Three days before my flight out of Belize city I left Pandora's house in Placencia to head to Caye Caulker for two last days of beach and some alone time to allow myself to process the fact that my trip was nearly over. I hopped on the bus headed to Dangriga early in the morning and said goodbye to my charming hosts. The busride was fairly uneventful - backtracking the same way I had come for a five hour ride...quick bus change in Dangriga and on through the jungle to Belize City, where I was hoping to make an easy transition onto a water taxi headed out to the Cayes. As it turned out once I arrived in town, I had just barely missed the noon water taxi and subsequently had a couple of hours to spend in town. I checked my bag with the friendly folks at the terminal and walked off to explore a little of town. Since I didn't want to miss the boat, I decided not to try to see any major sights and resolved to simply make an attempt to lose myself in the streets near the port.
Belize City is not exactly a gem of a town. It is crowded, a little dirty and architecturally pretty dull. Then again, I was once again transported back to childhood memories of Africe, so it was fun for me. I strolled around, found a little shack of a restaurant and had a truly horrendous chicken sandwhich that left me with a slight queezy feeling. I looked around a couple of music stores, but ended up not buying anything. Most of the music I was hearing on the streets was Reggae - at least 70 % of that was Marley, and I have plenty of him at home, so I decided to wait and see if I would run into anything a little more local later on.
One thing I was struck by here is the government's apparent efforts at AIDS education. I have not seen this many posters, banners and advertisements encouraging people to get tested in years. I read an article the local paper that only comes out twice a week (this country really is small!) while I was choking on my sandwhich at the restaurant, and was informed that the infection rate in Belize is still rising quite substantially. However, it seems the education campaigns are all aimed at family men - asking them not to bring the virus home - no mention of women, queers, or singles in general. My impression of Belize in general has been a little marred a little by it's quite obvious homophobia. I felt relatively comfortable being out in Mexico, which I was surprised by - but here, not so much. The double standards around sex here are quite striking. I hear this is true for a lot of Caribbean nations - Jamaica in particular, and I was a little dissapointed. It does put a damper on being in paradise, when you have to start playing pronoun games in casual conversation in order not to out yourself to the wrong people. Oh well.
After trolling around town, making a last minute ATM stop and shopping for a few groceries, I headed back to the water taxi terminal, had a short chat with a cute little rasta man trying to sell me "the best red and sticky weed around" and boarded an open rickety little vessel along with another 40 other vacationers. I saw two dolphins playing in the water halfway through the ride, and cheerily sunbathed, perched on my raised seat in the back of the boat. We reached Caye Caulker after about 45 minutes, and I began to look for a comfortable spot to spend my last two days. I had originally planned on staying at the local hostel, but changed my mind when I was guided to another little guest house by a young British lad in a golf cart. I setlled in to a small but comfortable little room and began my exploration of the island.
It seemed a little empty downtown, and in general, the party atmosphere I had read about in my various guides didn't materialize before my eyes. However, it was pleasant to simply stroll along the main drag, hop into a shop here and there, and sit in cafes peoplewatching and evesdropping. I had hoped that I would find another beautiful beach to rest my head and work on my tan for just a few more hours, but I came up with only a precious few streches of sand beach, all of which were a little too close to the road. It seems people come here primarily to dive, snorkel, fish and experience the reef in general. I had allready had my snorkeling experience and was gnawing at my last few dollars, so I laid low, wrote, read and mentally prepared myself for my trip home.
I had a couple of delicious meals at Rasta Pasta, and was amazed at the gigantic portions - a throwback to American culture. Their jerk chicken was delectable, and probably the best meal I had in Belize. I have to say that the food in Belize in general has been underwhelming for me. The staple of stewed chicken and rice and beans can be great when done well, but I haven't run across much variety in local flavors. Maybe I'm missing something.
On the morning of my last day in Belize, I got up early and decided to try to catch the 10:00 water taxi back to Belize City. My flight wasn't leaving until 4:00 pm, but I had no idea how long it would take me to get to the airport, and I didn't want to have to rush. I strolled over to the beach with my pack and was planning on simply sitting on the pier for a few hours, when a watertaxi pulled up just as I was getting ready to put my pack down. I figured, what the hell, and hopped on. The ride back was a lot wetter than the ride to the Caye since I was all the way at the rear of the boat, and sitting quite low. I got a little drenched. Back in Belize, I hailed a taxi to take me to the airport, hoping I would find a place to have a cup of coffee and relax. The ride was only 20 minutes, and I ended up arriving a good 4 hours before it was time to check in for my flight. I cursed myself for not having taken the time to see a little more of the city, instead of sitting at the airport for hours, but made the best of it by finding a hotel nearby and paying to take a shower to wash the salt and sweat off my skin and change into some more air-conditioning appropriate clothing for the trip. I wrote a last few e-mails at the internet cafe at the airport, which charged an outrageous $6 per 15 minutes! To add to my last minute expenses, I had not figured the port's unwillingness to accept credit cards for payment of the departure fee into my equation and ended up having to make a last withdrawal at the bank, which charged a horrendous transaction fee of $15. The fee ended up being less than posted, since apparently a portion of it had been included in the price of my ticket...all very confusing. No matter, I took the last of my local currency, went to the restaurant and had a few beers while watching the planes leave and come in from the waving gallery.
My flight left on time, and wasn't full, so I had a row to myself, peacefully gazed out the window, and tried to guess which part of Mexico I was currently traversing... going back over my trip in my head.
Buying an open jaw ticket for my trip seemed like a good idea at the time, and I'm glad I did, since I probably would never have left Mexico if I was flying out of the same city I flew into. However, the details didn't work out entirely in my favor, since the home stretch required me to spend the night in Houston. I had considered trying to find a freeloader to stay with for the night. My flight was coming in at around 7, my departure was scheduled for 9am, so - a considerable stretch of time to be stuck in an airport. Unfortunately the Houston airport isn't exactly close to Houston proper, and it all seemed more of a hassle than it was worth. After passing through immigration and being able to avoid the ridiculous fingerprinting formality that has recently been imposed on foreigners entering with visas, (coming in as a tourist this time around, I was able to take advantage of the visa waiver program extended to citizens of a few select non-terrorist suspect nations) I picked up my luggage and went through customs. I had the option of checking my bags back in directly to pass back into the departure gate section, but I wanted to be able to access my luggage, and exited into the main terminal. I grew to regret this decision almost immediately, when I was told by a ticketing agent that I would not be able to recheck my luggage and reenter the checked passenger section until the next morning. All the good stuff is at the gates. I had gotten a tip from a fellow traveller, that when in the Houston airport overnight, the best place to rest your head is in the chapel. I was totally set for this option until it became clear that the chapel was in the checked passenger section, and I was locked out. The main terminal at Houston is a bitch. Bright neon lights, linoleum or stone floors, brutal air-conditioning and the constant buzz of cleaning machines buffing the floors. No comfortable seating at all. I ended up catching a couple of hours of sleep by the transit train tracks, after the interterminal train had stopped runnning at 1am. It started back up at 4am, so that was it for my Z's. I rechecked my bags at 6am, and booked it to my gate, where I slumped down on the carpet and grumpily awaited my flight. What a shitty mood to be in when coming home. Too much of the ugly side of America in 12 hours - TV's broadcasting 9/11 commission reports, the typical mix of "be afraid, but trust in your government bullshit"... weirdos wearing WWJD t-shirts and cowboyhats, bratty teenagers decked out in Nike and Tommy gear from head to toe....I'd had enough allready. I nostalgically listened to the last minute boarding calls for Mexico City, Sao Paolo, Rio...sometimes coming home is so depressing.
My flight to Portland was mercifully short, with a row to myself once more. I took a cool picture of an atoll in the gulf, and miraculously fell asleep.
I am looking forward to two and a half months in what has been my home state for 12 years before I move my life back to Berlin for graduate school. This transition will be huge, and I will continue to post to this blog for a while longer to narrate the move. Check back every once in a while, and send some comments. I like comments.

I got on the bus in Chetumal shortly before noon and began an all day bus ride to the south of Belize. Twenty minutes into the ride we arrived at the border and spent about 30 minutes weaving our way through immigration and customs. As much as I love to travel, I am always slightly anxious at border crossings. My United States visa issues have created an automatic fear response when faced with an immigration official... what if they don't let me in?
When I got back on the bus after clearing through the process, I felt a familiar rush of joy and adrenaline. I am in a new country! I have never been here before and everything I see will be new! How exciting.
I stared out the window as we wound our way south. I did a few double takes driving past billboards, becoming aware of the language switch. I had become so accustomed to being in a state of semi-comprehension - of relying on context to carry me through conversations, directions, commercial messages on billboards even. I was back a world of detail. I got the jokes, the innuendos, the word plays... weird.
Riding through northern Belize was a gradual and subtle transition from one culture to another. There really wasn't much to see for a while...familiar landscapes, a roadside stand here and there. Belize is a tiny country, and it also has a tiny population (only 250,000 people live here), so the frequency of any actual towns or buildings decreased significantly from what I was used to. The first thing that struck me as really different from Mexico was how buildings were spaced, and an apparent preoccupation on the part of Belizeans with the concept of the lawn. No matter how ramshackle and remote a building, there seemed to be some attempt at a green, cleanly mowed, front lawn. What an interesting symptom of British colonialism. Much of what I saw along the road to Belize City seemed to be under construction, without giving the impression that it was going to be finished anytime soon...especially roads.
As we rollled into Belize city, the diversity of the country began to introduce itself. I saw churches upon churches, but no two of them shared the same denomination. There were Catholic churches, Baptists, Presbitarians, Jehovas Witnesses, Mormons, and quite a few I had never heard of before. The buildings they were in looked pretty much the same however - nondescript concrete blocks with some attempts at stained or colored glass windows, but nothing old, grand or beautiful. In the streets were people of all colors of the rainbow. Black, white, latin, asian, indian etc, etc. What a welcome change to the relative homogeneity of Mexico. The look and feel, even the smell of Belize takes me back to when I was a kid living in southern Africa. A large percentage of the people of Belize are Garifuna - descendants of slaves forced across the Atlantic long ago. The African influence is vibrant and strong - some places seem plucked straight from a town in Botswana and replanted. Other things are typically Caribbean though. The melodic accent, the rasta vibe, the vegetation, the turquise waters, for example.
I spent only a few minutes in Belize City. Enough to get off the luxury liner of a bus I was on and step onto a slightly less luxurious one headed for Dangriga - halfway down the coastline of the country. The ride took us west into the mountains and the thickest, most lush and luxurious jungle I have ever seen. One could picture the monkeys and jaguars roaming around the thicket. Incredibly diverse plantlife - different kinds of palm trees, bamboo, citrus and other fruit trees, vines, mangroves, anything I could imagine...just not name. We passed through Belmopan - a tiny burg posing as the capital after Belize city got slammed by one too many Hurricanes and had to abandon its status as government seat. Then back east, where I changed buses once again for the ride from Dangriga to Placencia. Once again the level of bus luxury declined, and I found myself squeezed onto a dilapidated old school bus. Nothing like a bus that looks like it's going to implode any minute to make you feel like you're really going local. I like it.
Placencia is a very small Creole town at the southern tip of a peninsula running parallel to the coast. My friend Pandora's house is on the road between Placencia and Seine Bight, a Garifuna town just a few miles to the north. She built a house on her mother's property - part of a resort called Miller's Landing. And that's her address: Millers Landing, Placencia...no street names or anything here. Once we left the main highway and hopped on to the peninsula, the road was unpaved and dusty and I had a hard time figuring out where exactly to get off the bus. It was going on 7PM, and since Belize doesn't believe in daylight savings time, it was dark allready. With the driver's help I arrived shortly after 7:30, sweaty, dusty and achy all over. Pandora was out to meet me and served me cold beers and Spaghetti and meatballs immediately. Thank you! We talked for a little while to catch up, but went to bed pretty soon after, postponing any major activities until daylight.
Pandora's house is on the west side of the peninsula looking over a big lagoon. Like most houses in the on the country's coast it is built on tall 9 foot stilts, making it flood safe and improving the view considerably. She has lived there for just under a year with her little 5 month old daughter Jazmine. I got the opportunity to meet the little tyke bright and early and we connected immediately. Jazmine is very cute indeed, with a cheeky smile and a mellow disposition. The three of us spent the next couple of days hanging out at the beach and popping in for dinner or lunch in Seine Bight and Placencia.
It became obvious to me that we were in a rather remote place when it came to finding various food items. The infrastructure, even on the mainland, is that of an island nation. There are shortages of the most random things for weeks on end, creating a barter culture of sorts. This week's luxury item was dog food. On the other hand, there was a sudden influx of cheese, which was quickly snatched up and stashed in the freezer. While water is not always available due to the excessive tapping by one of the larger resorts up the pipeline, it is clean, delicious and pristine artesian well water. Oooh what a luxury compared to Mexico's putrid tap water.
The ocean had been rather rough for the last few weeks, and rain had been announcing itself, but never really coming through for a while. On day two of my visit, the weather turned and we were gifted with clear skies, glassy calm water and hot and dry sunshine. On one of our beach outings, we met up with Gavin and Pete, two campers who were exchanging their services for space on one of the most beautiful beach spots around. We spent a day enjoying their coastal paradise with them and playing guitar. It was a perfect beach experience.
Pandora's mother, a commercial tanker captain before she began her life as resort host, predicted one more day of perfection and it was suggested that the next day would be the best snorkeling day in months. I jumped on the chance and arranged to go on a snorkeling excursion with Gavin the next day. We were picked up from our beach by Captain Bibi late the next morning, and along with four other guests, including a nice guy from Seattle called Ken, made our way to weave between a few of the hundreds of islands off the coast to Silk caye. Silk caye is actually two islands, 21 miles out from Placencia, and about 6 miles from the barrier reef. I have never been anywhere like this. I didn't think these islands existed outside of the movies. The sand is soft as flour, and almost as white. The water on this particular day was clear and calm, providing amazing visibility. Once we had hopped off the boat and dumped our stuff on the island, I immediately donned my mask and fins and started to look around under water. I have not done a whole lot of snorkeling in my life. What I have done was in the Mediterranean and the Pacific - worlds apart from what is on offer here. A little intimidated by the foreign environment, but curious to see what snorkeling can be like when the conditions are perfect I paddled around the perimeter of the island. Oh wow. The vegetation itself was amazing. Coral, sea fans, all kinds of strange sponges and ocean vegetables and amazing rock formations played host to a teeming abundance of life. I could see, though a little fuzzily due to my nearsightedness, for about 150 feet or more. The variety and rainbow spectrum of colors in the fish I saw was amazing. Yellow striped ones, red green and yellow ones, neon blue ones, little ones, gargantuan ones, in groups, alone, skittish, bold - the show went on and on. At one point, as I was splashing along looking down at the show, I looked up to find I was staring at a barracuda right in the face. I was a little leery of its rather calm stare and strangely hostile energy and quickly detoured. How interesting, how different species of fish behave so differently. I really have only met fish out of water or in aquariums - not places where you would pay attention to their particular behaviour or personality... Anyway, the barracuda was scary. I returned to the island, where Bibi was cooking up a storm, and we chowed down on his mother's recipes. Good times. Back on the boat after a few more rounds around the isle, we checked out another prime diving spot, saw a nurse shark and lobster along with more abundant life and then popped by one last little Caye, housing nothing but a small bar for an end of the day beer. What a fantastic day. We got back at dusk, I headed to Seine Bight with Gavin and Ken for a quick dinner and fell into bed satisfied and dead tired.
I stayed with Pandora and Jazmine for a couple more days, lounged on the beach and puttered around town. I had a wonderful relaxing time, although I have to say that there was one thing that put a damper on my joy. The insects. I am okay with mosquitoes, and can handle the occasional bite here and there, but having been pretty much unfamiliar with sand flies prior to this trip, I was extremely sensitive to their tiny little bites. I am told that they stop irritating you after you have become acclimated to the place, but my virginal skin reacted violently, and the dozens of bites that I ended up with itched like crazy, driving me absolutely wild.
I decided I wanted to see a tiny bit more of Belize and made plans to leave for Caye Caulker, a famous backpacker destination east of Belize City, on Monday morning bright and early. On Sunday, a delicious barbecue lunch with Pandora's mother and beers with Gavin in the evening topped off a great visit. I was excited to see a bit more of the country and slowly becoming aware that I was less than three days away from the end of my trip. A good time to spend some time alone on an island and reflect.

Oh dear, my blogging efforts have been lagging...sorry folks. A quick update on my last days in Mexico: After returning to Valle de Bravo from Michoacan, I spent another week and a half bouncing back and forth between Sandra and Georgina's house. While I was in Morelia, Georgina's dog Trufa had 10 puppies, and I have spent hours watching them, playing with them, generally bugging them and keeping them from their well deserved sleep. Their eyes were firmly closed when I layed eyes on them at 4 days old, but by the time I left Valle de Bravo for good, a few of them were starting to take their first peeks at the world. Good times.
To be honest, I can't remember much of the order of events in Valle. Everything seems to blend together into one block of time when I think back. I spent too much time watching queer as folk episodes on DVD, that's for sure - it rains a lot in VdB. G. and I cooked some fantastic meals, we spent hours kicking each other's ass at Backgammon and Rummy, visited with friends, trekked around town, etc. etc.
One afternoon we went to a friend's house for a dancing circle - an interesting mix of global ritual and ceremonial dances with a group of about 12 or 15 folks from town. We got in about three dances before a torrential downpour displaced the circle to a covered area, and G. and I had gotten hungry and went to get tortilla soup instead of continuing.
On Monday we headed into Mexico City - she to tend to her various familial and professional responsibilities, I to see Sandra and congratulate her on finishing the last of her coursework for her degree and being done with university. I had originally planned on taking another sidetrip from D.F. this week, but my travel funds had run very dangerously low, and I was afraid of not making it to Belize if I spent any more cash on an excursion in another direction. So, I spent Tuesday checking out some more sights in the City. I headed to the Palacio de Bellas Artes, one of the must see places for fine art that I had neglected on previous visits. The building itself is quite impressive - a gorgeous art nouveau style palace that houses some gigantic murals and various temporary exhibitions. It also contains a large stage with a famous tiffany glass curtain, which sadly, I did not see. I spent a few hours gazing at good stuff before meeting Ceci, G. and their friend Yolanda for coffee in La Condesa. Then, back to Sandra's for a night of wine and fascinating conversation with her and her roommate Chris. On wednesday I joined Sandra and one of her friends on a downtown shopping spree for decorations for the big graduation celebration. We walked around for hours looking for the right fabrics, balloons and other items..until we all had reached tired and grumpy mode. Sandra had her brother's birthday lunch to make it to and was still frantically planning for her trip to Europe which was 5 days away, so I headed back to her house and prepared for my last few days in VdB before heading out to Belize. Georgina was very tired, so I got my second chance to brave Mexico City traffic and the rather curvy, dangerous road into the hills. I must say, I did very well - and it didn't seem half as scary as the first time. I spent another four days in VdB, highlighted by a fantastic indian/jazz fusion concert, and a trip to Monte Alto, where I thought I might just make my first attempt to hang glide. Valle de Bravo is known for its fantastic hang gliding. G. and I were happily picnicking and trying to beat each other at Rummy while enjoying the fantabulous vista, when one of her pals was bringing up a group and had an extra tandem glider available. As is so often the case, we watched a huge thunderstorm roll in at that very moment, spoiling my chances of taking the offer of the tandem spot. Crap! I've always dreamed of hang gliding one day.
By the weekend, I had purchased a ticket to Chetumal from where I planned to take a bus to Belize. G and I drove back to D.F. on Monday, had a fantastic lunch in Coyoacan and a final goodbye when she drove me to the airport.
It is hard to believe that after making so many plans to be on the road, I spent a good month cruising between D.F. and VdB. I feel like this trip has connected me with Mexico in a very profound way - not just through my incredible new friends, but also through the opportunity to be able to experience a place in such detail, with such a local connection, that it feels like home at this point.
During my last month in Mexico I have felt a marked shift in the spirit of my travels. When I began, I was on the move, constantly changing gears, restless and excited. Everything was new, foreign, sometimes difficult to navigate. At this point, I feel like I have taken on a new attitude - being familiar with D.F. and VdB has allowed me to focus on things other than just getting from point A to point B. I feel like I have assimiliated into the environment, become comfortable with my level of understanding. In many ways, I felt like I was living in Mexico, not visiting. I tend to develop this feeling relatively quickly; maybe as a result of having moved to foreign countries a couple of times in my life and being forced to make a quick transition. Anyway, it feels nice to walk down the street and have someone wave hello to me, or to be able to find the way to some store in the dark, or to have people over for dinner at the house. It all feels, smells, sounds just a little bit different; I'm still a little slower than the average bear when it comes to communication in general, but alltogether things are familiar and comfortable. I don't know which feeling I like better. The excitement of navigating your way through the unfamiliar, or the joy of discovering the details in the familiar...it's all gravy really.
Well. After goodbye to Sandra and G., I was off again. I touched down in Chetumal relatively late - around 8:30 pm. Definetly too late for me to start hopping on buses south, so I began my search for a decent and cheap place to stay. I had taken out my guidebook for the first time in weeks and it led me to a youth hostel near the center of town. It was a large dilapidated, almost empty building and offered nothing but eerily stained mattresses in little cells along a rather narrow hallway. I felt like I was being committed to an old school loony bin. No sheets, so I thanked my lucky stars for not tossing the travelling sheet I had been lugging around. I mosied around downtown for a while. In the dark, Chetumal seems to have some similarities with Veracruz, being a port town with a cool little boardwalk and a rather busy downtown area. I think it doesn't get as much tourist traffic though, and the travellers that do visit have a tendency to just be passing through on their way to or from Guatemala or Belize. I was about to be one of those passersthrough, since I heard the buses for Belize started heading out of town by 9am. I had a decent sleep at the eery hostel and made my way to the busstation. I arrived around 9:30 and bought a ticket to Belize City that was due to leave at 11:45. I needed cash for the border crossing so I hopped to the nearest ATM in the bus terminal, inserted my freshly retrieved, brand new bank card, heard a funny popping sound, and waited in vain for anything else to happen. My card was gone, no cash was coming out, and the machine froze. A man who had been sitting nearby told me that the machine had allready eaten three cards today, and I was unlikely to see mine again. AAAAAAHHHH! Am I cursed? Is there some cosmic message involved here? I just could not stop myself from freaking out. I paced back and forth in front of the cursed ATM muttering to myself. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. After collecting my wits, I trekked to the nearest branch of the bank that owned the ATM's, found a man to harass and turned into an obnoxious pest, insisting that I needed my card back immediately, that I did not care about authorization rules requiring the bank to confiscate my card, and that I needed his help now, please please please. Well, two hours later, I had my circumnavigated all obstacles and was gifted with my somewhat scratched, but intact card, withdrew cash under the supervision of men armed with guns, signed some paper relieveing them of responsibility for my card and booked it to Belize. Whoa.

I spent Tuesday strolling around the Rufino Tamayo museum and walking down the endless Avenida Insurgentes for about 3 hours. Dude, that is one long street. Mexico City is a town of such intense opposites, it amazes me again and again. I will say that I have not spent a whole lot of time in the poor parts of town, so my experience is limited, as is most every tourist experience here I would assume. Still, strolling down Insurgentes today, and then passing by the poor part of Santa Fe on my way home brings home the point that one only exists because of the other - and that's not a good thing. Anyway, I was walking down Insurgentes because I was looking for a Western Union store, since Rebecca was wiring me money to help tie me over until my card arrives. I will take a minute right here to give a gargantuan shout out to Rebecca - she not only helped me feel like less of an idiot for losing my card, but administered my cash recovery from Portland with authority. I don't know what I would do without you - you rock!
On Wednesday, armed with cash and a bus ticket I was on my way to Morelia. I was looking forward to seeing the state of Michoacan, because when I was working at the Boys & Girls Club in Portland, the majority of the kids I dealt with were from this region - between Morelia and Tacambaro mostly. In fact I was harboring some secret hope that I would be walking down the street and suddenly spot little Jorge or Mario or whoever coming my way. That would be so cool!
I arrived in the early evening and was picked up by a charming couple - Sylvia and Keña who carted me around for a while and eventually deposited me with yet another cute pair, Lupita and Rosita. (With names like that, how could they not be cute?) They are friends of Georgina's from way back. Lupita builds and remodels houses, Rosy owns a little beauty shop. They are very traditional/old school people and I feel a little like a fish out of water with them. In general, the feeling of staying with them in this very conservative, highly religious state makes me feel like I have morphed from just a regular vanilla girl into some type of social rebel. The scene that Lupe and Rosy move in is like out of an early 1900's lesbian pulp novel. Everything operates in small secret circles - very clandestine. Nobody in this group is out, except amongst their friends, and whenever the word gay is mentioned it is in a whisper. Whoa. I don't know if I could handle that long term. Lupita is one of those self-made women who grew up in the ghetto and started working when she was 12 years old. She has really done a lot with the skills she has, and the houses she builds and sells are spectacular in their detail and style. She supports a lot of people with her work, I think, and has to be quite serious about it for that reason I suppose. Still, it doesn't seem like she gets out much, and she has been mildly surprised and shocked by some of the things I have told her about my homes - such as the fact that lesbians can get married in Berlin.
Our first evening was spent at a tiny little bar called La Mancha, which is owned by one of L&R's gay friends. Most of the guests were friends and family, and a group of four sisters, one of whom apparently used to date the owner, took turns singing cheesy Mexican 80's ballads and pop tunes. They were quite good actually, and their whole family including brothers, cousins, in-laws and mother were there to support them. We stayed for a few hours and then L&R took pity on my yawning little self and put me to bed.
The next day was spent exploring downtown. Morelia has the most beautiful cathedral I have seen so far, and a very well maintained old colonial center. Lots of parks, a very nice aqueduct that stretches along the edge of old town, flowers everywhere. The historical center is definetly a stroller's paradise - perfect for me then. I tried to see some art, but was denied access due to ongoing prep work for a new exhibition. What is it with me not being able to get into museums in this country? I met back up with L&R for dinner and then was carted to Lupita's country house to feed the dog and water the flowers. Wow, what a beautiful spot. A sweeping view, large garden with every kind of fruit tree imaginable and a cozy, spacious,beautifully decorated cabin on gigantic stilts, making the view even more spectacular.
Friday morning, I took the bus to a little town about an hour outside of Morelia called Patzcuaro. It sits on the shore of a lake and has a beautiful town center with tons and tons of artisan shops selling beautiful fabrics and pottery. It seems to be a pretty popular weekend destination for the nearby city folk. I walked around town, had lunch at the lake and generally enjoyed the beautiful day - very relaxing little day trip.
Saturday marked the day that became my most interesting little dive into the culture of my hosts. It was amazing how much their entire attitude changed once we had arrived at the weekend. Lupita threw off her formal, work-obsessed seriousness, and even Rosy could be seen smiling every now and then. In the morning I tried the museum of contemporary art again and had a great little visit of the now completed exhibition. Especially the pieces Malas noticias (bad news) - a paper mache corpse on a stretcher made with newspaper featuring news about killed protesters - and Retrato de familia family portrait) impressed me. (Can you tell what the portaits are of?) In the afternoon Lupita, Rosy, Sylvia and I took off to the country house and then went out to eat at a charming little restaurant somewhere on the road towards Patzcuaro. We drank merrily, and the formality of our relationship finally began to disintegrate a little bit. After a long dinner we got back home and started a private little dance party in the living room. My oh my, how the Morelianas' reservation and repression falls when the weekend and the alcohol starts to take hold! The folks had invited another old friend of their's over and she turned out to be quite the player. I don't think anyone has ever come on to me quite that strongly...I would have been flattered if she hadn't been just a tiny bit crazy, and subsequently a little bit on the scary side. Anyway, it all became a part of a totally surreal night - a true transformation in my hosts. I managed to remain relatively sober, did a good bit of dancing and retreated at 3 in the morning when things finally slowed down a little, shaking my head and smirking to myself.
Sunday got a late start for obvious reasons, and we went out to eat at yet another excellent restaurant. Incredible soup and carnitas...yum yum. Then off to see G's oldest childhood friend and her parents. In the evening, Keña came to join us for a nightcap and we turned in early.
On Monday, early in the morning, finally another trip to the beach. The destination, Las Troncones, a small beach just west of Ixtapa on the Guerrero coast. The ride once again was spectacular, passing through a region aptly named nueva Italia due to its resemblance of Tuscany. Rolling forested hill sides, meadows with lots of beautiful flowers in bloom. Then over the Sierra Madre past a gigantic reservoir and cactus forests with thousands of crickets chirping at a deafening volume. Finally after five hours, the Pacific - it was hot, sunny most of the time...and once again there is little else to say about the beach other than that it is relaxing, beautiful and an excuse to do absolutely nothing for three days. In contrast to me recent stay on Isla Mujeres however, I had the space and attitude to truly enjoy it. Sleep, food, sunsets. yes.
On Thursday morning I made my way back to Valle de Bravo for some more time in my favorite house while I plan my next excursion, and for a break from the heat. By now, my bank card has arrived in Mexico City, and I am truly ready to move on. A couple more days with G. and my buddies in Mexico City - the last this time for sure, and I will head east again to meet my friend Pandora in Belize, spend another week in Paradise and then head home.

My second and last evening at Uriel's house was very fun. We shared some great music, he gifted me with one of his prints, which I think is fantastic, and we talked with his roomates Polo and Susanita until late into the night. I didn't mind not getting to see live music, because the company at his house more than made up for it. I had become a little more acclimated to speaking Spanish by day two, so the conversation had picked up considerably. Uriel, like all of my hosts at this point was more than hospitable - generous, kind and willing to help in any way he could.
The next morning we left for the bus station together - he to meet his friends to go to Mexico City and I to move on to Veracruz. The ride was short and pleasant, but upon arrival in Veracruz I was absolutely floored by the heat and humidity. I was experiencing some intense period related cramps and decided for my own sanity and comfort to find a cheap hotel in the immediate vicinity of the bus station to decompress. I quickly found a decent spot, and lavished in the luxury of air conditioning, a high flow shower head and alone time for a few hours before braving the hot weather to go exploring. After walking aimlessly in what I thought may have been the general direction of downtown I called Dinorah, my hospitalityclub connection, and she immediately agreed to meet me in the Zocalo that evening. I took a bus going that way, but apparently missed my stop. I ended up in a vaguely seedy neighborhood somewhere west of the city, bouncing around on unpaved roads seemingly headed directly into the ocean. The breeze through the windows and the lively chitchat among other riders brightened my mood, and I delayed asking the busdriver exactly where I had missed my stop because I was really enjoying this little excursion into a part of town that I was sure I would not be led into again soon. Eventually I got off, caught the same line back into the city and ended up in the Zocalo barely 15 minutes before Dinorah arrived. There was an odd little celebration going on in the center of the square which involved a bunch of talk about the importance of happy healthy families by a rather annoying master of ceremonies and a public wedding of three couples who looked more bored and distracted than happy and healthy. After dismissing this event as crap and making the connection with Dinorah, I joined her on a jaunt along the pier and a lively introductory chat in my by now much improved Spanish. I enjoyed our walk.
Veracruz is a very busy comercial port and there is a lot to see on the waterfront including the fishermen unloading their catch of the day, various musicians earning their keep, market stalls selling everything from incense to pottery, and so on. We decided to go and eat and I made a quick detour to the cash machine, where I discovered to my dismay that my debit card, and only source of cash was not in its usual little pocket in my wallet. I looked everywhere, but had to come to the conclusion that I had lost it somehow somewhere between Coyacan and Veracruz - a bit too large of a window to garner much hope of retrieving it. I had enough cash for dinner, and we sat down to explore my options. We were joined at dinner by Dinorah's friends Jose Luis and Rolando and I did my best not to be to freaked out by the vision of my trip disintegrating before me at that very moment.
My three new buddies drove me back to my hotel after dinner and I promised to call them as soon as I finished panicking. After going through every crevasse of my backpack, I had to face the fact that I had made the ultimate travellers mistake - losing all my access to cash without having made any emergency plan. I needed to think about where I wanted to wait out the days it would take to get a new debit card mailed to me, and quickly discarded Veracruz as an option because, as pretty as it is, it is simply too humid to handle. I had a few hundred dollars left on my credit card, and decided to use them to once again return to Mexico City, where I knew my buddies would be able to help. I spent the evening making various phone calls home and to D.F. and trying to heed my friends' and girlfriend's calming advice to not worry too much and to stop feeling like a total idiot.
The next morning I cancelled my card, arranged for a new one, tried to withdraw cash from my credit card and was rebuffed by unresponsive ATM's. In the afternoon Jose Luis picked me up at my hotel and took me to various banks to try and solve my cash flow issue, unsuccessfully. In the end, we went to the mall and simply charged a bus ticket to Mexico City to my card - the one thing I was still able to do. We spent the afternoon together riding around town, problem solving and sight seeing at the same time, and by the evening my panic had made way to dogged determination not to let this issue ruin a perfectly decent trip. We met up with Dinorah for dinner and then went to Jose Luis' house. After hanging out for an hour chatting, we went by Dinorah's where Jose Luis revealed that he is quite an accomplished musician. My travel guitar was clearly pleased to actually have a skilled hand playing it for once - it sounded so much better than when I play it! A litttle later we left to pick up Rolando and had dinner at a tiny hole in the wall restaurant with excellent empanadas. Rolando and I had a cheery conversation about our common love for Michael Moore, and we finished our evening excursion on the board walk, Veracruz's prime cruising, drinking and people watching spot. The action was not as hot as usual on Saturday night because it had been raining on and off all day, but the water was nice, and we had a few good laughs. I spent the night at Dinorah's house, and was happy once again to have found yet another charming, helpful and generous host.
I saw a lot of Veracruz on the prowl around town and was struck by how much larger it is than I originally thought. It is a tourist destination for many Mexicans and has some pretty beautiful spots, though no beach to speak of really. Too bad it rained so much of my time there. The sun finally started to shine and the air dried out on Saturday. The ride from Veracruz to D.F. was beautiful, and I can only recommend this part of the country as a destination.
Being on the bus back to D.F. once again, I was slowly becoming aware that this trip will now change form totally. I will have to wait at least 7 to 10 days for my new debit card to make it from the bank to my house in the States, to Mexico City. That puts me in the third week of May before I could even begin my journey towards Guatemala. I don't much go for trying to see a country in a week, and that is all I would have available in Guatemala, much of that time being spent on various means of more or less uncomfortable transportation...so with a pang of regret, I am cancelling all plans for Guatemala for now. I may end up regretting this decision. Every single traveller I have met who has been to Guatemala swears up and down that it is absolutely the best place to backpack, and I believe them. Nevertheless, since this trip has been so much about Mexico allready, and I am nowhere near done looking around this country, I will simply stay until it is time to visit Pandora in Belize at the beginning of June.
This is my third day back in Mexico City. I spent Saturday night with Georgina after she picked me up from the bus station, and we went first to some of her friends' house for dinner and a few glasses of wine, then to an italian restaurant to celebrate another friend's birthday. I enjoyed myself - especially at dinner, where I was endlessly entertained by the 6 month old Jorge and had my handwriting analyzed by a kind Spaniard who's name I forget now, sorry. (I am healthy, intelligent, stubborn and apparently able to control my emotions well) This man does this type of analysis professionally in a hospital where it aids in the early detection of debilitating illnesses. Very interesting. The evening didn't end until 3 am, and I was absolutely exhausted.
The next morning G. and I went to Coyoacan and checked out the famous Sunday market. It is kind of a hippie scene, and we strolled around looking at earrings and T-shirts for a while. Lunch was delicious at a taco stand in the main market building, and afterwards I headed to the Frida Kahlo museum. I am psyched that there are at least a few things that I had really looked forward to last time but couldn't get to, that I am finally accomplishing. Renovations of the museum are completed, and I saw Frida's beautiful house, including her bed on which sits the urn holding her ashes. Creepy but cool. The house is a lot larger than it looks in the movie by the way.
I have to reiterate my appreciation for the south of Mexico City. I have spent a lot of time in Coyacan at this point, and even though I keep saying that I could never live here - if I had to, I would survive in Coyoacan. G picked me up in a cute and quiet little park a few blocks away from the main cathedral called la Conchita, and we breezed off to her friend Ceci's house. I have met Ceci a couple of times and she lives just down the street from Sandra. Since Sandra's workload is out of control during the last week before her final exams, and because Ceci and her girlfriend Pilar are the average super hospitable Mexicans, I am staying at their house for a few nights. We played cards so late into the night, it was nice to be able to simply drop onto the floor and pass out.
Yesterday I went on a daytrip to Tepoztlan and hiked around the incredibly beautiful mountains around this rather quaint little town. It was fantastic - absolutely breathtaking scenery, and a welcome bit of exercise for my heavily neglected/abused lungs. I took a few pictures on a regular point and shoot, since my digital camera was full at the time, but will try to share somehow. The landscape is very hilly; rolling farmland with spots of small forests here and there. In the middle of this very soft profile juts out a chain of sheer cliffs and somewhat fallic mountain behemoths. It is impressive to say the least, and is said to have quite a spiritual power over its human visitors -it definetly did over me. I had fun climbing a tree to enjoy a more comprehensive view and thought of my best friend Luka - you would have liked this place!
Well. here we are. It is Tuesday, I am back on the museum prowl in Mexico City and will try to receive some money being wired to me from Portland in order to leave for Morelia tomorrow. I will spend the next two weeks cruising around central and southern Mexico - Michoacan, Guerrero, Estado de Mexico and Morelos probably. So. Guatemala will wait until next time I make it to this part of the world, and Mexico will get even more time to solidify the hold it has on my heart at this point. Who knows, maybe one day I will live here for a while.

hello again everyone.
Well, the dust of Mexico has truly settled on my heart and I have not been able to tear myself away - physically, emotionally, socially etc.
I left Isla Mujeres on Monday and finally got to use that cheapo plastic rain poncho I had been considering chucking for about 6 weeks. It had been raining for an hour or so in the evenings for the past few days, but on the day of my departure the intermittent sprinkles had turned into an all-day torrential downpour. Getting off the ferry at Puerto Suarez in Cancun was a sight to see. You grow to appreciate the luxury of gutters when the water is tearing down the streets at knee level - street waste water systems being available in the hotel zone and major intersections only. I shared a taxi to the bus station with some friendly Germans, not being able to navigate the raging river in the road to make it to the bus stop. I was soaked to the bone, and so was my pack, since the water from the street was so high it seeped through the doors in the cab during the ride. Since it was a warm rain, I felt fine, but as usual once I got on the bus headed for the airport I was chilled by the bus' airconditioning and sat shivering violently for about 90 minutes. I arrived at the airport at around 2 pm and immediately bought a ticket to Mexico City leaving an hour and a half later for a great price - about the same as a busticket - minus 26 hours of travel time. On the plane I had a row of seats to myself and happily gazed at the tropical jungle and ocean passing beneath me, feeling relieved to be leaving my shattered boat dreams for new adventures. The flight was quite bumpy going into Mexico City, but pleasant and short. Coming back to the city for the third time made me feel strangely like I was coming home. It has been a rare occasion on this trip to step off whatever means of transportation I am on and walk briskly in the right direction without having to consult a guidebook, map or friendly helper. Considering how intimidated I was by this town in the beginning, I am amazed that we are becoming friends of sorts. I got on the subway at the airport and began my long trek to Sandra's house. It was raining in Mexico City as well, and two subway transfers, a busride, and a drenching hike up Sandra's street later, I arrived happily, though a little dishevelled. It is amazing how much heavier my pack is when the contents are steeped in a day's worth of rain. I was warmly welcomed back into my little Cuajimalpa haven, took a shower, changed my clothes, had a cup of coffee and settled in to a friendly conversation. I felt completely confirmed in my choice to return. Sandra and I talked about travelling alone, romance, school, friends - comfortably chatting away the hours.
I had planned on leaving for Xalapa relatively quickly, but was easily dissuaded by an invitation from Georgina to join her back at her house in Valle de Bravo for a couple of days. If there is one thing I have learned on this journey, its never to turn down an invitation - She picked me up the next afternoon and we happily rolled westwards into the hills.
I have talked about Georgina's house before, and my feelings about it haven't changed. The space itself, as much as everything in it, exudes a spirit of calm and peace and time well spent. I was more than happy to be back in the woods.
Over the next few days, we had some fantastic thunderstorms at night that made the woods smell like Oregon in the morning, and drummed me to sleep at night. I got to know a few of Georgina's charming friends and neighbors, including a cheerful family up the path with whom we had a delicious trout lunch on a sunny afternoon. We spent quite a bit of time in Avandaro, recording
episodes of Georgina's youth radio show called Cambiando Ando - a program funded in part by the state to assist in juvenile delinquency prevention efforts by covering topics such as sexuality, drugs, communication, gangs etc. We saw Whale rider at a very cute little cafe/20 seat movie theater, hung out downtown, went out to eat, made delicious meals at home and generally got to know each other better.
I want to say that the most amazing part of my travels has been finding and developing friendships. I am not generally one who holds on to friends for life in any strong way...I have a tendency to drift apart from people without intending to. But the connections I have made here, especially with Sandra and Georgina, are special and look to be life long. I can only imagine how different my experience would have been had I not made use of the miracle of global online hospitality.
I stayed in Valle de Bravo much longer than expected and returned to D.F. on Monday afternoon, where I was accompanied by G's ex-girlfriend Lilia to get a massage that I had been craving for weeks. Very nice, and quite inexpensive thanks to the local referral. Then on to lunch and a chat session with L. while G. was celebrating mother's day with her family. Lilia is an interesting little bird. Very brisk, somewhat bossy, but charmingly honest and helpful. I was glad to meet her. I returned to Sandra's house in the evening to have one final coffee, the omnipresent cigarette, and goodbye.
On Tuesday morning, after a beautiful breakfast in Coyacan I finally made the decision that it was time to tear myself away from the familiar once again. I had been sending some e-mails to various other hospitality club members over the last week and found some folks to stay with in Xalapa through a long chain of referrals of course. I took the bus at 4 in the afternoon and rolled through the pine forested hills to arrive in Xalapa around 9:30 where I was met by Uriel, an art student at the Universidad Veracruzana - one of Mexico's largest and internationally most well known schools. After dropping my stuff at his house, we walked around town, grabbed a bite to eat and had a few beers with some of his friends and his printmaking professor in one of the art studios on campus. It was a friendly and cheery atmosphere, and challenged me to stay alert in order to follow the conversation. It is my comprehension skills that have been improving primarily, but now that I am with folks who don't speak English for a while, my conversation skills are finally being challenged again. I'm so slow...I imagine it must be a horrible bore to try to keep track of my clumsy fumbling for the right words. But hey, this is how you learn, so I will try not to be shy. I was exhausted by the time I went to bed at 1:30 in the morning, while Uriel and his roomates Polo and Susana, a literature and theatre student respectively, stayed up chatting and doing homework in the kitchen.
This morning, I joined Uriel on campus to make use of the e-mail facilities and plan my day's excursions. We got held up a little by a sudden opportunity for him to present a video project in D.F. tomorrow, went out to lunch at a nice little vegetarian restaurant and then made our way downtown.
Xalapa is very much a University city. There is a young, liberal feel in the streets, lots of cultural events to be enjoyed, and the tourism is mostly aimed at Mexicans on vacation - so no annoying drunk Europeans/Americans, and no aggressive sales pitches to speak of. I went to see a few choice pieces of ceramic sculpture and painting at the contemporary art gallery and the museo agora de la unidad where some of Uriel's professors have exhibitions. It was alltogether enjoyable, but I didn't find much on offer since the main destination, the Pinacoteca Diego Rivera was closed for renovations. I skipped the well known Anthropology museum for the same old reasons and simply continued to stroll about town. Veracruz is known for its music, and I have the lofty goal of finding some on a Wednesday night, but I am due to return to Uriel's house first, and may well get hooked into something else entirely.
Tomorrow I will hop a bus to Veracruz, where I will hopefully be bunking with a woman named Dinorah, but I have yet to make the final arrangements. From there, my journey should begin to rush to Guatemala - if nothing else distracts me, of course.

Well. It was difficult being stuck on the Quintana Roo coast waiting for a ride. I had hoped to get lucky and catch a boat within two weeks, but those two weeks have come and gone, and I'm faced with having to let go of my dream for now. I'm a bit sad about it, but assume there's a reason for everything.
It has been more than simple to make new friends here. I've been hanging out with a few dutch folks and a very nice woman from Norway- everything I could need is at my disposal, socially and materially; but its exactly that convenience that has been grating at me. Now that most of my buddies have moved on, I am finding myself retreating into semi-solitude again - a symptom of getting ready to leave. This morning I decided to take a plane to Mexico City and explore the state of Veracruz. If I don't succeed in getting a flight right away I will have to submit to another night in Cancun, but I have been referred to a guy whom I might be able to stay with by my friend Georgina, so I hope that will improve the experience significantly. I realized that I was craving the culture and vivacity of urban life, and while there is always Guatemala City, Antigua and many other options in Guatemala, I have heard so many good things about Xalapa and the city of Veracruz that I decided to do one more week in Mexico before changing countries. I look forward to staying with a few local people again - my buddies in D.F. and a new aquaintance in Veracruz so far, with someone in Xalapa to appear shortly I expect.
It is one of the true luxuries about being a solo traveller to be able to wait somewhere endlessly and then change plams on the drop of a dime when you've had enough. I'm sure I would have driven any co-traveller up the wall by now with my constant re-evaluation and ho-humming.
Tonight I will spend one last evening at Stu's beach bar and go dancing to bad music at La Peña, the local haunt. I've been out dancing here twice (Rebecca, you wish you had been here!)
Speaking of going out - I've gotten more male attention here than I ever have at home, which comes as no surprise. I'm noticing though that there is a marked difference in the type of male energy that I attract in comparison to my femmier straight friends. They are having quite a different experience; much more groping and persistence - For me it's been quite chummy and entertaining so far - knock on wood. I've spent my dancing nights gayly spinning around, led by short and cheery Mexican men and chuckling to myself.
I wish there was more to tell, but island life has been very uneventful. All I can boast is an even tan, improved beach volleyball skillls and a large crew of equally unmotivated beachbum friends. Hopefully that will change with my next entry.

After arriving on Isla Mujeres, I spent 3 days roasting in the sun while semi-patiently waiting for a boat to appear that is both headed south and in need of crew. There is no telling really how things will turn out, but I am planning on moving on on Tuesday, no matter what. There is the small question of where to head, but I´ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
My first night on Isla Mujeres was an absolute nightmare. I chose to stay at the Urban hostel, one of two hostels on the island because the hosts where intensely welcoming and seemed convinced that their offer was the best available. Unfortunately the crowd at this particular hostel on this particular night shared the maturity level of the average 9 year old. I was so tired and in need of rest when I arrived, but it was impossible to escape the throngs of partying 20 year olds, hell bent on getting drunk and laid, and needing to loudly discuss the dramatic consequences of last night´s similar exploits above my head. I got horribly aggravated when a couple of drunk girls began expanding on whether it would make soandso A jealous if they dissappeared in the bathroom with soandso B, and musing about how worried they were about gaining a reputation as a slut about ten inches from my ears...good lord didn't I leave Cancun to get away from this? It took all I had not to dorkslap these freaks. Needless to say I was miserable the next day after getting practically no sleep and moved to the other hostel pronto. Unfortunately that also meant abandoning plans I had made with Celeste to ride bikes around the island - since she was nowhere to be found and planning on leaving in the afternoon.(Celeste is a girl I had met in Campeche who had surprisingly walked in the door the prior evening for a cheery revisit of our short friendship.)
I was lucky to be granted a dorm room all to myself at hostel Poc Na. I sulked alone for the rest of the day and had my first incident of being travel weary, just wanting to go home. Thankfully, being reintroduced to peaceful solitude was all I needed to readjust my attitude, and the next day I was ready to reenter the social world. I made friends with a cool lesbian from Berlin named Barbara, who's apartment I may well take over once I move back, since she is changing directions and will be leaving Berlin to get her divemaster certification. She invited me to join her and another friend on a trip to another small island a couple of hours north of Cancun which has little or no tourist facilities, and should subsequently be a true break from all this being catered to, which I find oddly annoying. I was beginning to feel seriously antsy, in need of a project or diversion of some sort, and couldn't find a way to truly settle into the beach scene. It was odd, because all in all I would be a fool not to have enjoyed my time on Isla Mujeres. The island's beaches are beautiful, and I got the chance to expand on the tan I had started on in Zipolite. I read voraciously, floated in the swimmer friendly Caribbean, hung out with the old salts on their beautiful sail boat, laid in hammocks and relaxed. I made peace with the thought of doing nothing for the time being, but was beginning to feel my brain and muscles atrophying.
On Thursday morning, I made my way to the busstation with Barbara and Misha, a great guy from Vancouver B.C. who had decided at the last minute to join us as well. We met up with Cora, another woman from Berlin we met on Isla Mujeres, but who had taken a short detour to Tulum. We rode the bus north for three hours to a small harbor town called Chiquila, and from there took a quick ferry ride to Isla Holbox. This is the first time ever that I have joined up with other travellers I have met in the middle of my journey. I had my fears, but we have proven to be a great little group. Take one person out of the equation and I think some awkwardness would develop, but as it is, we are doing very well together. I am very glad to have decided to join, and to have made some closer connections than the last three weeks' "see you if I see you" types.
Holbox is a rather small island off the northern coast of the Yucatan peninsula. It has not yet joined the throng of other major tourist resort and boasts a rather tiny population with a few minor facilities for tourists and a decent fisherman's community. When I stepped off the boat without being thronged by various hawkers praising their wares, I breathed a sigh of relief. Barbara, Cora, Misha and I spent the afternoon looking for a place to sleep and ended up sharing a large room just off the beach - not luxurious by any means, but more than adequate for our needs and desires. We have a breezy little spot on the second floor of a small hotel with our own balcony and a partial ocean view allowing us to enjoy the sunset from the comfort of home. Our host is charming and provided us with everything our heart desired including an extra mattress, table and chairs for the balcony and an offer to go for a boat ride the next day. So far the only drawback were the rather humungous cockroaches that made an appearance on out first night- but after stuffing the hole they crawled out of with toiletpaper, we did not see them again (though Barabara swears she saw a scorpion in the bathroom). Our first night was spent much like the rest would be, cheerily eating and drinking and playing games on our little balcony.
Our first whole Holbox day was spent strolling on the miles of deserted beach collecting shells and bathing in the shallow turquoise waters. I think my favorite part of the Mexican Caribbean so far is the very gradual slope of beach - so much so that you have to walk about 500 yards on average before the water reaches your chest. After 6 hours of charring our skin, checking out the island's few restaurants and lounging in the water, we returned to our room in the evening to enjoy a few beers and an impossibly long game of Mau Mau (German style UNO) until late in the night.
This morning we boarded a small motor boat to go on a tour of the surrounding islands. Holbox is known as a bird sanctuary, and we did see a great variety of bird life including pelicans, cranes and flamingos. There is a small island aptly named Isla Pájaros (bird island) where many of the larger colonies nest. My personal highlight was at Ojo de Agua on Yalahau (water's eye). It is a small artesian well about 200 yard inland from the beach. Fresh cool water bubbles up from about three deep holes in the bottom of a small swimming hole in the middle of the jungle. What a joy to wash off the salt water we had been mercilessly sprayed with on the ride in this beautiful spot. We headed on to Isla Pasión, where we waded out forever, saw some interesting marine life and watched the kite surfers. Gorgeous all around. On the way home we were treated to a final highlight in form of a dolfin who popped up a few times near our boat. I had a great trip.
Tonight is likely to be an early night for all of us, since we are absolutely tuckered out by the intense sun. Tomorrow, we will be parting ways, since Barbara and Cora need to make their way back to Mexico City to fly back to Berlin. I expect to meet up with them in September when I return as well. Misha and I will head back to Isla Mujeres, where I will wait just a couple more days for my boating miracle. This little excursion was good for me in many ways. It calmed my impatience, saved me some money, and took me away from the tourist economy. I've made some good pals and have regained the balance I lost in Cancun, making me ready to plan for the next month.

I am amazed at how many youth hostels I have stayed at by now, and I`ve always wished there was a collection of personal reviews of Mexican hostels I could draw on before chosing my bed for the night. My guide book is more than lacking in this respect, and I haven`t really used it for anything exept its maps. So I am writing an entry just about the various Mexican hostels I have stayed at for future travellers' reference. It may be boring for those of you not planning to do any hostelling here, so feel free to skip. I will add to this entry as I move on. So, here are the various redeeming and damning factors of my hospitality experiences so far - for those of you who care. Prices were current in April 2004.
Mexico City`s Hostal Cathedral is a typical big city travellers warehouse. There is tons of security, and you feel like you`re entering some government institution instead of a hostel. It is expensive and pretty impersonal, but it does have the benefit of being about as central as a hostel can get, being right behind the cathedral on the Zocalo. In a town like Mexico City, location really does matter. It has the added benefit of a nice roof garden, a decent kitchen, an internet cafe and a travel agency, and of being attached to a bar that is not just popular with travellers, so alltogether it is a decent base. There are a few other hostels I haven't seen, but if you can, you should stay with the locals here - it is too easy to pass up. Dorm bed - 120 pesos for HI members.
Puerto Escondido`s Hotel Mayflower didn`t strike me as a youth hostel, and it doesn`t have a discount for members of hostelling international, but it claims to belong. The very German ( i.e. brisk and sometimes grumpy) hostess can be charmed into being helpful with a little effort as I found when I needed help sending a bulky package. The place is a little off the main road and subsequently quiet except when the church next door has services - at which time you can sit on the roof terrace listening to various non-descript chanting for an hour. Mayflower also has a decent kitchen and some nice spots to relax, not to mention the best bathroom of all of the hostels I have visited so far. It is clean, clean, clean. Dorm bed - 75 pesos.
The other hostel I visited in Puerto Escondido last year is Hostal Shalom. It does a lot of advertising around town, and you will encounter a bunch of folks meeting you as you get off the bus showing you pictures and offering to take you there. I followed, as do many weary travellers, and it was okay, but very dirty. The hosts were very nice indeed, there are lockers to store your stuff, and the crowd is pretty eclectic. Still, I felt like I was sleeping in some kind of construction site squat. I forget the price, but I think a bed was around 50 or 60 pesos.
Last year I stayed at a couple of hostels in Oaxaca City. The first is Hostal Paulina, a very pretty place with a lot of potential. When I stayed there it had just opened, and I expect that the folks have added services over time. It has a beautiful little garden and is very clean, but the traffic noise outside the windows is so absolutely deafening that I moved out for lack of sleep. If you stay here, bring earplugs. Dorm beds are likely to cost around 100 pesos now.
After leaving Paulina, I moved to Hostal Nuyoo, also called Luz de Luna by some. It is on the other side of the Zocalo and run by a band of cheery brothers who are putting their heart into being as welcoming and fun as possible. The place is not the cleanest, but I wasn't grossed out either. The kitchen is good, there is a roof where you can string up the hammock, the courtyard is a great place to meet folks, and there is a climbing wall for your enjoyment that the brothers recently put in. The joy of staying here is all about atmosphere and enjoying the peaceful and benevolent energy of the eclectic group of travellers you are likely to find. I made some friends for life. Dorm beds - 70 pesos.
In San Cristobal I stayed at the Backpacker hostel. I really liked the hosts there, and the rooms were nice and big with lockers for your use. It is a little run down and has some issues maintaining running water; however the folks are constantly working to repair, update and beautify. It is possible to camp in the yard, and the the hammock in the back is the most comfortable hammock I have encountered in my life. We became good friends. There is a decent kitchen, the coffee in the morning is free and very good. Dorm bed - 40 pesos for members.
Campeche`s Hostal Pirate has some very welcoming hosts indeed, but the most uncomfortable beds of all so far. The building is one of the taller ones on the block, so you fall asleep to the wind howling past the window, which I actually enjoyed. The roof terrace is nice, but pretends to double as a kitchen - which is crap. There is an informal cafe in the yard, and you can get a small free breakfast with your bed, but the coffee sucks. Dorm bed -72 pesos for members.
Merida`s Nomad hostel is by far my favorite so far. The hosts are friendly, the place is pretty and roomy and everything is very clean. There is a good kitchen, cheap dinner in the evenings, and a free small breakfast if you manage to make it out of bed by 9am. There are free salsa lessons in the courtyard three days a week and live music on the other days. By far the most redeeming factor of this hostel however are the intensely comfortable and large bottom bunk mattresses. Best bed in Mexico so far for me. Dorm bed -68 pesos for members.
There are about 4 hostels in downtown Cancun, away from the hotel zone. I stayed at the Mayan Hostel just off of a little hippie park near the ADO busstation. It was a little dirty and can seem a little cramped, but it is close to everything, and above all, it is in a quiet little corner protected from the genereally deafening noise of Cancun. The hosts were very nice and amazed me with their incredible name recollection skills. They must have at least 200 people a week coming through that place, but they call everyone by first name -even if they haven't actually met you face to face...very impressive. Dorm beds are 90 pesos.
Isla Mujeres, just a thirty minute ferry ride East of Cancun has two hostels that I know of. I spent my first night at the Urban hostel. It is a pretty small space, and I was attracted to the comfort of the beds and the unusually generous free breakfast on first contact. However, if you are not planning on partying the night away, getting laid, or having lude conversation with swarmy hostel hosts, this place is not for you. The average age of guests during my one night stay here seemed to be about 20, and the average conversation revolved around whether or not spending a few minutes in the bathroom with the cute hostel host will earn you a reputation as a slut or not. My slumber was interrupted by drunk, jilted hosts loudly complaining about their love lives one too many times for me to be able to give a positive review here. There is no consideration of personal space or a travellers need to relax in the atmosphere here. Redeeming factor is the kitchen, which the other hostel does not have. Dorm bed is 95 pesos.
Poc Na is the bigger hostel on the island, and subsequently a bit more official and impersonal (but that was a relief to me). It is also set up to serve the partying crowd, but allows for escape if you need it. They have two classes of dorm beds, and I recommend paying the extra ten pesos for added comfort. There is a small free breakfast, internet access on site, a semi private beach area, lots of hangout space outside and in, a bar and restaurant and some typical hostel services. You can hear live music almost every night. The rooms are relatively spacious and clean. Second class dorm beds are 90 pesos, first class are 100 - the difference is in the comfort and size of the mattress and the temperature control in the room.

The gulf of Mexico`s coast is nothing like the Pacific coast. This probably doesn`t come as a surprise, but the differences are huge. It`s the water itself that makes the impression. The Pacific coast is characterized by savage currents, rough seas, darker waters in general. You get a feeling that the ocean is truly a powerful force to be reckoned with, and it beats the shit out of you if you get caught in the wrong spot by the wrong wave. I`ve been carrying around quite a rugburn on my shoulder from being slammed into the sandy bottom of Zipolite`s beach about a week and a half ago.
In Campeche I had my first encounter with the Mexican side of the gulf, and I found it to be pretty much the same as the Texan side - still, seemingly shallow, murky waters that just sit there. Warm as a hot bath, and about as exciting. In general the area around Campeche doesn`t really make a lot of its coastal real estate. There is no beach to speak of - instead you can drive along the waterfront on a long stretch of freeway separated from downtown by a series of ugly shopping centers. I think it would be nice to ride a bike along there, but I didn`t see anyone doing that either.
I rode the bus about 15 miles west to check out the port town of Lerma and watched the shrimping boats come in. The folks at the harbor entrance were more than a little amused when I asked if there was a chance I might be able to find a random pleasure boater to hitch a ride to Cancun with. "No lady", they said, "these boats go out for two months and come back here loaded up with shrimp - no pleasure detours to Cancun." Yeah yeah, I had assumed as much - just making conversation with a bunch of surly harbor masters for the fun if it really. Anyway, they pointed me to Progreso near Merida to continue my search for sailing cruisers, but I am likely to skip it in favor of a direct hit in Cancun itself. I got off the bus from Lerma a little early and ended up totally lost in the bustling market district of Campeche - good times.
Campeche has an interesting look - faded pastels everywhere. The leftovers of a large defensive wall that was built to keep marauding pirates at bay, some colonial buildings in the center, surrounded by generic Mexican urban sprawl. Not beautiful by any stretch of my imagination, but not a total turnoff either. When I finally figured out where I was I ran into Celeste, a Korean girl I had shared a cab to the hostel with that morning. We walked back to the hostel after checking our respective e-mails and were fed a delicious dinner of spicy rice by Thomas the Swiss and Florian the German. (I feel I should warn Mexicans that it appears the Swiss are launching a secret campaign to take over this country by sending vast numbers of seemingly innocent travellers to cover the landscape. It's just not normal how many Swiss I'm meeting... Something is amiss with these Swiss.) Anyway. We ended up playing cards and chatting until late. Jorge the oil tanker employee from Columbia told crazy stories about his various ports of call in Asia and South America, and all of us, except Jorge who must submit to regular pee tests, got cheerily drunk and noisily disturbed the general peace of the neighborhood.
In the morning my buddies left to visit some ruins, and I got on a bus to Merida. I took a second class bus which wound around the numerous little burgs on the road between Campeche and Merida and, for once, I truly enjoyed the whole ride. It took about 4 1/2 hours total, and the little burgs were all pretty and interesting with minute differences here and there. There was a stretch of a few towns in the middle where it seems everyone must be travelling by bicycle taxi, judging by the sheer numbers of bicycle rikshas riding around, parked on the street, against walls, in doorways, in the middle of fields. No cars to speak of really.
In Merida I stayed at the Nomad hostel, where I struck a deal with one of the charming hosts to pay him instead of the bus company to cart me to Cancun the next afternoon, since he and his girlfriend were planning on driving there anyway. It was a little cheaper for me, and more fun as well. I spent the rest of my day trekking around town shopping for groceries in the large covered market, which reminded me a lot of Oaxaca. The smells are so powerful, in both good and bad ways, depending on what goods are being sold, and I walked around the spice stands sniffing and sneezing for a while.
Merida is by far the most colonial city I have visited so far. There are parts of the historical center that look more Spanish than Spain. There is a happy array of plazas surrounded by cafes and arcades being constantly circumnavigated by dozens of horsedrawn carriages, and music is everywhere. Mexico's oldest cathedral is on one end of the Zocalo, and inside it is the blistered Jesus - a statue that has survived two destructive fires with little damage, while everything around it burned to the ground. hmm. I saw a nice urban sunset on the way back from the market.
The next morning was spent at the Museo Macay of contemporary art looking to rediscover my excitement for museums after having been a little bored by what has been on offer in the smaller towns - mostly archeological finds, and random colonial artifacts. I liked what I found. There is a nice little group of temporary collections by local artists, and a permanent collection containing a few choice pieces by the big names and a smattering of pieces by less well known, but no less interesting folks. My favorites here are Fernando Castro Pacheco's paintings. He was born and educated in Merida, and I like to think I recognize some of this place's spirit in his work. He has a collection of lithographs on display, which I liked as well, but it is the light in his paintings that impresses. It is as if the moon is shining from behind the canvas in some of them. Very nice - check him out. In the arcade outside the museum were some sculptures by Francisco Zuniga - also very nice.
After hanging around the museum and relaxing for a few hours, I headed back to meet with Jorge and his girlfriend Rita to drive to Cancun. It was a pleasant ride with good music. Jorge pointed out the sights along the way and we talked politics - my favorite. Once in Cancun, we circled around for quite a while trying to find a good hostel.
What a Zoo. 30 years ago, Cancun was nothing but an intersection on the road to Isla Mujeres. Then the international developers pegged the long stretch of pretty beach as a money maker and built like hell. What resulted was a 25km long stretch of hotels along a small semi-peninsula, and a bustling town created by those who built the hotels which seems to have absolutely no rhyme or reason to its layout. Most of the streets appear to run in U-shapes along the larger avenues - but not all, and some resemble knotted pieces of string. There are more American fast food outlets and chain stores than I have seen anywhere else, and everything is focused on the American package tourist. I stayed in town at a small hostel by a hippy-dippy park and kept my head low so as not to be accosted by one of the many drunkenly screaming, horribly embarrassing folks from Minnesota or Brighton or Sidney.
The next morning I got serious about my search for the ocean life and headed to the next best marina I could find. I went through a long chain of very helpful folks who referred me to other helpful folks, and by the afternoon I had landed on Isla Mujeres at a marina chatting with a couple of old sailing salts about the wind. Through them, I ended up in the living room of Dorian Oberholzer, the woman who knows all. She is the marina's welcome wagon/coordinator and has made it her mission to hook up various maritime hitchhikers with a ride headed their direction. She set me straight about trying to go East, since this is the season of Northeasterly winds, and people just don't sail into the wind for fun. However it is possible that I will be able to catch a ride North or South. I pick South, of course - because why would I want to go to Florida, really? I'm not the only one waiting, but I may be the one with the most time, so there is hope. I went back to the bar to chill with the salts and watched the sunset from their boat, drinking and cussing. I'll make a good sailor.
This morning I packed up my stuff and moved to Isla Mujeres. It is a small island, for tourists almost exclusively - but it doesn't have the party until you puke compulsion that I hate about Cancun. People turn in a little earlier here, and the intoxicants are consumed in measure, and nobody yells at you or falls in your lap on the bus. So...All I have to do now is sit on the beach and check my e-mail regularly for news from Dori. I expect to turn into a bit of a marina squatter, since I have allready been invited to a baby shower for one of the boaters from yesterday's dock. Not a bad start...let's hope luck keeps me company.