m sure that these people have no family left because families here look after their own.

The twisties continued for hours. The road was dry and my tires were gripping just fine. These are fun rides. The kind of rides you look forward to and talk about over beers. Somewhere in the twisties I noticed Alfred was not in my mirror. I slowed until finally I spotted him coming from behind. When he finally caught up he signalled that his clutch cable broke. We slowed so he could yell that he couldn´t stop without the bike stalling. So now in the middle of a 6 hour twisties marathon my riding partner has no clutch. He could shift without the clutch but this is not ideal especially when dealing with hairpin curves. To his credit he managed to keep up until we came to what passes for a big town in the mountains.

Alfred spotted a garage and we pulled in there. The owner a young man somewhere between 20-30 years had a big sport bike. I don´t remember what it was only that it was over 1000cc, huge for these parts. Within minutes his was helping Alfred assess the situation and began to pull materials for a makeshift clutch cable. Everyone near the garage came over to offer advice and help in any way they could. Within 20 minutes we were ready to roll. The young man refused any money for his invaluable help even after Alfred insisted. We all shook hands and were on our way. The ¨Brotherhood of Bikers¨lives on.

Twisty after twisty takes it toll on you after awhile, especially when hauling your life on your bike.

As we inched closer to SC the air grew cooler. Not cold just cooler. Cool enough to warrant windbreakers. We had taken off our riding jackets around noon. It was too damned hot. On the side of the roads the earth turned to reddish brown not unlike the red clay in the South. The trees changed to pines and deciduous trees and the smell changed from the sweet smell of rotting jungle vegetation to clean mountain air.

I had read a lot about SC and I thought about my wife wanting to come here for our vacation the previous year (we ended up in Tulum and had a great time). I was anxious as we rolled into town. I hoped the town would live up to the image in my mind. We stopped at the first square we found with the idea of getting a coffee, pulling out the lonely planet and form a plan for lodging. Walking towards the cafe´we said ¨hello¨to two backpacking girls hoping for a reply so we could follow up with questions about hostels. They didn´t even blink, they just kept walking. I know we look a little scary, unshaven, smelly monsters of the road but that doesn´t give one the excuse to be rude, does it?

Nearing the cafe´we spied another traveller sitting with her backpack and a portion of the Lonely Planet guide. We introduced ourselves and asked if she knew anything of the city. She did and was staying at one of the hostels. We implored her to have coffee with us and to tell us all she knew. Hazel, from England turned out to be a delight. Funny, quick witted, charming and a delight to chat with. She was another European on a long sabbatical who until recently was volunteering her time in Guatemala teaching and assisting with the Special Olympics there. Either a good judge of character or just crazy she agreed to ride on the back of Alfred´s bike to show us the hostel she was staying at. With an open courtyard with which to safely park our bikes it sounded perfect. She deftly helped us negotiate our way through the town to the Magic Hostel.

First impression was ¨wow¨. It had a well worn and comfortable open air courtyard complete with hammocks and young people in no hurry to enter modern Western culture. The price for a private room with two beds was $19 a night. Without looking at the rooms or other facilities we agreed and road our bikes into the tranquil space where until moments before people practiced Brazilian dance fighting and others vegged. Making our way back towards our room I wondered if made a mistake. Beyond the courtyard was another space forgotten by those who take the trash out or by those whose job it was to make the place neat orderly and enjoyable to those who stayed. Our room meanwhile was a shack like after thought. Our first thought is always the safety of the bikes and for that reason our lodging was ideal. Besides, we´ll walk the city and if we like, we´ll move the next day.

To a large degree it doesn´t matter what amenities a hostel has or doesn´t have. In the end it´s the people it attracts. In this case the Magic Hostel attracts an eclectic crowd eager to have a good time.

It was Super Bowl Sunday and as a red blooded American it was duty to eat bad food, drink beer and give my time to the football gods. We set out with Jack a chef from Seattle looking for a good place to watch the game. We didn´t find one but the place we ended up had a good TV and I (Alfred was feeling tired so he went back to the hostel to sleep. Yeah, right he ended up going to the bar with some folk from the hostel) spent the first night in SC being an ugly American. I should´ve gone to McDonalds on the way back to the hostel to top off my night. There isn´t a McDonalds in SC, not yet anyway.

The next day we spent the day walking all over town with Jack as our guide. First we went in search of a clutch cable, which we never found and then shopping for a party in honor of Greg the longest resident at the hostel who had been there for several months. First stop for the party was the mega mart. Jack was hoping to find some charcoal briquettes. He felt that the natural charcoal didn´t burn hot enough. I had my suspicions as well. If you remember we grilled in San Miguel and had trouble getting the fire hot enough. No luck at the mega mart but I did pick up some nice chorizo and a bottle of Cabrito tequila. Next we trekked across town to the main market.

The market as are all markets here, a glorious sensory overload. This one might be my favorite though. The indigenous people here are very traditional. Each has their own dress depending mostly on what village their from. If you are knowledgeable about local customs you can tell more about the person from details on their clothes. My favorite might be the ladies who wear a black woolly sheep skirt and brilliantly embroidered white linen top. The men wear the same woolly skin as a sort of short poncho or tunic.

We weaved our way through the maze touching, tasting, smelling until my head began to spin. There was just too much to take in.

For dinner I settled on small open face sandwiches made up of grilled cured chorizo, Oaxacan cheese, fresh roasted red peppers, roasted grilled onion, fresh basil and extra virgin olive oil. I couldn´t pass up the fresh tomatoes so I decided to make a nice pico de gallo as a starter.

Jack was grilling off eggplant to be topped with fresh tomatoes, soft Oaxacan cheese, basil and EVOO as well as a simple pasta dish using many of the same ingredients and grilled marinated fresh pineapple.

Making dinner was a challenge. Lack of space, knives, clean water basically everything you need to pull off a feast.

Surprisingly, Jack and I pulled off the impossible and served the feast on time to about 15 hungry travellers. Our dinner companions were an international lot. Several French Canadians, several other Canadians, a lovely girl from France, a delightful girl for Lichtenstein, Belgians, Americans, Mexicans, Germans, we needed a few Asians to make our table United Nations worthy. The great thing about this dinner was that we were all interested in one another. I don´t think there was one bored person or one dull conversation. We talked politics, family, jobs we never ran out of topics. As an American I am inevitably asked my opinion on W. Bush and his policies. This is somewhat of a loaded question and a test. I tell them the truth, that I never voted for him and I think that his policies have been disastrous to my country, a country I love. Without exception whenever asked this question, once I answer there is a relieved smile from my questioner and an acknowledgement that there are some sane Americans.

Shortly after dinner the tequila came out. Shot after shot emptied our bottle until several trips were made to the closest tienda for reinforcements. Beer bottles filled the table as did the growing graveyard of tequila bottles. We were truly having a time of times. Alfred and I acknowledged that we were having too much fun to quit to pack for our departure the next day. As all parties must come to an end the wisest go to bed first while the rest of us linger on knowing full well that we will pay dearly the next morning.

A fire sounded like a good idea so Alfred took a small grill and converted it into a fire pit. It gets very cool in SC at night and keeping a fire going became a priority. Our supply of wood was quickly consumed but not to worry. The guy in charge of the hostel that night turned to the wooden chairs nearby which broke easily and would surely burn.

All good parties come to an end and this one was no exception. Someone imbibed past the point of good sense and caused quite a row with one of the girls. Hating to do it I became the bouncer while Alfred saw the girl to her own dorm.

The next morning wasn´t pretty. The hostel was a mess and I felt worse than the hostel looked. A few Aleve tabs and coffee were all that was needed and I was ready for anything. Anything turned out to be a ride out to the Sumidero Canyon that I vaguely recalled agreeing to the night before. Out riding partners that day were to be Called (I know I´m spelling it wrong, sorry if you ever read this) a Swedish guy whom I spoke with about Swedish cooking. He was amazed I new what gravlox were and even more amazed that I had prepared it before. His friend Nora the girl from Lichtenstein was our other companion. We had a wonderful time riding out to the canyon getting lost, cold one moment, roasting the next. Mountain riding, you know. We never did get into the canyon. You must take a boat and there weren´t enough interested people at the landing to warrant a trip. We still had a great time. We lunched at a small place run by Mama who prepared some of the best food we´ve eaten in Mexico. A veritable feast and at on $4 a person a bargain too. Nora and Called bought our meal to thank us for the ride. They loved the experience of riding on a bike in Mexico. For Nora it was her first ride on a bike. Midway back we stopped to admire the weeds at the side of the road (ok, we had to pee, alright?) when another biker on a heavily laden KLR rolled up. Jeff another Canadian from Vancouver who was headed to SC. He followed us to the hostel to camp for the night. Now there were three bikes in the courtyard. Be careful we´re multiplying.

That night about eight of us went in search for Indian food which we heard was good. Hazel, after leaving the hostel for a day came back and was part of the group for dinner. We didn´t find the Indian place but settled for a Chinese joint. I know what you´re thinking, dear reader, ¨A Chinese joint in Mexico?¨. I know because that´s what I thought, too. It turned out to be pretty darned good. The local fare gets pretty boring after awhile. I mean I love Mexican food but the palate needs a break every once in a while.

SC was an interesting stop for me. For the first time I felt truly comfortable in Mexico. It wasn´t necessarily the town which caused the changed. It was the time spent. The unfamiliar became familiar. It was also the only place I didn´t take any pictures. It wasn´t that there wasn´t any good pics to be had. I think that I didn´t want to be a tourist. I felt more like a traveller. The town itself is lovely but not strikingly so. The real story is the people. They are striking. They were what I wanted to take pictures of but now without giving something back. I didn´t know how to do that so I just didn´t take any.

We spent three days in SC when we said we would only stay two. We made friends as well. Several of which we hope to run into again as we head North up the Pacific. Hazel and Nora I hope we cross paths on this trip. Jeff, don´t be surprised if I show up in Vancouver to take you up on your offer for lodging. To the others I haven´t mentioned here, I sincerely enjoyed meeting you. I hope as well that we cross paths. You made my time in SC what is was.

Next up, the road to Oaxaca. You know I´m going to have a story to tell, so stay tuned.