Lonely Planet, Lonely Man, Lonely Travels
Hello Kids!
Oh, no. He's back, I hear you say. But this is good, as it's time for some more light entertainment from 'The Ridiculous Co. Ltd.' Due to the popularity of the 'Trials and Tribulations from Tulum' segment there may be a slight downfall in the quality. But do not fret - all will be redeemed as quantity is doubled. Bring on the diarrhea (verbal and proverbial! Yep, my guts have finally said NO and given up the ghost) and a pillow!! One thing is for sure; this will now read more like a traveler’s memoirs (you know, a bit like Paul Theroux or Bill Bryson.... hhhmmm) seeing as I have been....well,.....traveling! Remarkable.
So where do I start? I think I left off at the end of my monkey business in Costa Rica with the BBC Nat. History Unit. Well, after some time in the field living amongst my fellow fuzzballs (the monkeys, not the cameraman and producer) it was nice to look forward to some home comforts and civilization fix. Not for me - no rest for the weary. I bused it back to Tulum, and back to my scorpion, mosquito, and dust-infested room with a hammock. But the endless Caribbean beaches and cenotes beckoned. As did Kira from San Francisco...No guesses as to which call I heeded... Actually, I flew to San Francisco on a whim really - Kira had no real choice in the matter! I won't go into details, but suffice to say that I did indeed make it to that wonderful city, had a HOT shower (actually, many), got lost in Gaysville (I think they call it Castro), and camped up in the mountains in Yosemite National Park, ate some snow (no, no, not yellow) and no doubt acquired Giardia, and heard the best live rendition of Janet Jackson's 'That's the Way Love Goes' by the upcoming singer sensation, Kira........uhm, in a Chinese restaurant........ during,... uhm...... karaoke. Kira? 'Sweet you rock, sweet you roll.' So, that was my 12 days in California in a nutshell (granted; very, very small nutshell).
My flight back from S.F. was more like a second-class bus ride; we stopped at what seemed to be ever man and his auntie's house. Ok, not exactly, but we did stop in Guadalajara AND Mexico City before finally arriving to Cancun. So one man and his aunties' homes.
Once in Tulum I lasted only a week. The beach and the cenotes just got boring (hee, hee, just joking). But really, in low season, there is little to do in Tulum. Some partying, a full moon thing on the beach with some ambient African drumming. Luckily there was light at the end of the tunnel. The BBC wanted me to go to Ecuador for another shoot, around the 8th of June. Alas, it was postponed, leaving me with a decision to make (and a lot of you know, I am very indecisive): stay and do something useful with myself, or go for a little wander. Before I even had much time to think about it, my feet had already carried me to the bus stop, and my hands bought a one-way ticket to San Cristobal de las Casas, in the mountains of Chiapas. And I also found myself traveling with two Norwegian girls. Hello? Where was I during all of this?!
Sixteen hours and two military checkpoints later we arrived to the quaint colonial-type town of San Cristobal de las Casas. We asked a traffic warden for directions in the street. He proceeded to take the Lonely Planet, and stare at the map and ponder our position and our ultimate destination. This is all occurring while he is standing in the middle of an intersection, and cars want to turn. One finally does, and runs over the traffic warden's foot and knocks him to one side (sounds bad, but really just comical...for us of course, not for him). He chased after the car down the street, still with Lonely Planet in hand. Ah, welcome to the real Mexico!
I then ran into a spot of trouble in Zapatista country. You know how people (better if foreigners) get kidnapped/taken hostage by the EZLN (Zapatista National Liberation Army), then stowed away in some godforsaken jungle mountain hideout and cause international turmoil waiting for a ransom? Well, never mind that! I got some pukey bug/parasite/infection and was vomming all day and night. The only masked Zapatistas I saw were probably in my delirious dreams. Highlight? Threw up in two different spots on the picturesque 31 de Marzo plaza of San Cristobal de las Casas! Lovely. But I did get to see game 3 of the NBA Finals because of my inability to walk out of the hostel! Small mercy.
Incidentally, while spending a lot of time in toilets, I noticed one thing. Normally, you get stuff like 'Call Curvaceous Clare on (0131) 447-8269 for a good time' (oh, a little too much detail eh Clare!? I take it that's not your number any more....) graffitied on bathroom doors. Or 'To shit or not to shit, that is the question' (OK, I might have made that one up!). Anyway, well how about 'Marcos shat here', referring to Subcomandante Marcos of the EZLN?! Can you believe I shat/had my butt cheeks exactly where Subcomandante Marcos did? No, neither do I. What do you think Marcos would be doing in a Youth Hostel.....well, shitting apparently.
As Nina, one of the Norwegian girls, was even sicker than I was, they weren't able to keep me company on my onward journey. Next stop: Palenque, Mayan archeological site that offers a mysterious, awe-inspiring vision of great pomp and opulence, set on a lush green shelf at the edge of the Sierra de Chiapas rainforest (J Cummings & C. Mallan, 'Mexico Handbook'!!). The ruins are absolutely amazing. I had the fortune of setting my eyes on some wonderful remnants of Mayan civilization, as well as on some very live - possibly Mayan - large breasted porn stars/strippers who happened to be there too. Yes, of course I got a picture! Just not of me with them draped on each arm and at my feet, with the Temple of Inscriptions in the background (as I had dreamt thereafter).
I slung my hammock in a highly recommended place called Maya Bell, 3km from the ruins; A supposedly chilled out, hippie-type/traveler haven. So, first of all you would not expect ME there. True, but you also would not expect a fight over rice pudding! Yes! I am not pulling your leg: 'You didn't wait for me to eat the arroz con leche. You come into our campground, cause trouble and disrupt the environment. Leave our campground you damn Spaniard.' By the way, this had nothing to do with me - I was trying to sleep in my hammock. I felt like I was in the movie 'The Beach' again! (Again?! Huh? Yeah, didn't you know I was one of the motley crew in the movie with Leo di Caprio.........?
The next day I planned to make my own way to the Guatemala border, but there was no local transportation going. So I had to go on an organized convoy. And here are just a couple of towns that we drove through to get to the Mexico-Guatemala border: Nuevo Guerrero (New Warrior), Libertad (Freedom), La Reforma (The Reform), Nueva Esperanza (New Hope), and Nueva Palestina (New Palestine)!! No wonder we had an armed escort all the way to the Usumacinta River (where we got a boat to Guatemala). It's the equivalent of being in the Basque country in Spain amongst the ETA, or in Ireland cavorting with the IRA, or the Taliban in Afghanistan, or the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka or......ok, ok. Point made? Anyway, the police/guard/military guy wouldn't let me play with his M16 though.....meanie. He did, however, recount the gunfight that occurred 6 days before when some masked assailants came down from the hills and tried to hijack some convoy of vans with innocent tourists and locals! No panic spread through our ranks though, seeing as I was the only one who could understand the guy. You see, this is when NOT knowing the language would work to your advantage!
You will be happy to hear that it all went smoothly, and I was in Flores, Guatemala drinking Guatemala's supposedly best beer (dubious) while watching MTV Latin America within 7 hours. And feeling like I was drinking liquefied Kellogg's cereal.....(it has a rooster on the label, not unlike the Kellogg’s cornflakes one; not that it tastes of fricking Frosties!). Next day, Tikal; towering above the rainforest, it is possibly the most magnificent of all Maya ruins, dominated by five enormous temples, steep-sided granite pyramids that rise up to 60m from the forest floor, while around there are literally thousands of other structures, many semi-tangled by giant roots and still hidden beneath mounds of earth deep in the jungle (The Rough Guide: 'Central America'). Blah, blah, blah. Truly another-worldly place.
In case it was not apparent to any of you, tis rainy season now in the tropics. Well, how apt then to have seen a tornado while in Caye Caulker in Belize! We swiftly left dee island. But not before we had seen a little piece of paradise. It's a laid back island about an hour off of the Belizean coast, with signs like 'No shirt, No shoes, No Problem' in bars, or 'Betta no litta' (better not litter). And people telling you to 'Slow down man, you breaking dee speed limit'! Loved it. Swam with nurse sharks (thought of you Nick) and sting and eagle rays. But a lot of dead coral. Says a lot about the increased frequency and intensity of tropical storms and hurricanes, no doubt due to global climate change. A sorry state of affairs. I mean, Bush really hasn't got a clue, pulling the USA out of the Kyoto Protocol agreement and then proposing some Mickey Mouse scheme protecting business interests. Oh, am I ranting? And raving. Mad.
Did I tell you I made some friends while traveling - Cesar, a 9 yr old kid from Agua Azul, Mexico. Talked about BIG roller coasters, and geography i.e. how rain is formed! And Justin, from Biscayne, Belize - 7 years old. How cute!! Thought about stowing him away in my backpack, and taking him home for my mom. Then she would get off my back about making babies and giving her some grandsons.....Also met Monica from San Francisco, but she wouldn't be able to give me little cute black kids seeing as she was pale skinned and v. blonde! Never mind Monica. You can make little blonde Austrian babies with your boyfriend......
Crooked Tree in northern Belize.....now, doesn't that sound like a quaint and picturesque village? Yes, and hence why I made my way there ahead of the storms, only to find a dirt road that led to some wooden shacks and no real center of town. I was the only foreigner there. Even the cows looked at me in a funny way. "Pass the Dutchy on the Left hand Side" blasting out of wooden shacks. Stayed in some wooden shack. Ate fried chicken at EJ's, a wooden shack with reggae blaring out. You get the idea (the town should have been called Wooden Shacks). Met Roga' (Roger), who bought me a beer, and enlightened me on life in Crooked Tree Village: 'Crooked Tree is Love man'. Well, there you go. Why the name Crooked Tree, I ask? 'Is da old people put dat name'. Ah, yes, of course. Thank you.... good night. As for going into the Crooked Tree Wildlife Sanctuary: 'You go alone, you dead man'! One thing that struck me: Crooked Tree's domesticated animal-life makes textbook sounds. The cow's moos, the rooster's cockle-doodle-doo, the dog's woofs, and the cat's meows. Might as well all have a little bubble over their heads with the words printed. Astounding. Has to be lived to be truly believed. Then again, you may not give two shits...
The day after I arrived back into Tulum, I went to some caves just north of here: Aktun Chen. As soon as I walk near the entrance I have a sub-adult spider monkey on my head! And there I am trying to act cool as I walk to the reception area! Once I shook him off, I went to check out these snakes they had in cages, but ended up with both feet planted on the ground and one monkey on each leg. I could sport these guys as warm and fashionable moon boots along with the scarf baby howler monkey from Costa Rica around my neck....
And that brings me back to Tulum, square butted and cross-eyed from looking at this damn monitor. Not to mention with a large cut on my leg which is infected and swollen (the monkeys licking it did not help matters I am sure), and sandal-less, as someone has just graciously left there pieces of rubbery shit and taken my Reefs! The fucking nerve. All when I was here sitting and writing; and no, they were not ON MY FEET when it happened. Give me some credit. No doubt, I have left you square butted and cross-eyed too, so will put you out of your misery, unless you gave up a while ago, in which case you won't be reading this part!
I bid you good morning, good afternoon and goodnight, and hasta luego, or at least until I get back from Ecuador. I leave on Monday i.e. day after tomorrow for about six weeks. This time on the banks of the Napo River in the jungle, working with possums of all shapes and sizes. There is a possibility of contact. If you want, and I would like it, please write me at this address: amazoon@na.pro.ec obviously to my attention. They check it every week or so, and bring the 'mail' by canoe...oh dear, its going to be a long 6 weeks. Heeeeeelllllllllppppppp.......
All my love to each and every one of you,
Dave 'El Perdido' (The lost one).
Oh, no. He's back, I hear you say. But this is good, as it's time for some more light entertainment from 'The Ridiculous Co. Ltd.' Due to the popularity of the 'Trials and Tribulations from Tulum' segment there may be a slight downfall in the quality. But do not fret - all will be redeemed as quantity is doubled. Bring on the diarrhea (verbal and proverbial! Yep, my guts have finally said NO and given up the ghost) and a pillow!! One thing is for sure; this will now read more like a traveler’s memoirs (you know, a bit like Paul Theroux or Bill Bryson.... hhhmmm) seeing as I have been....well,.....traveling! Remarkable.
So where do I start? I think I left off at the end of my monkey business in Costa Rica with the BBC Nat. History Unit. Well, after some time in the field living amongst my fellow fuzzballs (the monkeys, not the cameraman and producer) it was nice to look forward to some home comforts and civilization fix. Not for me - no rest for the weary. I bused it back to Tulum, and back to my scorpion, mosquito, and dust-infested room with a hammock. But the endless Caribbean beaches and cenotes beckoned. As did Kira from San Francisco...No guesses as to which call I heeded... Actually, I flew to San Francisco on a whim really - Kira had no real choice in the matter! I won't go into details, but suffice to say that I did indeed make it to that wonderful city, had a HOT shower (actually, many), got lost in Gaysville (I think they call it Castro), and camped up in the mountains in Yosemite National Park, ate some snow (no, no, not yellow) and no doubt acquired Giardia, and heard the best live rendition of Janet Jackson's 'That's the Way Love Goes' by the upcoming singer sensation, Kira........uhm, in a Chinese restaurant........ during,... uhm...... karaoke. Kira? 'Sweet you rock, sweet you roll.' So, that was my 12 days in California in a nutshell (granted; very, very small nutshell).
My flight back from S.F. was more like a second-class bus ride; we stopped at what seemed to be ever man and his auntie's house. Ok, not exactly, but we did stop in Guadalajara AND Mexico City before finally arriving to Cancun. So one man and his aunties' homes.
Once in Tulum I lasted only a week. The beach and the cenotes just got boring (hee, hee, just joking). But really, in low season, there is little to do in Tulum. Some partying, a full moon thing on the beach with some ambient African drumming. Luckily there was light at the end of the tunnel. The BBC wanted me to go to Ecuador for another shoot, around the 8th of June. Alas, it was postponed, leaving me with a decision to make (and a lot of you know, I am very indecisive): stay and do something useful with myself, or go for a little wander. Before I even had much time to think about it, my feet had already carried me to the bus stop, and my hands bought a one-way ticket to San Cristobal de las Casas, in the mountains of Chiapas. And I also found myself traveling with two Norwegian girls. Hello? Where was I during all of this?!
Sixteen hours and two military checkpoints later we arrived to the quaint colonial-type town of San Cristobal de las Casas. We asked a traffic warden for directions in the street. He proceeded to take the Lonely Planet, and stare at the map and ponder our position and our ultimate destination. This is all occurring while he is standing in the middle of an intersection, and cars want to turn. One finally does, and runs over the traffic warden's foot and knocks him to one side (sounds bad, but really just comical...for us of course, not for him). He chased after the car down the street, still with Lonely Planet in hand. Ah, welcome to the real Mexico!
I then ran into a spot of trouble in Zapatista country. You know how people (better if foreigners) get kidnapped/taken hostage by the EZLN (Zapatista National Liberation Army), then stowed away in some godforsaken jungle mountain hideout and cause international turmoil waiting for a ransom? Well, never mind that! I got some pukey bug/parasite/infection and was vomming all day and night. The only masked Zapatistas I saw were probably in my delirious dreams. Highlight? Threw up in two different spots on the picturesque 31 de Marzo plaza of San Cristobal de las Casas! Lovely. But I did get to see game 3 of the NBA Finals because of my inability to walk out of the hostel! Small mercy.
Incidentally, while spending a lot of time in toilets, I noticed one thing. Normally, you get stuff like 'Call Curvaceous Clare on (0131) 447-8269 for a good time' (oh, a little too much detail eh Clare!? I take it that's not your number any more....) graffitied on bathroom doors. Or 'To shit or not to shit, that is the question' (OK, I might have made that one up!). Anyway, well how about 'Marcos shat here', referring to Subcomandante Marcos of the EZLN?! Can you believe I shat/had my butt cheeks exactly where Subcomandante Marcos did? No, neither do I. What do you think Marcos would be doing in a Youth Hostel.....well, shitting apparently.
As Nina, one of the Norwegian girls, was even sicker than I was, they weren't able to keep me company on my onward journey. Next stop: Palenque, Mayan archeological site that offers a mysterious, awe-inspiring vision of great pomp and opulence, set on a lush green shelf at the edge of the Sierra de Chiapas rainforest (J Cummings & C. Mallan, 'Mexico Handbook'!!). The ruins are absolutely amazing. I had the fortune of setting my eyes on some wonderful remnants of Mayan civilization, as well as on some very live - possibly Mayan - large breasted porn stars/strippers who happened to be there too. Yes, of course I got a picture! Just not of me with them draped on each arm and at my feet, with the Temple of Inscriptions in the background (as I had dreamt thereafter).
I slung my hammock in a highly recommended place called Maya Bell, 3km from the ruins; A supposedly chilled out, hippie-type/traveler haven. So, first of all you would not expect ME there. True, but you also would not expect a fight over rice pudding! Yes! I am not pulling your leg: 'You didn't wait for me to eat the arroz con leche. You come into our campground, cause trouble and disrupt the environment. Leave our campground you damn Spaniard.' By the way, this had nothing to do with me - I was trying to sleep in my hammock. I felt like I was in the movie 'The Beach' again! (Again?! Huh? Yeah, didn't you know I was one of the motley crew in the movie with Leo di Caprio.........?
The next day I planned to make my own way to the Guatemala border, but there was no local transportation going. So I had to go on an organized convoy. And here are just a couple of towns that we drove through to get to the Mexico-Guatemala border: Nuevo Guerrero (New Warrior), Libertad (Freedom), La Reforma (The Reform), Nueva Esperanza (New Hope), and Nueva Palestina (New Palestine)!! No wonder we had an armed escort all the way to the Usumacinta River (where we got a boat to Guatemala). It's the equivalent of being in the Basque country in Spain amongst the ETA, or in Ireland cavorting with the IRA, or the Taliban in Afghanistan, or the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka or......ok, ok. Point made? Anyway, the police/guard/military guy wouldn't let me play with his M16 though.....meanie. He did, however, recount the gunfight that occurred 6 days before when some masked assailants came down from the hills and tried to hijack some convoy of vans with innocent tourists and locals! No panic spread through our ranks though, seeing as I was the only one who could understand the guy. You see, this is when NOT knowing the language would work to your advantage!
You will be happy to hear that it all went smoothly, and I was in Flores, Guatemala drinking Guatemala's supposedly best beer (dubious) while watching MTV Latin America within 7 hours. And feeling like I was drinking liquefied Kellogg's cereal.....(it has a rooster on the label, not unlike the Kellogg’s cornflakes one; not that it tastes of fricking Frosties!). Next day, Tikal; towering above the rainforest, it is possibly the most magnificent of all Maya ruins, dominated by five enormous temples, steep-sided granite pyramids that rise up to 60m from the forest floor, while around there are literally thousands of other structures, many semi-tangled by giant roots and still hidden beneath mounds of earth deep in the jungle (The Rough Guide: 'Central America'). Blah, blah, blah. Truly another-worldly place.
In case it was not apparent to any of you, tis rainy season now in the tropics. Well, how apt then to have seen a tornado while in Caye Caulker in Belize! We swiftly left dee island. But not before we had seen a little piece of paradise. It's a laid back island about an hour off of the Belizean coast, with signs like 'No shirt, No shoes, No Problem' in bars, or 'Betta no litta' (better not litter). And people telling you to 'Slow down man, you breaking dee speed limit'! Loved it. Swam with nurse sharks (thought of you Nick) and sting and eagle rays. But a lot of dead coral. Says a lot about the increased frequency and intensity of tropical storms and hurricanes, no doubt due to global climate change. A sorry state of affairs. I mean, Bush really hasn't got a clue, pulling the USA out of the Kyoto Protocol agreement and then proposing some Mickey Mouse scheme protecting business interests. Oh, am I ranting? And raving. Mad.
Did I tell you I made some friends while traveling - Cesar, a 9 yr old kid from Agua Azul, Mexico. Talked about BIG roller coasters, and geography i.e. how rain is formed! And Justin, from Biscayne, Belize - 7 years old. How cute!! Thought about stowing him away in my backpack, and taking him home for my mom. Then she would get off my back about making babies and giving her some grandsons.....Also met Monica from San Francisco, but she wouldn't be able to give me little cute black kids seeing as she was pale skinned and v. blonde! Never mind Monica. You can make little blonde Austrian babies with your boyfriend......
Crooked Tree in northern Belize.....now, doesn't that sound like a quaint and picturesque village? Yes, and hence why I made my way there ahead of the storms, only to find a dirt road that led to some wooden shacks and no real center of town. I was the only foreigner there. Even the cows looked at me in a funny way. "Pass the Dutchy on the Left hand Side" blasting out of wooden shacks. Stayed in some wooden shack. Ate fried chicken at EJ's, a wooden shack with reggae blaring out. You get the idea (the town should have been called Wooden Shacks). Met Roga' (Roger), who bought me a beer, and enlightened me on life in Crooked Tree Village: 'Crooked Tree is Love man'. Well, there you go. Why the name Crooked Tree, I ask? 'Is da old people put dat name'. Ah, yes, of course. Thank you.... good night. As for going into the Crooked Tree Wildlife Sanctuary: 'You go alone, you dead man'! One thing that struck me: Crooked Tree's domesticated animal-life makes textbook sounds. The cow's moos, the rooster's cockle-doodle-doo, the dog's woofs, and the cat's meows. Might as well all have a little bubble over their heads with the words printed. Astounding. Has to be lived to be truly believed. Then again, you may not give two shits...
The day after I arrived back into Tulum, I went to some caves just north of here: Aktun Chen. As soon as I walk near the entrance I have a sub-adult spider monkey on my head! And there I am trying to act cool as I walk to the reception area! Once I shook him off, I went to check out these snakes they had in cages, but ended up with both feet planted on the ground and one monkey on each leg. I could sport these guys as warm and fashionable moon boots along with the scarf baby howler monkey from Costa Rica around my neck....
And that brings me back to Tulum, square butted and cross-eyed from looking at this damn monitor. Not to mention with a large cut on my leg which is infected and swollen (the monkeys licking it did not help matters I am sure), and sandal-less, as someone has just graciously left there pieces of rubbery shit and taken my Reefs! The fucking nerve. All when I was here sitting and writing; and no, they were not ON MY FEET when it happened. Give me some credit. No doubt, I have left you square butted and cross-eyed too, so will put you out of your misery, unless you gave up a while ago, in which case you won't be reading this part!
I bid you good morning, good afternoon and goodnight, and hasta luego, or at least until I get back from Ecuador. I leave on Monday i.e. day after tomorrow for about six weeks. This time on the banks of the Napo River in the jungle, working with possums of all shapes and sizes. There is a possibility of contact. If you want, and I would like it, please write me at this address: amazoon@na.pro.ec obviously to my attention. They check it every week or so, and bring the 'mail' by canoe...oh dear, its going to be a long 6 weeks. Heeeeeelllllllllppppppp.......
All my love to each and every one of you,
Dave 'El Perdido' (The lost one).
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