Ahhh Glasshoper

Hello again

Sorry!! I've been so caught up in the political turmoil of Oaxaca that I have forgotten to tell you about the cultural side of life here.

Despite the turmoil, day to day life has to go on for these poor people and this is no more evident than in the Casa de Mezcale (House of Mezcale) which is a typical local's pub. Mezcale is the local Tequila which is made from a specially grown cactus and comes in various flavours including the infamous one with the Worm in it. The worm is actually a parasite that lives on the cactus and is there as an indicator to the flavour and not, as urban legend leads you to believe, a prised treasure to be swallowed. Mezcale is so smooth and easy to drink that I wonder how on earth I ever managed to drink the rubbish we get back in the UK, it is also a lot stronger so it's not advisable to drink it until the end of a good night out - a valuable lesson that I unfortunately learnt all to quickly. Eating places in Oaxaca are varied and numerous but there is one speciality that can only be purchased on the streets from indigenous vendors. The speciality in question is Chapulines, a delicacy of grasshoppers cooked in lemon juice and chilies which is served with Guacamole and Cactus salad and believe me it is absolutely delicious. Just as delicious but slightly more unusual, was the meal I had in what appeared to be a disused warehouse that had been sectioned off into eating areas, each accommodating up to thirty people. Every eating area had open fires and meats off every shape size and colour, slowly roasting on suspended hooks or being cooked on a grate like a barbecue - the aromas were enough to make you feel hungry even after you had just eaten. One place I ate at simply gave you a dish when you arrived and left you to wander around the extensive raw buffet, filling your dish with anything and everything you wanted them to cook for you - once again it was delicious. I can see why, in more peaceful times, Oaxaca is considered to be one of the best places to visit in Mexico, but Mexico City is only a couple of days away and I was itching to get there but not before my scheduled visit to Puebla.

Puebla is an interesting little place with over 360 churches and some great little eating houses to sample some famous Mexican Mole (moh-lay). The main attraction of Puebla however, is not the Mole but the view of Mexico's second highest volcano, Popocatepeti, which is active and monitored by scientists all the time. Popocatepeti literally means Smoking Mountain and at 17,887 feet, it is the most impressive volcano I have seen in Central America and is also the only place in Mexico you can see snow all year round. Puebla is just 40 kilometres to the west of the volcano and it is on permanent high alert and ready to evacuate at a days notice, should the "Big Bugger" decide to put on a display of power again as it has done many times in recent years.
Puebla also has another problem, it is also so close to Mexico City that any gossip from the capital, arrives here almost immediately. And gossip about a City on the verge of revolution had to be equally as mouthwatering as the Mole so you'll not be surprised to hear that I was on the first available bus to Mexico City two days later.

It's a widely held and well documented belief that the Mexican political system is riddled with corruption, so when the Mexican people went to the ballot box this year lots of them wondered why they even bother to vote at all. An unusually high proportion of the population, fed up with corruption, turned out to vote against the government which resulted in the increasingly popular opposition party gaining half the votes. The problem is that nobody believes that the present government could possibly have taken the other half of the votes cast, and are subsequently convinced that the result is unequivocal proof of government vote rigging. Mexican law does not allow for two parties to form a coalition, but the laws of the land also forbids a re-run of the elections, which has resulted in the present government claiming that they are undefeated thus they are still in power. Unhappy with the way the election was run and the government's refusal to relinquish power, the Mexican people have taken to the streets in their tens of thousands to protest and have been there for months. When I first arrived in Mexico City, I thought I had seen some large protests in Buenos Aries and Oaxaca, but they were nothing to what I was about to witness here. Mexico is a huge city split into two halves, North and South, by a very wide eight lane road, Paso De La Reformat, which cuts right through the City centre. This usually busy road, lined with statues and busts of heroes from Mexico's revolutionary past, has been brought to a standstill for the last couple of months, by throngs of protesters who have erected marquees, tents and shelters over every inch of it. Everywhere there are slogans and posters depicting the government as caricatures of Hitler and Stalin and calling out for revolution - they do like a good revolution in Central America and I have to say I get pretty excited to. After a week in Mexico City I new that I needed more time here, but all this talk of revolution reminded me that I needed to jump on a plane to Cuba in time to wish Fidel Castro a happy birthday and find out more about the most famous revolutionary of them all - Che Guevara. I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea (oops! sorry for mentioning blue seas again) so the simple solution was to buy a return ticket and explore more when I get back.

Cuba, brace yourself!

Living the Revolution

Palenque

With my tail between my legs I skulked out of Merida on the bus and once more headed for luscious jungles and the beautiful town of Palenque, which is famous for it's waterfalls amongst other things - yes ruins. You know how, many children have a comfort blanket? well my comforter seems to be the jungle, I always head there when the going gets tough. This particular jungle had something very special to offer me, a waterfall deep into the interior and plummeting hundreds of feet down into a jungle canyon where it has formed a large swimming hole. As I descended the makeshift steps down the wall of the canyon I stopped several times and prayed that this waterfall was going to be worth it because I knew I had to come out the same knee crunching way. The waterfall was worth every leg wobbling step and the icy cool water was a blessing in disguise not just to cool my sweaty body but also just to sit on a rock and steep my weary feet - all I needed was a knotted hankie on my head and I would have looked like the rosy cheeked grandad on one of those old cartoon postcards from Skegness or somewhere. I also visited the mystical Ancient ruins of Palenque but I'll let you off the hook this time and head off without further ado to my next destination, San Cristobal.

The journey to San Cristobal from Palenque can only be described as eye popping. Setting of early again, the bus started to climb immediately up into the mountains, and it continued to climb for at least another hour or so, through the lush jungle terrain, before it finally levelled out. The relief didn't last very long before once again the bus was chugging its way through mountain passes with sheer drops of hundreds of feet just inches away from the window I had my nose pressed up against. It wasn't too bad going up as the bus was pretty old and rickety and couldn't really pick up any speed, not so on the downhill stretches though, and I think the driver must have been on a promise or something the way he was driving that bus. All the same, the scenery was spectacular and it was a bit like being on the roller coaster at Blackpool only cheaper. It was quite a long journey and the bus stopped twice for pee breaks, each time at a cafe next to a beautiful waterfall, firstly at the Agua Azul waterfall then at Misol Ha waterfall.

My first impression on reaching San Cristobal was "I think I'm going to like it here" and even though my bottle had deserted me recently, my gut feelings hadn't, it's a great little town with some great little bars and a multitude of good quality, cheap eating places. During my time in San Cristobal, I frequented two bars in particular, the Revolutionaries bar which was about twenty foot square and had a nine piece band on a stage the size of a hatchback car, and The Reggae Bar across the street complete with a Bob Marley tribute band. The Reggae Bar also had a nightclub attached to it at the rear which only opened at weekends and was a great place to Salsa or Merengue the night away. San Cristobal is one of those places that you visit and feel totally at home almost immediately and I would have stayed a lot longer had it not been for a chance meeting with another traveller who had intended going to my next destination, Oaxaca but had changed his mind because of reports of civil unrest there. Information like that was like a red rag to a bull and I was on the overnight bus that evening.

The colonial City of Oaxaca is considered to be one of Mexico's finest but the sight that greeted me when I got of the bus was anything but. All around me, walls were daubed with red painted slogans saying murderers and things like tourist go home, the two main Plazas had road blocks of corrugated iron leaving only a small gap to walk through and everywhere thousands of angry people were huddled under temporary tarpaulin shelters - "what the hell is going on" I thought to myself. As I walked through the main Plaza a young woman offered me a Kojak style lollipop then asked me in broken English to make a donation to the cause. I asked her to explain to me what was going on and she took me, rather nervously to the steps of a church where we met up with more young people and the horrific happenings of two days earlier was explained to me in full. This group of young people were university students and they were there supporting a two week long sit in staged by school teachers and parents. The sit in was a protest against the local government's decision to stop all its subsidies to the children of the Indigenous mountain people, effectively denying them any chance of even the most basic education. The teachers were also demanding that their salaries should rise to the same level as all other teachers in Mexico. Two days earlier on the 14th of July at 4am, the teachers, parents and children were sleeping in their homemade shelters as they had done every night for the two weeks prior, when two helicopters flew overhead dropping canisters of tear gas. Minutes later the police marched in shooting indisciminately into the shelters allegedly killing six women and four children and beating anyone else they came across with their batons. The police were finally halted by the enraged protesters and driven from the plaza but not before they had arrested and taken away 16 of the most prominent teachers who have not been seen since. During my stay in Oaxaca I didn't see a single Policeman which had a strangely unnerving effect on me, not because I was a tourist in an angry town and had no protection, but because it made me suspicious about what the authorities were planning next. Protests to the national government have apparently fallen on deaf ears and the whole incident seems to have been brushed under the carpet and hushed up. I get the impression that the local government have effectively controlled and restricted any publication of the incident as I am pretty sure the worlds press do not know about this. As I sat on the church steps listening to the students, two men walked past and spat on the ground in front of me and shouted what I am sure was abuse at me. The students immediately jumped to my defence and got into a verbal exchange with the men who left shortly afterwards. Although in a minority there are some of the residents of Oaxaca who believe that tourists are to blame for this this whole ugly mess, and to an extent they are right. If the reports I heard are correct, tourism and the wealth it creates for certain corrupt politicians, is the widely believed reason for the government's withdrawal of subsidies and subsequent violent actions. The indigenous Mayan people who sell their goods on the markets here, are said to be Mexico's only pure direct descendants of the long gone Mayan culture. The clothes they wear and their traditional way of life are the main attractions for tourists visiting Oaxaca and the government is said to have stated that if they were educated then this way of life would disappear. Almost a noble gesture, some may think, but most people believe that the lost tourist revenue that lines the pockets of the hierarchy. is the real thinking behind this philosophy. When the teachers and their majority of supporters took to the streets in protest they believe that the effect on tourism there actions had, prompted the government to take such dramatic action in an effort to protect their nice little earner. The students who had befriended me were trying to raise funds to produce posters and fliers in different languages to hand out to tourists in an effort to let the world know what happened here, so I gladly accepted their request for grammatical help on an English version.

The next and penultimate stop on my journey to Mexico City was to be Pueblo to learn about Mexico's revolutionary history but I can't imagine that hearing about the past will be as interesting for me as witnessing and experiencing the turmoil of the present - we'll just have to wait and see.

The Day The Bottle Died

Hello from Mexico

Traveling for 12 hours on a rickety old bus whose air conditioning unit was obviously stuck on the freeeeeeeze setting and constantly dripped cold water on me, I finally reached my next destination, Playa Del Carmen in Mexico. Just south of Cancun, Playa Del Carmen is a popular holiday location for Mexicans and tourists alike with its beautiful beaches and proper streets and pavements. Normally I would not stay in such a touristy seaside holiday destination for long, but when I found out what was on offer close at hand, then I knew that an extended visit was on the cards and that is exactly how it turned out. My first port of call was the Mayan ruins of Tulum which was only a short bus ride away and is listed in the top five of Mayan ruins to visit. Unlike all the other Mayan ruins I have visited, Tulum is not situated in dense jungle, instead it was constructed on a cliff top looking out across the bluest sea gently lapping up onto a beach with the whitest sand, I have ever seen. The extensive ruins of Tulum are exceptionally well preserved and renovated but the three hours it takes you to cover the whole site in the blistering Mexican sun is absolutely strength sapping.I developed a theory as to why the Mayans may have built this city in this location so when I finished my tour of the site, I followed in the theoretical footsteps of the original residents and submerged myself in the Azure waters of this part of the Caribbean for about an hour before jumping on the bus back to Playa Del Carmen with my knickers still dripping wet.

Playa Del Carmen's night life is vast and varied whilst remaining wonderfully subdued and understated. The many bars here nearly all have live music on and you can take your pick from Blues to Be Bop and dance, drink and make merriment until the early hours of the morning - so I stayed in the hostel every night and sipped my hot Cocoa before going to bed early - oops my nose is growing.

Mexico is also famous for its Cenotes which are beautiful blue lagoons in underground caves where the roof has partly caved in exposing them to the sunlight. Playa Del Carmen has its fair share of Cenotes and over the next couple of days I intended to swim in every single one that I could find. The first Cenote I visited was accessible only by a makeshift ladder that just seemed to go down and down for ever but the descent was well worth it for what was awaiting me. About twenty feet up the wall of the cave there was a natural precipice that the young local children climbed up to and jumped off, competing with each other to make the biggest splash "it would be rude not to" I thought to myself so up the wall I clambered. The water in these Cenotes is so clear that you can see the bottom but they are so deep that you could never reach the bottom without Scuba gear. It's a different story though when you are up there trying to pluck up the courage to jump The water is so clear and still that it looks as though it isn't there at all and that you are jumping straight onto the rocks on the bottom, it also has the added effect of appearing to be a lot higher than it actually is. After quite a while standing on the high dive board mentally making excuses and giving myself numerous good reasons not to jump, I suddenly became aware of all the puzzled little locals eyes looking up at me with my knees knocking and my bottom lip held firmly by my top teeth. I had no choice, peer pressure was nagging at me and after all, they had just done it without any hesitation, so off into the unknown I launched myself. With the inaugural jump out of the way there was no to be holding me back, triple somersaults, back flips, round turns with two half hitches - well maybe not but I did dive off once. What I didn't know at that first Cenote was that this was not as it felt, the ultimate buzz, and that each one I was to visit next would just get better than the one before it. After a couple of days of higher and higher, better and better Cenote conquering I thought I was king of the Cenotes, I hadn't realised it at the time but I still had to experience what really was to be the ultimate, but that is in another town and for another time. Flippin heck, all this excitement could kill me, it was about time for me to take unprecedented action and force myself to relax a tad in this great little holiday hideaway and give myself a triple dose of the medicinal compound I have named as vitamin "T" = Tacos, Tortas and Tequilas. I had fully intended on going to Cancun next but negative reports from fellow travellers and such a good time in Playa Del Carmen convinced me that I should draw on my dwindling reserves of resolve and journey west towards the countries capital, Mexico City, taking in as many arduous adventures and Pueblos as would surely cross my path. One last ruin (Coba) before I go, but because I am fairly sure you must all be getting "ruin fatigue" by now I'll spare you the details, and it's off to Merida
I'm sorry but on the way to Merida lies the most popular and photographed Mayan ruin - no this is not your cue like the adverts on telly to go and put the kettle on, so stay put and listen for just a little while longer. The ruin in question is known as Chichen Itza and if you have ever seen a picture of a Mayan ruin in a book this will probably be where it is. On the day I arrived it was blazing hot so I set off to get the photograph that would make me rich, scantily clad and carrying nothing but a packet of cigarettes, a small bottle of water and my trusty old camera, non of which proved to be of any use in the end. What on earth could spoil all three of them? I had just about arrived at the beginning of the city when the heavens opened soaking my fags, rendering my digital camera useless and leaving me wondering what on earth I had brought water with me for. so I just skipped the ruins and got back on the bus On then to Merida and a date with fate - the ultimate buzz Cenote.

Merida is a fairly large city being the state capital but churches, markets and Mayan ruins didn't even enter my head during my stay, Cenotes of significance were the single minded focus of my attention. I'm sure I could hold an audience's attention for quite a while with the descriptions of the beautiful sinkholes I visited whilst in Merida but the one I call the "Ultimate" pales them all into insignificance. Other than a really long hot walk, after a couple of hours on a stuffy bus and twenty minutes on a bicycle rickshaw, there is only one way to get to "Ultimate" and that is by a type of railway carriage pulled by a horse. There is only one rail track to the "Ultimate" and as the horse trundles it's way through the countryside pulling the open carriage over rail tracks that make the Bridge over the River Kwi look modern, it disturbed large swarms of the most beautiful butterflies that filled the air in a festival of colour. Because there is only one track, when you meet a carriage returning from the Cenote, one of them has to give way and hand manage their carriage off the tracks to allow the other one to pass. There doesn't seem to be any protocol to this ritual other than the biggest driver always seems to get right of way - unfortunately my driver was just a kid. When I finally reached the "Ultimate" the whole in the roof was tiny and looking down through it almost blocked out the natural light, so from above you could not see what was in store for you. Thankfully there was another way in and the local land owner had realised that this was potentially an up and coming tourist attraction, so he had developed the other entrance and even lit the way in with artificial light. When you enter the cave the first thing you see is an artificial diving platform about 15ft high but looking around there doesn't appear to be any other place to jump from. I don't know if the owners 12 year old son shows off for every tourist that visits the Cenote but I can tell you he impressed me when he suddenly arrived, dived in and swam to the other side of the cave, then when he emerged from the water started to climb the sheer rock wall in front of him. Effortlessly he scaled the wall as if he had suckers on his hands and feet, ever onward ever upward he just kept going. By the time he stopped at an elevated ledge and turned his back on the wall he was just a speck in the distance. It was like watching someone commit suicide when he just fell forward and plummeted down to the wall of water that he was about to hit. I have a confession to make - when I saw that young lad emerge from the water with a smug smile on his face, my bottle went and I couldn't bring myself to even contemplate emulating him - I had finally met my match, he had inadvertently taught me fear.

C you all later

A Nasty suck - Belize me

Hello my friends

I almost feel ashamed to report again from another paradise Island with all the usual attributes so I'm not even going to mention the turquoise waters, the golden sands etc. etc. etc. lest I make you jealous.

Before setting out for Caye Caulker I spent some time in the Capital of Belize - Belize City, which despite being a nice quaint little city (having a population of only 70,000), it doesn't have a great deal to offer the sightseeing tourist who is looking for splendid architecture and such like. Not a great deal to wax lyrical about here so I'll shut me gob and get on with the best bits of Belize the country.
Belize boasts that it has the worlds longest barrier reef, and before I hear all my Ozzie cobbers screaming profanities and gasping with disbelief, the Belizeans do have a point. The Great Barrier Reef was allegedly damaged by the French when, many years ago, they conducted Nuclear tests in the erea, wipeing out a chunk of the Reef and effectively splitting it into two. According to Belize, despite being classified as the second longest reef in the world, its reef is continuous it is therefore the longest. I have no opinion either way on the debate, in fact It is matter-less to me either way as I have snorkeled both of them and find them both equally impressive
Caye Caulker is a Coral Island about a two hour boat ride off the East coast of Belize . As I approached the Island I was surprised to see that there was in fact two Islands and not one, as I had read. Interestingly enough though, what I read was correct originally, correct that is until thirteen years ago when a huge a hurricane hit the Island sweeping away a section in the middle leaving two seperate halves. The channel created between the two halves of the Island is, surprisingly enough, known as the "Split" and it's a great place to snorkel if your prepared to swim like mad all the time just to stay still - the currents are really strong. I'm not sure what the population of this wonderful little place is but it only has one sandy street lined on both sides by quaint little wooden houses and it takes less than twenty minutes to walk its length and two minutes to cross from one side to the other. As you would expect, this fabulous little place is a favourite leisure time destination for mainland Belizeans but fortunately for me there are not a lot of other tourists here, so keep this info to yourself. As you can imagine, an Island as small as this can only really offer waterborne activities and a few bars to relax in when the hustle and bustle of a hard days play is over, but Hey, who am I to complain about a local way of life. My first day was spent ambling around, sampling the Islands cuisine and checking out what Rastafarian style adventures were on offer for the unsuspecting traveller. It was obvious that I only had two choices, lying around on the beach or go out in a boat, so when I discovered a local place called Ragamuffin Boat Tours with the slogan "go slowly" I decided to check it out. Ragamuffin tours are basically an all day booze cruise with food and drink supplied and some very special snorkeling thrown in - sounded good to me so I booked up for the following day with the excited anticipation of Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. The cruise started at 8am so I was there, already in the cafe next to the jetty at 7.30am tucking into a full English breakfast complete with a cup of tea, by the time crew and other passengers arrived. We had no sooner hoisted the sail and received our obligatory safety talk than the fist of our many complimentary drinks were in our hands, Bob Marley was blasting out the speakers and the captain had everybody falling about laughing with his Corny jokes and his fishy tales - this was destined to be a long, fun filled, hilarious day. By the time we hit our second dive site of the trip at about midday, everyone was getting a little bit tipsy and the party was in full swing, which was a good job as we were about to need a fair snifter of Dutch courage to get us through the next hours snorkeling. The captain informed us that we were about to dive for our lunch, as he looked down to the sea bed through the crystal clear water and pointed out some enormous Conchs the size of footballs. The only problem was that we could also see many stingrays and sharks swimming about down there - the need for so much booze became painfully obvious - but, the captain assured us that there hadn't been a shark attack in the area for many years and the Stingrays were as placid as a sleeping goldfish, so over the side we trustingly jumped. It was literally only minutes before the captain burst into whole hearted unrestrained laughter as he threw loads of cut up fruit into the water beside us and we were instantly surrounded by dozens of Nursery Sharks thrashing about in the water in a feeding frenzy. The captain jumped in beside us and assured us we had nothing to fear from this type of shark as they don't have teeth. "All very well," I thought, "but I bet they could give you a nasty suck". After the shark encounter on the surface it was time to take a sharp intake of breath and dive deeper to the sea bed below and say hello to those nice little Stingrays. Because they feed by suction on the bottom of the sea bed, Stingray's mouths are on the underside of their bodies, so we were not in any danger from them as long as we approached them from the front and stayed clear of the barbs on their tails which the would only use for self defence anyway. We even got the chance to handle one of them once the captain had showed us how to do it without harming them - you want to try holding your breath underwater with a huge satisfied smile beaming across your mush from ear to ear, it ain't easy.

Back on board the boat, we necked yet another alcoholic drink and scoffed the Conchs we had collected - even raw they are surprisingly good - before setting sail for another dive site for even more diversity of marine life including Moray eels and Barracudas, both of which have a vicious set of gnashers that could inflict you with some serious souvenirs. Two more dive sites and numerous more colourful tropical fish later and it was time to weigh anchor, splice the main brace and set sail for home, to the dulcet tones of Rod Stewart accompanied by a drunken hoard of would be's, screeching out an almost unrecognisably version of Sailor. To finish off a perfect day the captain even entrusted me to take the Helm and get us all back to dry land safely, then presented me with an official crew T shirt for doing so. A couple of cold beers to wash down my delicious Lobster dinner that evening, completed the perfect day in a perfect way so it was early to bed for an early boat back to the mainland in the morning for a long travel day to Playa del Carmen in Mexico.

Hasta Luego

Don't loose your head over a game of football son

Hello again, I think I'm starting to spoil you all with the frequency of reports these days, But I had "The Force" with me on this one.

I arrived at Tikal at 4am to catch the incredible view of the ruins as the sun rose on it, unfortunately the mosquitoes had the same idea and bang, didn't they just love it - I must have been the Mosquito version of the lottery jackpot. Despite feeling like a pin cushion, the trek through the jungle was a very enjoyable and interesting one with lots of unusual creatures of the night and an extremely knowledgeable guide, BUT - and don't you just know there is usually a BUT attached to my adventures, things rarely go to plan - as the evenings veil of darkness rolled back to reveal the glory of a new day dawning, all I could see was MIST! The morning sun burned off most of the mist fairly quickly but not quickly enough to afford me the pleasure of seeing the ruins in all their magnificent splendour, illuminated by a spectacular Guatemalan sunrise. As far as I'm concerned you can keep the Pyramids of Egypt, they all look the same to me
and although they are undoubtedly a tremendous fete of engineering construction, once you've seen one you've seen them all. Mayans on the other hand, built their practical Pyramid type structures in inaccessible places and lived in them, whole cities and communities of aristocrats, artists, scholars, tradesmen and farmers lived and worked here in a variety of different buildings. The most spectacular buildings are as you would expect, places of worship, some of which tower so high that they protrude out above the jungle canopy and the panoramic views from the summit are breathtaking, breathtaking that is, if the flipping climb up there hasn't already left you breathless. The Mayan culture is a fascinating one with many complexities to it but you are going to have to read up on it for yourself if you're interested as I would be stuck at this bloody computer for hours on end if I started. I will however wet your appetite with one or two goodies to arouse your interest.

Many of the Mayan carvings depict rulers, generals and holy men and it is not unusual to note that they often had six fingers or toes on one hand or foot and four or even five on the other. The official guide books tell you that this was not a mistake on behalf of the stonemasons but that interbreeding was so common that many Mayans often had strange deformities - it's no wonder that they played flutes and not pianos! It may have been an advantage though in the local football matches - I kid you not, every Mayan city has a ball park and played each other in a strange form of football on a regular basis. The pitch is only about the size of a tennis court and has walls down either side sloping in at a forty five degree angle. Don't expect me to even attempt an explanation of the rules - it would be easier trying to explain the offside rule in our football game to a group of footy hating women. I don't think the F.A. would approve of the rewards for the winning team either - they got to cut off the heads of the loosing team as a sacrificial thank you to the Gods? Don't loose you heads over a silly game lads! Offering blood to the Gods played a huge part in the everyday lives of the Mayans but all isn't as it seems, it was not within the power of ordinary Mayans to order a human sacrifice to the Gods so they had to make do with a sort of do it yourself version. Every household had a small, freestanding type of sacrificial alter, not dissimilar to the ornamental bird baths that you would have in your garden at home, into which they would pour human blood and set it on fire somehow, wafting the smoke around with their hands to spread it out amongst the Gods. All well and good so far but it's where they got the blood from that is enough to make your toes curl. To get enough human blood to satisfy the Gods the women would cut their own faces or other parts of their bodies or stick thorns through their tongues and the men would even go to the ultimate eye watering extremity of giving themselves - wait for it - a sort of incomplete circumcision - ouch!

Enough, enough I hear you cry, so I'll leave you with one last little bit of info about Tikal before heading of for my next country, Belize. I haven't seen the Star Wars film, Return of the Jedi, but I am reliably informed that Tikal was the location for the filming of the Ewok planet of Endor????? so maybe some of you out there know exactly what this place looks like.

On to Belize now - another country but the same old story on the buses, peddle to the metal, Bob Marley on the radio, a slogan about Jesus obscuring half the windscreen and an apparent death wish to visit him early in every drivers heart. None the less, I arrived at my first destination in Belize safe and sound although one guy nearly didn't make it when the back door that he was leaning against, suddenly flew open and he just managed to hold on and pull himself back into the bus.

The first destination in question was the Trek Stop Eco Friendly hostel just outside San Ignacio from where I could easily reach the Ruins of Xunantunich and Caracol.

San Ignacio is a lovely little place with friendly locals and some nice bars and eating places. Having said that, there is not a lot to do in terms of a buzzing night life or even late bars but as I said, the locals were friendly and made the effort to come and introduce themselves to me as soon as they realised I was not a septic tank (Yank), so it was very pleasant and welcoming, especially because Creole was once again widely spoken. Trying to learn to speak a little bit of Creole was an absolute hoot as it is so hard to miss big chunks of a sentence out, it's a bit like trying to speak like Norman Collier used to do on his supposedly broken microphone. An example of this would be "Me han no chuch maan" which is a way of telling someone that if they are aggressive towards you you will fight back; It literally means "my hand doesn't go to church". Even the hostel I stayed in was pleasant and laid back although it was an hours walk from the pub, but that didn't really matter as the locals would always stop and pick you up if they saw you on the road late at night.


The Mayan ruins of Xunantunich and Caracol were not as spectacular as Tikal but they were still very interesting and different, and they did have the most informative well presented Mayan museum that I had seen so far. Back at the hostel there was the added bonus of a free butterfly farm where rarer species were bred to be released into the wild by the hostel owner, who incidentally also had the unusual hobby of collecting Tarantulas for the guests to see and hold before releasing them back into the wild - all in all a totally relaxing place to spend a few days. With my batteries charged to the full, lead in my pencil and armed with some mouth watering information about a great Island to visit, I was off on my wanderings again with a Falderee Falderah and a knapsack on my back.


Caye Caulker here I come!


See you all there!

Rub a Dub Dub

Hello again - Here's another report before the Alzheimer's disease gets too bad. I was convinced I had already written this report but it appears I was only dreaming.

Rio Dulce literally means Rtver Sweet but I can tell you it was nothing like sweet when I arrived here. It was after all the rainy season here and the water levels had risen considerable breaching the river bank and flooding the jungle floor some two hundred metres inland. This flooding resulted in reducing the foraging area for ground dwelling animals so they had been forced to move closer to human habitation and the area that I was to stay in - rub your hands Ropper, get your jungle joggers on, and let's have an adventure. Unfortunately, because the prey had moved so much closer, so had their dangerous predators. Normally this wouldn't bother me one iota, but I always listen to the advice of the local inhabitants and in this case the advice was "under no circumstances venture further into the jungle away from the river" It transpired that the huge influx of dangerous predators were predominately highly venomous snakes whose camouflage was so good that it would be highly likely that I would step on one and it would defend itself. No problem, I would just find a local snake expert, ply him with copious quantities of free alcohol and get him to promise to take me snake hunting the following day when he'd sobered up. It's amazing how many of locals become snake experts at the thought of free beer, but non of them were willing to take me out into the jungle. It obviously really was to far to dangerous, as they say in Manhattan "It's a jungle out there" and there are many other things to see around here.

Downstream from where I was staying, where the Rio Dulce meets the Caribbean, nestled on the riverbank is the picturesque Garifuna town of Livingston. Livingston can only be accessed by boat and as I boarded the boat that goes there each day, the skipper told me to expect a couple of nice little surprises along the way. The first pleasant surprise was that instead of the murky brown waters that the rains had caused in the main river, lots of little inlets and tributary waterways were much cleaner and so picturesque. On one such waterway, as we passed quaint little huts on stilts. we came to a huge green carpet of water lilies. It wasn't just the quantity of water lilies that made this place so impressive, but the actual size of them - up to three feet in diameter and perfectly round like huge green pizzas - it almost looked as though you could get out of the boat and walk across them just as the numerous birds were doing. The other inhabitants on this floating raft included, as you can imagine, many different species of frogs and in one case a large green frog sitting perfectly still, smack bang in the middle of a lily. A girl who was in the boat with me described the scene perfectly when she said "I'm sure if I kissed that frog, it would turn into a handsome Prince" and if you think of a child's colouring book version of a big frog on a lily pad then you'll visualise the picture perfectly - it was surreal. Further down stream, Captain Kirk pointed out a cliff of many colours which looked like an artists mixing pallet with the main colour being a yellowish beige, a sure sign of sulphur and the smell of rotten eggs confirmed this. Our skipper moored the boat to a fallen tree trunk near to the cliff and told us to put our hands into the water on both sides of the boat. On one side of the boat the water was cold but on the cliff side of the boat (I would say on the Port or Starboard side of the boat but that would be akin to asking you to appreciate the skills of a Mime Artist on the radio) the water was as warm as bath water. There is only one thing to do when you've been travelling for a while and you come across hot water, no matter how smelly it is, that is to jump in and have a good scrub down. Shining like a new pin and being able to sniff my own own armpits for the first time in a long while without passing out, we continued our journey down the river to Livingston without the usual entourage of of groupie flies that I had sort of got used to. There is nothing much to do in Livingston but it is well worth a look at and being on the Caribbean coast, the local dialect is wonderfully Creole.
Back at my flooded base camp I was told of an old Spanish fort on the river that could not only be reached by canoe but that also had a tunnel that could be canoed through, so the following morning I borrowed a canoe and set off in search of history. The fort was only about a mile away and I could easily have walked there along the bank in half an hour or so - but hindsight is a wonderful thing and canoeing is one of my favourite pastimes - or at least it was! The fort was up river and with the rains swelling it to record highs, it was flowing at a rate of knots that meant I couldn't stop paddling for a split second lest I ended up further down river than where I started from. I did eventually reach the illusive fort some time later, absolutely knackered and sweating like a fat bloke in a bakery, only to find that the unusual height of the river had rendered the tunnel accessible only to those who had scuba gear. For every negative there is a positive and the paddle down steam was a blast, taking only a fraction of the time to return, in fact I was going so fast that I nearly overshot the mark and returned to Livingston.
All good stuff but there aren't any Mayan ruins here so it was time to move on because I was only two or three days away from famous ruins of Tikal deep in the jungle. Tikal couldn't be reached in one day so I gritted my teeth and suffered a visit to yet another beautiful Caribbean Island - Flores. It's all right for you lot sitting at home with your feet up, watching the telly and scoffing your Prawn Cocktail crisps washed down with a can of beer, but stop being so flipping shellfish ( oops! a Freudian slip ) and spare a thought for little old me - forced to inhabit Paradise Islands day after day, surrounded only by Palm Trees and beautiful bronzed babes to shelter me and my ice cold Cuba Libra ( Vodka and Coke ) from the hot Caribbean sun!

I'm sorry but I'm going to leave you there for the time being, try to make the best of a bad job and speak to you all again when I escape the shackles of Utopia and resurface at the Mayan city of Tikal.

Death Squads

Hi - how you all diddling out there? I seem to flying through Central America so there's not to many more of these reports for you to wade through so bare with me for a while and get your teeth into this one.

After a Salsa lesson and a late night out in Antigua, I left the "Bad Boy" behind and jumped on another chicken bus for a three hour drive to Lake Atitlan stopping off at Solola on the way to check out the market.

The first thing you notice when you arrive in Panajachel on the shores of Lake Atitlan is the three volcanoes that dominate the skyline and I decided there and then that I was definitely not going to climb any of them unless I was told about some special feature that could not be found anywhere else. Guess what! ................ I wasn't, so I didn't and I bet you are all so pleased that you don't have to live through yet another Volcano report. One of the main attractions here and my reason for coming, is the Indigenous people who live here and the market goods they produce and sell. Markets are fast becoming one of my favourite attractions of my travels; the colours, the diversity of handicrafts produced and the local vendors who are so engaging and entrepreneurial, all make for fascinating people watching opportunities.

Bacon and eggs with a cup of Liptons tea for breakfast in a local cafe, was a special treat that I certainly didn't expect to find in a little off the beat place like Panajachel, but boy will I remember it for a long time to come. With a happy tum and a spring in my step like a Peacock strutting it's funky stuff in front of a female, I boarded a little boat with a few friends, and sailed off to a remote beach for a spot of sunbathing and snorkeling - just for a change. By midday the sun gets far too hot to lie around in, so it was the perfect time to set off and visit an Indigenous village community. The Indigenous people who live here are direct descendants of the Mayans and the only English they seem to speak is "one Quetzal please" whilst holding out their hands with palms upturned and a cheesy grin on their little faces, as they strike up a pose for the cameras - bless their cotton socks. Being descendants of the Mayan people is very evident when you visit these lovely warm people and see the patterns in the fabulously colourful textiles they weave. The Mayans worshipped the sun and the moon amongst other things and had many ways to symbolise them, all of which can be seen intricately woven into their textiles, and seeing these wonderfully crafted fabrics on the market stalls was a timely reminder for me that I was now in a part of the World where Mayan city ruins can be seen in many of the jungles here. Perhaps it was now time to forget the Volcanoes, or at least put them on the back burner for a while, don my Indiana Jones outfit complete with whip, hat and shoulder bag ( don't laugh ) and start making plans for my favourite type of adventure. Firstly though, I have to go back to Antigua as I received an email from Nancy giving me a contact number of a Street Children project in Guatemala City. On the way back to Antigua the chicken bus stopped at Chchicasenango for what is reputedly Central America's largest market, and by gum from what I've seen I couldn't argue with that, it's absolutely enormous. I was a bit saddened though when I saw the amount of musical instruments on sale made out of the armoured shell of Armadillo, there must have been hundreds of them. I don't know whether or not they eat Armadillo, if they do I suppose it is justifiable not to waste any of it but if they kill it solely to make ornate gifts for tourists, I find that repulsive. You can buy just about anything on this market from dried Iguanas to a new wife but even I have standards to maintain and besides, it was hard to tell which was which!

Back in Antigua I was about to experience one of the biggest frustrations of my life and in facing these frustrations I inadvertently put myself into what could have been the greatest danger of my travels so far.

In a society where the poorest have little or no chance of escaping the chains of poverty, Guatemalan street kids face even greater hardships than most and as if that isn't enough they even have to dodge Death Squads just for being homeless. Merely trying to survive, the Street Kids of Guatemala sell bananas, Scavenge through garbage dumps, sleep in doorways or beside an abandoned railway station and very often turn to sniffing industrial solvents to alleviate the pangs of hunger. Bad enough you may think, but as I mentioned these kids also have to contend with Death Squads. The organisers and sponsors of the Death Squads call it "Social Cleansing" to justify the kidnapping, torture and murder of these helpless children that they call vermin, Didn't Hitler use similar terminology to justify his actions? In one case I heard about, a young boy of eleven was found in a sack, ......... he had been severely beaten then shot through the head before being dumped. These death squads are made up of privately funded Security forces who believe that their actions will send a message to other children to get off the streets; but where can they go? The Guatemalan government do not supply one single hostel for homeless children and openly concede that prosecutions against Police officers and Private Security guards for crimes against children, are extremely rare. Trying to get information about Guatemalan street kids resulted in me being asked to leave Libraries, being totally ignored and even being pointed at on the streets. Even when I tried to talk to the Charity whose phone number Nancy had emailed me, I was met with suspicion making it abundantly clear that they were uncomfortable about talking to me. Maybe I was getting a bit paranoid, but on one day, everywhere I went and every time I turned around or saw a reflection in a shop window, the same two armed security guards were there, looking in my direction. I knew that I couldn't stay forever so I took this as an indication that my welcome had expired and it was time to leave Antigua City and head off in search Mayan ruins and some jungle adventures - it's a lot safer.