So much more than a couch

I`m really lucky. Why? Because I get to live and travel through a different, exotic and exciting part of the world? Well, yes, for that I´m lucky, but I`m really lucky because I get to meet incredible people and have insightful and meaningful cultural and personal experiences. How do I do this? I open myself up, stay with people and enter their home with the most open mind I can - in other words, I couchsurf.

I stayed with Alex and his beautiful family in the city of Santa Barbara, in western Honduras. I never would have even thought of visiting that part of the country had it not been for the recommendation of another couchsurfer - but the recommendation wasn´t for the community, it was for Alex. He really embodies the whole spirit of couchsurfing - not only did he open up his home to me and make me feel so welcome, but he went to all odds to show me his country and his culture. For 3 crazy days he shuttled me all over the region, showing me everything there possibly was to see, fed me every Honduran specialty dish known to man (homemade - and vegetarian!), introduced me to all his family and friends, and had some pretty deep conversations with me about the country´s history, politics and pretty dismal current situation. Spending time with him and his four daughters gave me a privelaged look into Honduran culture and life that few travelers get to see. At one point, as we were enjyoing the warm thermal waters of a nearby spring, I caught myself thinking, ¨Here I am, in Honduras, surrounded only by Hondurans, speaking Spanish, and learning about what it means to be a Honduran. Could I be any luckier?¨ At that moment I really felt the uniqueness and specialness of what I was doing.

The area near Alex´s house! Qué bonito!

Alex´s beautiful daughters - of course I immediately had four best friends!

Floating down the river

However, as my next experience taught me, I don´t always have to stay with a local family to gain that same feeling and depth. Since leaving Guatemala, I´ve really wanted to get as far off the beaten track as possible, and have avoided the big touristy spots like the plague, instead opting for more unknown, low key, and random spots I find on a map. Luckily for me, almost every Peace Corps Volunteer in Honduras is also on couchsurfing, and are based in some of the most random, hard to get to places in the country.

One of these is Jesse, based in the village of Jutiapa, on the north coast of Honduras. From the moment we introduced ourselves to each other, I knew I was going to like him a lot. As one of his projects, Jesse had spent the past few months converting what was essentially a swampland into a pretty amazing fútbol cancha - or, in other words, a soccer field. To my good luck, I turned up just a few days before its inauguration - which was to be celebrated with a big tournament consisting of teams from all the surrounding communities. A couple of days shy of the big event, there were still a few finishing touches to be put on the field and I was more than happy to help in whatever way I could. In addition to painting the goalposts, I was assigned the role of event photographer, one that I assumed with pleasure - evident in the hundreds of photos I took of game day and the preperations beforehand.

As game day approached with increasing excitement, I found myself really getting into the whole spirit of the event. I got to meet all of Jesse´s coworkers and friends in the community and really got a taste of rural Honduran life. And on the morning of the big day, we awoke to find a beautiful rainbow arched right over top of the cancha. What a sign - it was going to be a great day. And it was - from getting interviewed on Honduran television (they were curious as to why a foreigner, not affiliated with the Peace Corps was there in the first place), to cheering all afternoon from the best seat in the house - Jess´ balcony (and it turns out, I like watching soccer, who would have ever thought?!?), to Jesse himself getting in on the action, it was an incredible, unforgettable experience. I felt part of the community and got to celebrate something so special with them. At the end of the day, wen the last game finished, the lights were turned off and everyone started walking back home, grinning ear to ear, you can bet I was as well. Right then, at that moment, I felt not only like a Catracha (Honduran) but a Jutiapan as well.

Painting those goalposts

The field, almost ready!

Morning rainbow

Putting the lines down

The jovenes

Jess getting ready to hand out donated soccer cleats

Watching from the balcony

Jess ready to get in on the action

These are the moments you can´t put a price tag on, or find through a guidebook. And it´s moments like these that impel me to travel, and are why I love the whole concept of couchsurfing (done informally as well!). Because it´s so much more than a couch. It´s a whole new way of seeing the world.

Let's Get Wet!

El Salvador. Done. Next up: Honduras!

After successfully, albeit a bit sketchily, crossing the border into Honduras, and spending a few days in the cute colonial town of Comayagua, I heard adventure beckoning once more. This time, it led me to Lago de Yojoa, Honduras' largest lake, situated in the midst of incredibly lush mountains and abundant coffee and banana plantations. The towering mountain slopes were covered so densely with the berries you could almost smell the delicious aroma. Almost.

In addition to the mountains, red coffee cherries, bananas and the wildlife you'd expect in such a spot, the lake has another big plus going for it - just a short walk from its shore lies one of Honduras' only microbreweries! After drinking pretty bad, monotonous Central American beer for the past 8 months or so, you can imagine my delight at having half a dozen hand crafted beers at my disposal. And, right beside the brewing station was more than enough space for me to set up my little one person tent. Good beer, mountains, a gorgeous lake, hiking and camping - was I ever one happy little lady!

Surprisingly, the real highlight of the trip wasn´t the beer. I made friends with the owner of the brewery, and on my second day there he invited me to come along as he showed some visiting friends the nearby sights. First stop was Pulphanzak Falls - a 43 meter high waterfall. You can hear the falls well before you see them, and when I finally caught sight of them, I was humbled by their force. I was just minutes away from really experiencing their power.

One of the things I love about traveling outside of Canada/USA/Europe is all of the crazy and amazing things you can do that safety and security measures in the north would never permit. And Honduras definitely is no exception. For a few extra bucks, you can pay to go "under" the falls. Everyone I had met beforehand raved about it, using the most superfluous of words to describe the experience. I however, was skeptical. How can going underneath a bit of water be so great? How could it compare to cliff jumping, bungee jumping, motorbike riding? "Give me what you got cascada," I proclaimed, almost defiantly, before embarking out.

As our "guide" (aka a 14 year old kid) led us through the pools near the base of the falls, and we approached the thundering force of the water, I felt my skepticism running away. Standing no more than 3 meters from the waterfall, deafened by the noise of the water crashing powerfully towards the earth and feeling the mist spraying my body, I began to understand what all the hype was about. The feeling became stronger with each approaching step. And suddenly, there I was, standing directly underneath the cascade, feeling the force of nature pushing down on me. Stepping back into a small alcove behind the falls, I was given a reprieve from the flow of water and was able to open my eyes and take a moment to reflect on what was going on around me. Looking up, I could see the water arc and form an incredibly beautiful, yet surreal liquid curtain just inches from my face. The beauty of it all was almost blinding - standing there in this hidden spot, where many have been before, I couldn't help but feel as if it was a uniquely special experience, reserved just for me.

I came out with a burst of adrenaline that I hadn't felt in a long time - if you would have asked me to skydive, go cliff jumping, or white water rafting, I wouldn´t have even thought twice. Fortunately, the day didn't end there, as our gracious host continued to play tour guide and skirt us around the region. And while I arrived back at the brewery tired after a long and intense day, I wasn't too tired to finish off the day in real Canadian style - as the six game undefeated champion of a beer shuttlecock tournament (mostly thanks to my partner Dave).

And so the next morning, with a well deserved headache, once more I was off, on the road, seeing where it would lead me next.

The falls

Me! While still dry

The group, soaking wet after our adventure

6 time champions!

River flowing out into the lake

Mmmmmm bananas!

View of the lake

Lago de Yojoa

Rainbow from the falls

The Good Ol´ Savior

You know the old saying, ¨good things come in small packages?¨ Well, I can´t find any expression that more perfectly describes the country of El Salvador. The smallest country in Central America, at only 21,040 square kilometers, it is often overlooked by most travelers circuiting the isthmus. However, for those other travelers it is most certainly their loss, as it is really amazing and packs a lot of punch into its little package.

So when the rest of the gang left, driving off in the vehicle held together by masking tape, I found myself standing in the central plaza of the city of Santa Ana, with absolutely no idea as to where I should go or what to do. I knew nothing about El Salvador! Essentially, I was clueless and in need of some guidance.

Luckily for me, I spent that first night in the home of an incredibly friendly and helpful man who was more than willing to share with me his wealth of information about his country. As he sat me down in his living room and spread out half a dozen maps in front of me, going into extensive detail about every city, site and volcano that I just had to visit, I was taken aback by his openness, geniality, and just plain friendliness - something that would become a major element of my time in the country. For the truth is, Salvadoreños are some of the friendliest, most likeable people I´ve met - so much so that I can say without hesitation that they were my favourite part of the country. Everyplace I went I was constantly astounded by their hospitality, outgoingingness and the treatment I received by them - whether it was an older couple coming up to talk to me and find out more about my travels, or the wife of the hotel owner who went out of her way to make sure I was comfortable and that all of my needs were very much met. Now, I´m confident that this characteristic is definitely a Salvadoran trait but I also have my suspicions that it is a result of the lack of tourism and thus, tourists in the country. Whether because of its small size, lack of Caribbean coast, or ill-informed reputation as a ´dangerous country´ (I´ve found other countries to be way more dangerous), there is a very noticeable lack of extranajeros traversing the country - tourism is so low that almost every Salvadoreño that I talked to would ask me what project I was working on, assuming that I was there to work, not travel. And when I replied that I was just ´paseando´, or traveling through, surprise, but also delight would appear on their face and they would begin to ask me a million questions about where I had been, where I was going and my general thoughts on the country. Minimal exposure to brash foreign backpackers has meant that Salvadoreños are still curious and very much welcome to outsiders, and haven´t become jaded to them as can be seen in so many other places.

After my intensive tourism tutorial that first night, I headed north, to the charming colonial town of Suchitoto, where I was incredibly fortunate to run into a young American shortly after arriving. After chatting for a bit, he invited me into the house he was renting with four other friends, and what do you know, I ended up staying there with them for the next three days! They were an awesome bunch and we had a great time together, as the young budding filmmakers showed me the movies and music videos they had been working on and I in turn introduced them to the seductive art of cliff jumping.

Next came the capital, San Salvador. Always a fan of big, noisy and chaotic cities, I loved it and ended up staying a few more days longer than originally anticipated. My first day was spent in the company of a really cool couchsurfer and together we lounged in the park, playing music and singing songs all afternoon. It was through Melvin that I found out that two other viajeros were playing at a cafe that evening, a celloist and a guitarist - which immediately stood out to me - my old roommate from Guatemala, Liz (who plays the cello) and her boyfriend and my old guitar teacher, Hafid, were traveling and playing music through Central America. Could it be a coincidence? I didn´t think so, so that evening I turned up at the cafe and sure enough, there they were onstage, warming up. It definitely was an unexpected, but very pleasant, surprise for all of us, and we took advantage of the situation to spend some more time together while I was in the city.

Through another couchsurfer I got to sneak on a tour of the San Salvador volcano, pretending to be the French/English bilingual tour guide in training. Luckily the Americans who were on the tour were so laid back and cool I really don´t think they would have cared had they found out the truth anyways. But it´s always a little fun to wear a different identity for a while anyways.

From San Sal I went south, to check out some of El Salvador´s 300km long Pacific Coast. Again, the intention of a few days turned into a few more as I extended my stay just a little bit longer. I mean, how many times in your life do you get a whole beach all to yourself, free of other travelers?

As the grand finale, I ended my tour of El Salvador in Perquín, a small pueblo in the northern mountains bordering Honduras. Steeped in history, the area was both the headquarters for the guerrillas and the area most devasted by the brutal 12 year long civil war that raged through the country in the eighties and early nineties. The proximity and abundance of resistance forces taking refuge in the densely forested mountains led to fierce and brutal reprisals on the part of the conservative, staunchly anti-communist military government, who felt no qualms about unleashing their wrath on the civilian population. The remnants of this devastation can be seen everywhere, from gigantic bomb craters in the middle of town to the remains of those bombs that are now located in the town museum. But leftover bombs and half destroyed helicopters were nothing compared to the intensity of the site of El Mozote. On December 11, 1981, government forces took the tiny hamlet by storm and in one evening led a massacre that resulted in over a thousand killed and only one person surviving. While the numbers will never be known for sure, what is known is that the majority of lives taken were innocents - 80% of bodies exhumed have been children under the age of 12. What stands now is a giant memorial to pay homage and respect to those fallen, who lost their lives way too early, and also to stand as a stark reminder of what war really is - a brutal and destructive force that serves no positive purpose whatsoever. For all the glamours that Hollywood or CNN may show of combat and armed force, it is clearly apparent to anyone visiting a site such as El Mozote that those projections are so far from reality. War takes - takes lives, takes innocence, takes any hope of a future and destroys them all, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

Clearly, visiting such a site was incredibly difficult -  both frustrating and heart-wrenching. On very few occasions have I felt such strong emotions evoked in me, as I felt both pulsating anger that something like this can happen in the first place and overwhelming sadness when I reflected on the fact that this is only one of many places in the world where it does.  But while some may say its macabre to visit, I think it is necessary - by visiting these memorials not only are we paying our respects to those we´ve lost, but we´re also standing up and saying that this can never happen again. Let us hope that we will finally learn from history and these memorials will be our last.

Suchitoto Cathedral

Hanging out in the park of San Sal

Sunset at Los Cóbanos

Rufina Maya, the lone survivor of El Mozote

We must live in peace with ourselves so we don´t lose life´s values. To value what we have, we must know our origin. Those who don´t know their history are condemned to repeat the past.

The El Mozote Memorial - each plaque contains the names of those murdered by the army

Operation Flying Hawk 2011!

So, with the decision made to leave, it was just a matter of when and where. With my birthday approaching it seemed like the perfect opportunity to really exit in style, and after much debate and discussion, it was decided that myself and three good friends and roommates (Javi, Aida and Luke), would be roadtripping it to El Salvador. (We later picked up a fifth member). Nevermind that the whole Pacific Coast of Central America was feeling the wrath of a vicious tropical storm - our minds were made, we were determined, it was going to happen. And besides, lemons can always be made into lemonade right? (The chante ¨limonada¨ would later become the slogan of our trip).

So, a roadtrip it was. Now, for regular people, planning might start off with such logistical details as finding a car, planning a route, all that boring business. Not for a Yogamigo! Instead of wasting our time on such minor logistical details we focused on the really important stuff - such as creating a secret mission for ourselves. Under the code name Operation Flying Hawk 2011, we quickly got to work creating aliases for ourselves (Bobby DeNiro - Money Extortionist Extraordinaire, Bomba Jackson - Explosives Expert, Leroy Brown - Team Pimp and Trixie Hawk - Pigeon Fender Numero Uno), identification cards, and even a team mascot for an important member that couldn´t be with us. By the end of the day we had all we needed: new names, objectives and roles, a stove made out of a beercan and minor explosives. Everything except for an actual car. Or food. Or a map.

However, that proved to be a small bump in the road, easily overcome by a highly trained team such as ourselves and we soon found ourselves off, cruising down the Central American Carretera #1. Nothing but adventure ahead!

Well, it soon became apparent that the news reports of landslides, collapsed bridges, uprooted trees and other disasters that occur in less developed countries after 10 days of continual torrential rain had a lot of validity to them. We encountered a number of shocking things on the road but the real test for Operation Flying Hawk came when we were just 50km from the border - a huge, gaping chasm in the highway at least 20 meters across and 20 meters deep. We were slightly suspicious when they told us it would be fixed in an hours` time.

Now, most people would feel defeated at such a sight, and perhaps turn back or contemplate a change in plan. Not for Operation Flying Hawk! In fact, this is the type of situation Operation Flying Hawk thrives off of - and it`s what it was made to do - surmount the insurmountable. And once again, the team proved its worth and after a short delay of 3 or 4 hours, once again, we were off.

Despite all the odds working against us, we made it to El Salvador - tired and hungry, but happy to be there and happy to be there together. And lo and behold, shortly after, the rains stopped. Thank you Mother Nature, you couldn´t have given me a better birthday present.

Having already spent many, many hours in our slowly falling apart Mazda SUV, we decided to carry forth the rest of the operation along the banks of a beautiful crater lake - Lago de Coatepeque. In fact, through our covert list of international contacts, we were able to stay por gratis on private lakeside property, got to meet a bunch of incredible people and have a private pizza party in a closed bakery. Can say you limonada? 

Any successful mission requires excellent planning

And we`re off!

A common scene - where are we going again?

How does the road just collapse?

Lago de Coatepeque

Operation Flying Hawk

Our vehicle by the end of the trip

Xela who?

Now that I´m restarting up this blog, I find myself at a loss as to where to even begin or how to accurately summarize my time in Guatemala. The past 6 months have been some of the most memorable, meaningful, profound and enlightening of my life. At the risk of sounding hyperbolic or a bit dramatic, I feel overwhelmed when I reflect back on all that I´ve experienced and learned - and in all respects - pertaining to not just Guatemala, but about myself, other people and life in general. I´m just beginning to appreciate how lasting and formative this experience has been - something that as time progresses will become more and more apparent.

So down to business. Now that I´ve emptied the depths of my soul on to this webpage, what exactly happened in this little Central American republic this past half year that left such a deep impression on me? Well, a lot, and even I´m not so idealistic as to think that I can even scratch the surface of six months in one blogpost, so what follows is a very brief outline. Not satisfied and want more details? Shoot me a line! I´m always open to good old fashioned emails!

I arrived in Quetzaltenango, better known as Xela (Shay-la) in the last days of April, geared up to properly study Spanish. As always, I had no real plan of action but envisioned myself there for one to two months. While I remained open to any possibilities, in no way could I have forecast that I would end up spending such a long period of time there. Obviously there was something about that little place that resonated deeply with me.

A few days after arriving I found a great school and signed myself up to start classes the next day. Super keen to  get a better grasp on this language, I threw myself at my studies and it wasn´t a rare sight to see me revising early in the morning or plastering posters of irregular verbs on my bedroom walls. While I only took formal instruction for six weeks, it was a goal that remained (and still does) high on my list of objectives and I kept on top of it in various ways - lots of newspaper reading, intercambios and practice, practice, practice! So where I am at now you ask? Not great - but definitely a lot better than I was six months ago! I´ve also learned that with language learning there really is no substitute for time - you just can´t cram it. So let´s see where I am in six more months.

Luckily the school I studied at was really great and I had the opportunity to meet some fantastic people - both fellow students and instructors. It was a great way to settle into and get to know Xela. But by far the most definining aspect of my time in Xela was the Yoga House. Now, most of you reading this are already probably well-aquainted with this yoga studio-extranjero meeting point- insane asylum, but there will be a few who aren´t so I´ll give a brief introduction. While I did try the homestay option out for the first week I was in town, I soon realized it just wasn´t my thing and began to look elsewhere for somewhere to live. By a chance encounter in the local bookshop, I discovered the Yoga House and moved myself in by the end of the week. What is the Yoga House? Well, firstly and obviously, a yoga studio. But secondly, a communal living space, shared amongst anywhere from 10-14 people, depending on the situation. With 11 bedrooms occupied all by foreigners from all over the world (Spain, the USA, Belguim, Britain, Australia, Canada, Japan, Chile and Singapore were all represented in my time there), and plenty more friends constantly hanging out in what is probably Latin America´s best kitchen, there was never a dull moment. It was so dynamic, that very shortly after settling in I came to the realization that it could easily be its own sitcom. Appropriately named Yogamigos, the idea really took off and it become common parlance around the house to say, when yet another zany event happened, ¨this sounds like an episode of......¨. Some of us actually got pretty serious about it and starting plotting and writing down episodes - which I still have with me, waiting for the perfect time to approach a Hollywood producer with my million dollar idea. My personal favourites include The Goat Lady Benefit Concert, The Love Letter, and Son of Sniffer. Keep your eyes out for Yogamigos!

But seriously, it was through the Yoga House, the adventures and mishaps I had there, and the people I met, that led me to staying so long and feeling as deeply as I do about the place. Above all it was about the people - the community I fell into and the great friends I made that made me fall in love with the place. I was fortunate to meet so many incredible and inspiring people and forge strong friendships with them that I consider myself to be such a lucky girl. So I want to say a big thank you to you all - you know who you are. You have played such an integral role in my life and led me on crazy adventures, had deep discussions with me, and shared many, many laughs with me (and even some tears - but mostly on my part!). You rock!

And then, besides the aforementioned studying, what else did I do to keep myself occupied for 6 months? A lot! I ran a small peanut butter business (Manifico), climbed the highest point in Central America (Volcano Tajamulco), trekked for five days through the jungle to perhaps the grandest Mayan city of them all (El Mirador), learned to milk a goat and make cheese from it, attempted to make yogurt, biked 100km in one day to the coast, learned to weld, helped build a foosball table, jumped off a 20m high cliff, volunteered as an English teacher, went on a human rights mission in the heart of rural Guatemala, and learned guitar, just to name a few.

After all that adventure, and some pretty intense moments, I decided (for the 3rd and final time) to say goodbye. Goodbyes are never easy, especially for me, but I felt ready and knew it was time to move on. And so, backpack safely secured on back, camera in place around my neck, and guitar in hand, I waved and said, ¨Adios Yogamigos!¨ End of series.

For more photos: http://s1177.photobucket.com/albums/x349/nmazga/My%20heart%20belongs%20in%20Guatemala/Kicken%20it%20around%20Xela/

Back to Belize

I officially concede and admit defeat - I am quite possibly the world´s worst blogger. I thought that once I was settled in Xela I would have more time and really devote myself to this project - but in reality it was the opposite. For the first time in months I had a life and it pretty much overtook me - class five hours a day, plus a couple extra studying, friends, events, housekeeping - you know, all the normal business most people deal with. I found I had little time left over and what little there was I used for sleeping. But, enough of my excuses, and enough about Xela (I´ll save that for later), and I´ll get on with my story. Maybe in 3 more months you´ll find out what I´ve been doing here in Guatemala ;). Back to Belize......

I last left off with Steve, and how we began our crazy roadtrip together. When I agreed to go with him, I initially had no idea how much fun we would have together. We ended up spending a week together, made it all the way to the south of Belize, and picked up two important things along the way: a tent for me, and Doris.

Both were procured while we were spending some time at the Barton Creek Outpost, a magical little place set on the banks of the Barton Creek. Endowed with an amazing swimming hole (with an equally great ropeswing!) and a delicious orange grove (from which you can pick all you want!), it was a great a place to spend a few days. I wanted to get down to earth a bit, so I rented a tent from them and camped. Steve, with more money, rented their one cabana and lived it up in style. It was a very relaxing spot, and we spent most of our time swimming, eating and juicing oranges, jumping off the cliff into the swimming hole (which I discovered isn't that deep - ouch!), reading and getting high off of their extremely strong coffee.

My tent came to me via one of the volunteers there. I had been itching to do more camping, and asked him if he thought the owners would sell me one of their older tents. Well, it just turned out that he was leaving the next week and they were giving him one. Fortunately for me, he had bought one in Mexico and thus wouldn't be needing it anymore. So, in the amicable travel spirit, he passed it down the line to me. Suddenly there I was, the proud new owner of a cheap, non-waterproof, one-person tent! I couldn't have been happier. Life just got a bit better.

Unlike the tent, Doris wasn't passed off on us but came freely and willingly. She was a fellow traveler at the outpost and also a Canadian - which means I was automatically suspicious of her. Just kidding. She had been spending a lot of time in Guatemala and came to the outpost with a group she had met there. They were all splitting up to go their separate ways, and she liked the idea of coming south with us, so it was soon decided she would join us when we left.

And so there we were, the three of us, the most unlikely of trios. Steve, the born and bred New Yorker with a strong affinity for schedules, Doris, the young new-age hippy who lets the universe guide her in life, and me, the aspiring finca-owner traveling Latin America keeping her eyes open for good farmland. Surprising, we complemented each other incredibly well - Steve was practical, forward thinking and logical. I helped him to live a bit more spontaneously and get rid of his plan. Doris, in addition to cooking us delicious food (and reminding us to always bless it before eating it) kept us filled with positive thoughts and energy. I find one of the great joys of traveling is connecting with those you would least suspect - they create the most energetic and lasting experiences. And boy did these two give me a lasting experience.

We headed south, in Steve´s rented SUV, without any real destination in mind - our only limitation being ourselves. We drove along the Hummingbird Highway - without doubt one of the most beautiful roads I have ever seen - and stopped where we wanted - whether it was a beautiful cenote or a hot sauce factory to take the inside tour. We laughed, we talked and we found out more about ourselves and each other with each passing kilometer. Eventually we reached Hopkins, a little fishing village, and decided to stay there for a few days and soak in the wonderful Garifuna culture, as well as take advantage of the beautiful Caribbean stretched out before us. Within such a short time period we became such great friends and repeatedly remarked at how it felt as if we´d known each other for years. When it came time for me to leave - I was headed off to camp on a deserted island - I found myself filled with such deep conflicting emotions - incredibly happy and appreciative of the time I got to spend with two amazing people - but also so melancholic to have to bid them farewell. And so, after having said my second big goodbye in a matter of weeks, I left my new-found friends and headed on once more - off to an island in the middle of the Caribbean!

Some new photos!

Finally some new photos, but from way back in the day - Guanajuato, San Miguel and Michoacan. About 2 1/2 months ago!

Here are the links:

http://s1177.photobucket.com/albums/x349/nmazga/Guanajuato%20and%20San%20Miguel%20de%20Allende/

http://s1177.photobucket.com/albums/x349/nmazga/Michoacan%20State/

Enjoy!

Belize it or not! (These stupid puns continue!)

From Caulker it was time to head inland (where Belize's civil war is less intense). I had to pass through Belize City again, but at least I knew where I was going this time. Again, no incidents, probably due to my street smarts ;). I was off to San Ignacio, heart of the Cayo district. Because I made a short stop at the Belize Zoo (not really a zoo but a rehabilitation centre) I didn't get in until early evening. By that time I was suffering from some serious hunger pains, and as soon as I arrived I plopped myself down in a chair, turned to the guy next to me, and said emphatically, "I'm staaarving!" To which he responded, "I'm Steve. Nice to meet you too." After more politely introducing myself, we began to chat. He was a retired NY firefighter in Belize for a 2 week holiday, and wanting to see as much of the country as he could, had rented a vehicle for the whole duration of his trip. He had already signed up to do a tour of the ATM cave the next day, and seeing as how I had wanted to do it anyways, I decided to tag along.

While I normally avoid guided tours like the plague, this is something entirely different. For one, it is pretty incredible, especially if you like caving or are the slightest bit interested in the Maya . But, you really don´t have any other option, as the Belize government doesn't allow access to it independently, thereby effectively forcing people to go as a group. This is supposedly done to keep the numbers low and help preserve the sight, but I have my suspicions it's just a cash grab.

Anyway, my suspicions aside, the ATM cave, short for Actun Tunichil Muknal, is an extensive cave network that was highly sacred to the Maya, who during the classic period, used it for various religious ceremonies and rituals. As we explored the cave (an adventure in itself, as this is done by a combination of swimming, climbing and trekking) we came across many different Mayan artifacts. At first they were mostly shards of pottery, but as we went further and further in, things began to take on a more serious tone. As the foundation of their world began to crumble, the Maya became increasingly desperate to appease the gods. Not only did they go deeper into the cave but they began to practice more extreme rituals, including bloodletting and sacrifices. The apex of the tour came after 3 hours in the cave, when we came across the perfectly preserved remains of a young sacrificial victim, known as the 'crystal maiden'. Interesting, of course, but eerie. Adventure and history combined into one.

Steve and I got along so well, and I really didn't have any sort of plan (remember, I hate plans) that I decided to join him and road trip it through Belize. All I knew was that I wanted to be in the south within a week to go explore a remote island. But before that, I would just let the universe dictate my path and have some adventure. And what an adventure we had.

We left bright and very early the next morning to go see the ruins of Caracol. We specifically left early so that we would arrive at the nearby military post for the 9am military escort to the ruins. (High levels of banditry on the road has led to a daily military escort. Due to the proximity of the Guatemalan border, the Belizean authorities blame it on the Guatemalans.)

We made it to the post a little bit before 9am, only to be told by the officer in charge that it wasn't leaving until 9:30. After signing in they told us to stretch our legs for a while and come back at 9:30. Steve went off to take some photos, and after chatting with the soldiers for a few minutes, I left to go use the washroom at the store across the street. I had just walked out of the store when I saw Steve's white SUV racing frantically towards me. It was just within earshot when he leaned out of the window, and his voicing cracking with fear, yelled at me, "Nicole! Hurry up! Get inside, they left without us!" Bewildered, but clearly sensing the panic in him, I hopped in without questioning it further. Once inside though, I turned and asked him what the hell was going on. Apparently, he explained, when he arrived back at the post (around 9:15) the soldier in charge casually walked up to him and nonchalently informed him that the military escort had just left. When Steve asked if he could radio them to wait for us, he just told him to drive fast and catch up.

Immediately I thought that the story made no sense. There was no one else there at the post - who were they escorting? What was the point of a military escort if you just left the only people signed up behind? These questions were futile, as there was no one to answer them, and I had no choice but to sit back and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. My immediate concern was to calm Steve down, who was clearly scared and driving at breakneck speed through the Belizean jungle.

After about 10 minutes we spotted an army vehicle ahead of us - at this Steve sighed a huge breath of relief. As we approached it, however, it simply pulled over to the side and waved us on. Confused, we pulled up beside it and made the international hand signal for 'roll down your window'. When they began speaking, in British accents, it became clear that this wasn't our allotted military escort. When we asked if they'd seen it, they said they hadn't. I was beginning to suspect that this military escort may not exist, and decided at this point we had no other choice but to keep on going. I told Steve not to stop for anything, and that if we approached any sort of blockade ahead, to pop it in reverse and drive backwards as fast as he could. For some odd reason this didn't seem to calm him down any further.

So we drove on, pretty fast, and pretty recklessly, through some pretty awful road, sans miltary escort. And then suddenly, after about 20 minutes, there it was up ahead, the gates to the archaeological site! This time Steve gave a really big sigh of relief and we pulled into the (empty) parking lot. The funniest part of the whole experience was that 10 minutes after we parked the real military escort came driving in, at the proper time, followed by some other vehicles. To this day I still have no clue what the hell actually happened. But I do know I have very little faith in the Belizean military.

Seein´ is Belizean!

On to the next stop for me. Caye Caulker, a smaller, less developed, well-known backpackers´ hub. I spent a few days there, and while I didn´t feel it lived up to its glorious reputation, I did have a good time. Belize is famous for its barrier reef (the second longest in the world) and the cayes are perfectly situated for some marine exploration. It was on Caulker that I first became introduced to this wonderful world.

I indulged a bit and took a snorkling trip, something I normally wouldn´t do, but I just felt like I had to. And I´m so glad I did - it was phenomenal. The coral was great, and the marine life was even better. Although uber touristy, one of the spots we hit, Shark Ray Alley, was such a visceral experience for me. I was able to snorkel among dozens of sting rays and nurse sharks - a bit intimidating at first, but once you get into it, unreal. I´ll never forget what it feels like to have sharks grazing your legs as they swim past you, or the smooth feel of a sting ray´s back.

At another location, we got to see two spotted eagle rays, a rare treat indeed. They´re the second biggest ray in the world (after the manta) with a wing span of 2 meters. They are incredibly beautiful when they swim and have the appearance of flying in the water. Other fun stuff on the trip included sea turtles, eels, barracudas and too much wonderful tropical fish to name (I don´t even know half of the names). On the way back, we came across a pod of dolphins, playing in the water. An even bigger treat.

While on Caulker I tried to re-create the offroad adventure I had had with my relatives, but this time with a bike. After a few hours of some tough biking in the bush, I suddenly emerged from the jungle on the smooth, flat tarmac of the island´s airstrip. Right next to me was a sign showing a biker with a slash right through it. Less than five minutes after finding my way to the proper path, a plane came down and landed right beside me! Close call.

It was also in Caulker that I began to learn that Belize is at a serious threat of colonization - by Canadians. We are taking over the place there! Never in my life have I met so many of us in one place (outside of Canada of course). It became so bad that 2 guys from Vancouver and I made a plan to spread the rumour that Belize is in the middle of a serious civil war. Otherwise, it´s just going to keep on developing like crazy, lose so much of its appeal and charm, and end up like another Yucatán. And I believe this idea could work - how many people really know anything about Belize, or even where it is? So remember, next time you´re talking to someone, don´t forget to casually mention how bad that civil war in Belize is, eh?

You better Belize it!

So, there were a few things I did in between the time from my last blog and my time in Belize, but I´m just too far behind and that´s far too much work, so I´ll just say it was fun and leave it at that. Now on to Belize!

After 7-some weeks in México, I decided it was time for a change of scenery, Belizean style. Even though I was still quite far from the border, and hadn´t even yet touched the Yucatán, I had some relatives staying at a classy Belizean resort and just couldn´t pass up the opportunity to see some familiar faces and cash in on a bit of luxury. So I set sail from the ruins of Palenque on a 20 hour journey to meet them.

I arrived at the border town of Chetumal at 5am, after taking a wonderfully over air-conditioned nightbus. I had heard through the travellers´ grapevine that the first bus heading into Belize left at 5:30am, so I thought my timing was perfect. What I hadn´t heard was that bus service was practically non-existent or at best, highly erratic, on Sundays (which it just happened to be). My intention was to cross the border early enough to make the 7am boat from Corozal, the town just on the other side of the border, to the island my relatives were on. This way I could get there early in the day, with minimal hassle, and most importantly, avoid spending time in Belize City, notoriously dangerous and sketchy. However, this didn´t work out, as usually happens when trying to follow any sort of ´plan´ (I hate plans). After waiting on the side of the road for 2 hours, the bus finally did show up, at 7am, meaning I clearly missed the boat - speaking both figuratively and literally. Therefore, this left me with no other choice but to travel all the way into Belize City and catch a boat from there, while trying not to get robbed or assaulted. Okay.

Crossing the border was astonishingly easy - the only question the guard asked of me was how long I planned to stay in the country. After I answered that I wasn´t sure, I was met with the response, ¨have a great vacation, mon¨ and he stamped me into the country. I decided right then that I already liked this country.

It took about 4 hours to reach Belize City (BC), and on the way there I was amazed at the difference something as intangible as a border can make. It was clear from the first footstep I took into Belize that this was a much different place than México. I could distinguish marked differences in the style of houses and architecture, the ethnic make-up of the people and the cuisine, among other cultural indicators. As it quickly became evident to me, Belize is first and foremost Caribbean, not Latin American.

When I made it to BC it was everything I expected it to be: an extremely sketchy, run down shithole of a city. Walking from the bus terminal to the marina was one of the edgiest moments of my life, and I was on full guard the whole time, constantly scanning my surroundings and watching out for potential muggers. While it only took 15 minutes, it felt like an hour and I´ve never felt so much relief to arrive somewhere as I did when I got to the marina. Once there, I made the mistake of trying to venture out to find some food and came across two guys in the midst of a vicious fight. I had just turned around to head back to the marina when one of them pulled out a knife. I made it back in less than a minute. I stayed put there until my boat left, and happily said a big ´peace out´ to BC for the time being. Up next: some much needed R´n´R, beach resort-style!

Although I was well past the 1pm time set to meet my relatives, luckily they were still there, waiting patiently for me at the docks. After having been on the road alone for 2 months, it was so welcoming to see some friendly faces. My guard suddently dropped and I immediately felt at ease. When we got to the resort (after traveling in style in a rented golf cart) and they showed me where I would stay for the next five days, I broke out into a huge smile and couldn´t contain my pleasure. A clean bed! A private kitchen! Hot water! Luxuries that already seemed so foreign. Plus a private deck with a Caribbean view. It was all so worth rushing to get there.

The time I spent with them was pretty incredible - lots of snorkling, visiting and above all, tons of relaxing. My favourite part came on my second day there - we off-roaded it in the golf cart to the far north tip of the caye, through some pretty rough terrain to a beautiful beach surrounded by immaculate coral. (After that journey, I have a newfound respect for golf carts and what they can endure). We spent the day there, alternating between snorkling and drinking beer. It was great.

When the time came for them to go back home and for me to continue on with my journey, I was really sad - not just that my fling with comfort was over, but to say goodbye to them. A few days with family (or friends) can mean a lot when you´re alone for long periods. But, despite the pangs of sadness, I was just so happy to have had the opportunity and I kept that thought in my mind as I bid them farewell and left for the next leg of my trip.

Coming soon!

Now that I´m back from Cuba, and have access to such capitalist modern luxuries as computers, I´m fully dedicating myself to catching up on this blog business. I have a few days before I sketchily try to cross the border to Guatemala on my own, so let´s hope I can get some work done!

And for pictures - well, I´m trying. But don´t get your hopes too high.

Watching lives change

Life can be very funny. Sometimes the right opportunity just happens to fall in your lap at exactly the right time.

One evening in Oaxaca, while randomly searching the internet, I stumbled across a local non-profit called the En Via Foundation. Curious, I read a little bit about them. They work in micro-finance, meaning they give small scale loans to women. But they try intersect this with Oaxaca´s thriving tourism industry, mainly by giving personal tours of women who are applying for and have benefited from their loans. Tourists pay the equivalent of $50, and get to visit multiple different women who are either applying for a loan or have used a loan in the past. These women get the chance to explain their projects or what they hope to do with the money they receive. At the end of the day, 100% of the $50 goes into an interest free loan for those exact women. In this way, tourists can see a different side of the country they´re visiting and can contribute in a more meaningful way to the regions they visit. The women who will be receiving the loans can meet their benefactors in person, and tell their story. It gives a more human face to tourism. After reading a bit, I was hooked. I had to go on one of their expeditions. But the next one was leaving the next morning at 9am. And for the proceeding one, well, I was planning on being out of Oaxaca by then. It was now or never. I hurriedly emailed the contact info, explaining myself and my rushed circumstances. I wrote down the address and told myself that if I didn´t hear back in time I´d just show up at their door at 9am anyways and beg my way in. Thankfully, for my dignity, I did hear back in time and secured myself a place for the next day.

We met the next morning, and spent the first half hour learning a bit more about En Via and their work. Their program is modelled on many other successful microfinance projects. They only donate to women, who must form groups of 3, which helps to ensure repayment. There are 3 levels of loans - the first is 1300 pesos (about $100), then 2000, then 3000. Each group of 3 has 10 weeks to pay it back, after an initial ¨freebie week¨at the start where they can buy their supplies and get organized. They also have to attend weekly meetings on their progress for the whole 10 weeks. It´s been hugely successful so far: of about 400 disbursements, only 3 haven´t repaid. It was so successful in the pilot village, Teotitlan de Valle, that they began another project in a second location, Diaz Ordaz, which was the village we visited.

Diaz Ordaz is primarily a Zapotec village, and very, very poor. We visited 6 women in total - 2 groups of 3. First was Estrela, the cross-stitcher. She was a darling and my favorite of the group. Her project was to cross-stitch/sew various items - table cloths, tortilla holders, placemats, even bags. They were very good, with exceptional detail. What I really liked about her was her unweilding initiative. When a free sewing course was offered about a year ago, she thought it would be a good skill to learn, so she took the class. After that, she saved some money from selling tortillas and bought some materials and began to make different things. It just snowballed from there. She was going to use her loan to buy a bigger variety of material so she can have more variation; buy better material; and buy at wholesale prices so she can turn a better profit. Currently, she makes about 10 pesos (less than a dollar) per item, and this month (a busy month) she has an order for 40 items. She´s also a single mother who supports her mother-in-law. She was so incredibly sweet, with a vivacious and bubbly personality. She made us fresh tortillas just for our visit.

There was also Raquelle, the baker, who runs a small bakery in her home with the help of her family. Her and her mom each took out loans (together with Estrella they made a group) to buy their ingredients in bulk - so they could bake more products and make more profit. She and her 60-something mother walk door to door everyday for hours selling pastries and pieces of cake. They hope to one day save enough to buy a new stove. They gave up one of their cakes and gave it to us as a gift for coming.

The second group was composed of Ella, who makes atole (a warm drink made from corn - it´s delicious). She gets up at 4am everyday to make it, and then carries a 15L pail around town for a few hours each morning selling it. The other 2 in her group were another mother-daughter duo, who were just beginning their own business. They were making the chocolate tablets used to make Oaxacan hot chocolate.

It was a really incredible day, and interesting to see development projects in action. To see the initiative of the women, their determination, their tenacity. To see how empowered they were, as they began to gain the respect of their family and community members. On the way back, Emily, the program manager, told us a particularly moving story. One of their first clients used to make tortillas and sold them in the market. The tortilla business is a tough one: it´s physically dangerous work (all the smoke causes a heap of respiratory problems) and it doesn´t bring in much money. She saved enough from selling tortillas and used her first loan to begin a small sewing business (similar to Estrela), which she had a great natural talent for. She did so well that she saved enough for her daughter to continue secondary school (she only had primary herself) and when she´s older, college. Now, her daughter can dream of opportunities that were never possible for herself. That´s empowerment. That´s success. I´m so glad I got to participate and witness this.

Oaxaca, or Wow-xaca?

I made it to Oaxaca! The stuff of legends, of endless of travelers' tales, of sights and sounds. And indeed, Oaxaca (pronounced Wa-ha-ka) does not disappoint! It is a rich and dynamic city and has a very distinctive feel to it when compared to other Mexican municipalities. Oaxaca (both the city and the state) has one of the highest populations of indigenous people in Mexico (mostly of Zapotec descent) and this brings to the city such vibrancy, colour and life. Ancient traditions are blended with more contemporary ideas, bringing about a unique and fascinating culture, very much apparent as you wander the cobblestone streets of the city. As a result of Oaxaca's indigenous culture, the state is blessed with some of the best artisans in Mexico, and it was a struggle to refrain from buying all the beautiful and one-of-a-kind handicrafts found there, from hand woven clothing to jewelley made from jade and amber.

Oaxaca is also renowed throughout Mexico for its cuisine, of particular importance to me! Tlayudas, distinctive moles, and let's not forget Oaxacan hot chocolate - all delights found only in this one particular region. The hot chocolate is especially noteworthy.....made of pure cocoa, almonds and cinnamon, and then ground up and mixed with milk.....mmmm I have never tasted a beverage so satisfying in my life. I had at least one everyday I was there. Sometimes three or four.

Oaxaca also has another delicacy not found anywhere else - chapulines, or fried crickets. You can find them (and smell them, as they're cooked with a lot of garlic and spices) being sold on every street corner. One morning, as I waited for a bus, I wandered up to the nearest street stall and asked if they sold any hot chocolate. "Hot chocolate?" I asked. "Fried crickets," the pair responded. "Any chocolate though?" I asked again. "Crickets," they repeated, this time smiling and nodding their head, as if that made it a suitable replacement for hot chocolate. Finally, on the third try, I asked if they knew somewhere nearby where I could buy some hot chocolate. Their answer - "crickets". I decided I would wait for hot chocolate.

That same day I made my way to one of the surrounding villages for their weekly market. I do love markets and their lively, exhuberant atmosphere. I knew I was in for a real treat when I got out of the bus and saw a woman on a tuk-tuk like vehicle carrying a live goat in her arms. At first this market seemed quite small and plain. But as I began to walk through the stalls, its true nature became apparent to me - a massive, tarp covered labrynth with no seemingly beginning or end. The more I tried to find my way out the more I got sucked in, caught up in the pounds of fresh produce, handmade goods or endless amounts of sweets to try. The air was filled with the aroma of cilantro, freshly cooked tortillas and smoke from charcoal fires. It had an intoxicating, fiesta-like atmosphere, with voracious Mexican music playing from massive speakers perched on every third stall, children laughing, vendors yelling as they hawked their various goods, and women huddled together exchanging the day's gossip in hushed, but rapid voices.

As I walked through a backstreet of the market, I felt as if I had entered a petting zoo gone mad - baby goats trotted through the crowds and the air suddenly filled with the sharp, piercing noise of roosters' calls. Looking around, the ground was  littered with chickens and roosters everywhere. Most were alive, some were already dead, but they were all headed for the same fate: someone's dinner plate.

Later, as I sat back and watched the chaos unfold in front of me, I began to better understand the role of the market in Mexico. They're so much more than a venue for commercial transactions - they're social events, sometimes the social event of the week. They're a special, prearranged time for people to get together, interact and build community. People shop, chat, eat, and just have a good time with their friends and family. They show such an honest side of a country and that is why I love them so much.


As I sat there one older woman asked me why I had came to Ocotlan that day. I told her I came for the market. "But why?" she pressed. I explained that I found them interesting. She was baffled, aren't there markets in Canada? But when I told her we only have supermercados (supermarkets), she just looked at me, with such sadness in her eyes. I think we could do with some more markets in Canada.

Informal couchsurfing, and some lessons learned

I left Mexico City heading south - destined for the fabled city of Oaxaca, but planning to stop for a day in Puebla on the way. It didn't particularly grab my attention, but being on the way, and a well-established spot on the gringo trail, I decided to check it out for a day. It would break up the trip anyhow.

On the bus a smartly dressed young woman sat next to me, and it wasn't long before we began to chat. To my surprise, my Spanish skills held up, and we were able to go beyond the routine superficialities that normally dominate my interactions with Mexicans. Her name was Jessica, she was 22, and she had recently finished law school and had just begun her career. It was clearly obvious that she came from a wealthy background - in addition to her expensive clothing, she carried that distinctive air about herself that most rich Latin Americans do. (It may just as well be the same with Canadians, but my interactions there are limited to the more commoner, middle class).

Jess came from a family of lawyers - her mother and father were both practicing lawyers and her younger sister was also studying law. The only exception to this was her brother, who was studying the noble craft of cosmetic surgery. I quickly got the impression that in deciding to study law, it wasn't so much of a choice for her - money and prestige dictated what profession she would choose. We talked for almost the entire bus ride, and soon discovered that we had some common interests. As much as we talked, however, she still couldn't wrap her brain around the idea of a woman traveling alone - a reoccuring theme I've been exposed to on this trip and others. As we neared Puebla she asked if I wanted to hang out with her that evening - she had a car, and she could show me around, take me to an inexpensive place to eat. "I'd love that," I responded. After all, my aim on this trip is to meet Latin Americans and try to understand their culture and life as best as possible.

We continued talking, and as we reached the outskirts of the city she grabbed me by the arm and asked if I wanted to stay with her family - I'd save money, there's lots of room and her family would love to have me as a guest, she explained. I didn´t even have to think about it. "Of course I would!" - how could I turn down the opportunity to stay with a Mexican family? Plus it would definitely help my budget. I agreed, but only after I made sure her family wouldn't be bothered by my presence. She quickly assured me it was the opposite, that they'd be thrilled to have me around.

When we reached the terminal Jess called her dad to come pick us up and eagerly told him about her new Canadian friend who was coming over for the night. As we walked to the car she informed me that her 11 year old brother spoke the best English in the whole family, so that if I had any problems with Spanish, he could help. "Great," I thought, as I had already used all the words in my Spanish vocab over and over and over.

We got in the car and introductions were passed around. It clearly became apparent that her little brother's English was extremely basic and that I was going to somhow have to stretch my Spanish through the night. But she was right in that they were all enthused to have me, as all 3 passengers in the car kept smiling and nodding at me as if I was a celebrity. On the way back to their house, Jess' dad stopped to make a call to the family matriarch and even threw the phone in my direction and hurriedly asked me to speak to his wife - in Spanish. While I can get by speaking Spanish in person, talking on the phone is a completely different story. I was lost after the fifth word and kept responding with "si, si." I had no idea what our brief conversation entailed, but I got the feeling I embarrassed myself slightly when the whole car burst out laughing when I finished.

As we reached their neighbourhood, my suspicions of their wealth were confirmed. Not only did they live in a gated community, but in one of the nicest houses I've seen in my life. By the time we got there I was starving, and to my pleasure, there was an extremely delicious (and luckily, vegetarian) meal waiting for us, prepared by their servant, Julie. I don't know why I was shocked that they had a servant - this is Mexico afterall, one of the most unequal countries in the world, where anyone with even a little money has domestic help, but it still unnerved me.

As I ate lunch with the family, I became progressively more uncomfortable with their relationship with Julie and the blatantly obvious power disparities between she and Jess´ family. It wasn't just the fact that they got her to do everything (and I mean everything - from serving the food to passing someone a napkin that was a few inches from their hand), it was the way they used their power over another human being for their personal benefit. Whether at the conscious or subconscious level, they knew that they had so much control over not just this one individual, but a whole strata of society, and they had  no hesitations about exercising that control. While this family was so lovely and opened their home to me, this fact made me deeply uncomfortable and I had to politely refuse their invitation to stay for a few more nights. I know this depressing fact of life will continue even without my presence, but I couldn't willingly participate in it, not with a clear conscience.

So I stayed one night with this family, in my own little apartment that they used as their home gym, and got to witness firsthand a regular theme of Latin American life - deep, pressing inequalities between people and how that manifests itself in society. In this case it was a wealthy family, who could afford to send all their children to the best schools, who could study the professions that pay most lucratively, and thus could ensure their family remains at the top level of society. They can pay their help pennies, because desperation is rife and labour is cheap, and that effectively guarantees that Julie's children, like herself, will not be able to attend a fancy post-secondary institution and will never have the opportunities these people do. This is Mexico's vicious circle: the rich remain rich while the poor continue to suffer. As shocking as it was, I'm glad I got to see it. Now I just need to turn the tables and experience the other side somehow. Any ideas?