I’d Call This Highway to Hell if the Destination Was Not So Nice
So I woke up Friday morning around 6:00 AM near sunrise like just about every other morning in Puerto. My head hurt from all of the Spanish stuffed in there and I did not feel 100% and I really didn’t want to go to classes. But I have a responsibility to my two maestro’s Irene and Ricardo so I did some studying and homework before class. The day was going to be a long one because an hour after the second set of classes, I would be on a sixteen passenger van for 6+ hours to Oaxaca. Classes were hard because I am struggling with memorization of basic words and pronunciation of words like Estadunidense (supposedly the politically correct way of saying you’re a US citizen since Americano ignores the fact that everyone in this hemisphere is an American – I have since decided to say I am a Californian since I can say it, everyone knows what California is and I really feel more Californian than American a lot of the time). I have also been struggling with not having someone else to work with outside of class for regular speech practice. I don’t think I mentioned Mark in my last post. I met him in the airport in Mexico City and we discovered that we are both from California (he has lived in Sonoma County as well as Stockton and now lives in Redding) and both going around the world. That makes Mark the first person that I have met on the road doing the RTW thing. Mark knows Spanish, but unfortunately he pushed off to Ecuador last week. I definitely missed having him around this week for practice now that I know a little.
So it’s close to the 3:00 PM departure and I have not eaten since cereal and milk for breakfast. I eat a small bag of chips and a coke and I have some other snacks with me for the ride. I figure I will enjoy the first half of the drive looking at the beautiful scenery and read my book (One Hundred Years of Solitude by Nobel Laureate Gabriel Garcia Marquez) after sunset. The ride is about 250 kilometers and is suppose to be windy, but I am on a nice comfortable Mercedes van so it can’t be too rough. Rough is Africa and I survived all of those drives and usually enjoyed them. I hate when I am naïve and learn a lesson the hard way… So we drive through Puerto seeing a whole part of the town that I have never seen. Already enjoyable and I am wondering why all of the other fifteen passengers have closed their eyes and are trying to sleep. I’m also wondering why the van has curtains that keep the whole place dark unless you pull them open and no one else has opened theirs. That’s odd, I think. Then we get out of town and start the climb (the Sierra Madre del Sul has 4,000 meter peaks within fifty miles of the coast and Oaxaca city is on the other side at 1550 meters. Puerto Escondido was the “Hidden Port” until the 1970s because no one in their right mind would make a habit going through these mountains and the coastal highway had not been built. As soon as we start climbing, we start the switchback curves – one right after the other. And our nice little van has a crazy man at the helm. During the 6+ hours he often passed multiple trucks – I counted seven one time – on multiple blind corner sections!!! So I am first disturbed by the driving. Then I am disturbed by scenery whipping by. I decide to look ahead and enjoy the view out the front window. But I am near the back of the van and its like looking through a telescope that is being thrust side to side. And then only thirty minutes into the trip I break out in a horrible cold sweat and nausea hits. Hmmm… I don’t usually get motion sickness. I have Dramamine… too bad it’s been left in Puerto. Doubt it would help at this point. Now I understand the curtains and everyone else “sleeping”. OK, so I will try that, too. Too late! Meanwhile I and everyone else are holding on with legs and arms for dear life fearing being catapulted out of our seats. My eyes are closed, cold sweat is flowing out of every pore and I am sure I can get through this. Check my watch (Are we there yet?!) and it reveals we have only been driving for one hour and the road seems to be only getting worse. Ninety minutes into it and I am now starting to think that I am going to puke. I cannot believe this. Believe it, Rick! What are my options? Open the curtain… good the window has a latch. I can’t get it to work. Hold on a couple more minutes. Damn it! It has to open. Yes, I have figured out how the latch works. Oh, I don’t really need that, but at least I have that option. I can make it. No I can’t… all of this in only a couple of minutes. Rick… remember the worst thing someone can do when in this situation is deny the fact that their stomach has a mind of its own and it does not inform the brain before it vaults its contents up. I can make!
The next few minutes may be some of the worst in my life. I went from “what will everyone think!” To maybe I can hold out long enough for someone else to puke first – somehow that would seem to make it a better situation probably since I was the only gringo on board. To starting to puke before I have the window open to ramming my head out the window and letting it all fly spraying the side of the van with exactly one bag of chips plus one coke plus stomach acid minus what did not quite get out the window. To closing the window, sitting down gasping and noticing that no one else seemed to notice. Now I am totally disgusted with the situation including the random chunks lying about, but I oddly feel a little better. Another hour later and I was recovered a bit and able to almost sleep like everyone else although I was cursing that we still had four more hours to go. I swear the driver was going up to 100 kilometers per hour and would have done that the whole way even if it meant only two wheels on the ground if it hadn’t been for all those damn other vehicles going at normal speeds. So he would rev it up to one hundred and then break down to near zero while continuously traversing the corners. There were few towns during the first four hours, but every one of them had speed bumps (“Tope!”) for idiots like him. By about that fourth hour I was fully understanding of the mistake I had made in taking this incredibly cheap $12 ride and also vowing to not take it back to Puerto. By time we made it to Oaxaca I was beat physically and mentally. I just wanted to get a bit cleaned up and go to bed. No one looked at me – I really think they never noticed or maybe that’s just a normal thing on that route for the virgins.
So I get to the B&B near the Zacolo (old center of town) and I am greeted by the manager and his gringo friend. English is well-spoken and after a quick chat and drink of water I am longing to go to my room. They invite me to go out to their favorite bar which is reopening that night after being closed due to the recent riots. I say “no, I can’t, I’m beat by the ride and long day”. They tell me their horror stories with that same trip many years ago including taking it on a big bus with goats tied down to the top and everyone getting covered by goat piss because the windows were all open. OK, these guys are too funny to give up on. So, without telling them that I actually puked and technically have not eaten all day (and still don’t want to eat), I agree to go out if they can give me a couple of minutes to clean up and change. Off we go at 10 PM…
I enjoy a couple of Dos Equis lagers and then the gringo and I start discussing Mezcal. It’s quite a liquor from what I learn and it is the local drink. The bar has one of the best and he buys us a round. An unbelievably good sipping liquor. The smoothest alcohol I have ever tasted. The bar scene is fun with a lot of their friends joining them. A very bohemian feel straight out of San Francisco if it hadn’t been for all of the Spanish being spoken. I even enjoyed the music – eclectic and not blaring – and the night a lot and went home at 1:30 AM with me totally beat and totally surprised by my day – good, bad and ugly.
The problem with me being up until 2:00 AM is that I wake up at sunrise or around 6:00 AM here. I struggled to sleep until 8:00 and then I got up ready for a day in what I believe will be an amazing city. A bit tired, but doing well. I am served huevos rancheros, excellent Oaxaca coffee, papaya (about the size of footballs here) and orange juice. After talking to the proprietor about flights back to Puerto and learning that I can fly back Tuesday at 9 AM for $90 – the best $90 I will ever spend given the alternative, I depart with cameras in backpack. I head for the zacolo…
Tags: Central America, Mexico, North America, Travel
vagabondrick
Didn’t go with Vermonter huh?