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Published: July 15th 2008
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Hola amigos and bienvenidos to the mexican leg of our cycle jaunt. We start off in Cancun and, oo it ain't 'arf 'ot. Except in our room in Casa Mexico Tipico, where it is just about sub-zero. We are staying with Hilda, her family and Pepita, the chihuahua. Hilda's mother is a music teacher and we are entertained by a parade of young pianists, percusionists and guitarists. All is not harmony, however, and I fear at one point that someone has stepped on Pepita, but it is only the violin class warming up.
We liberate our bikes from the cardboard that has encased them for the past month and take them for a test drive around the Cancun hotel zone. This purpose-built resort, set on a sand spit in the caribean, has luxurious hotels and beautiful beaches, jealously guarded by those same hotels, but accessible, provided that you don't look mexican, or suspicious. The latter rules us out. There is a characterless, international anonimity about it.
On the advice of our host, we escape to nearby Puerto Morelos, a small village which, despite its proximity to Cancun, has managed to preserve an unspoilt and relaxed air. We pass a
couple of hours snorkelling on the coral reef which lies just a few hundred metres beyond the beach. The waters are warm and crystal clear, and smooth, patterned corals rest like plump little brains on the sea bed. Swathes of brilliantly coloured fish wind amongst the gently swaying plants, and it seems that blues and purples are the colours to wear this season, for fish and plant alike. We spot barracudas, secretive lurking lobsters and tiny purple fishes hiding inside the smooth pink lips of giant conch shells. But oooh, ahhh, lovely though it is, there isn't the thrill of coming face to face with an inquisitive sea lion, or making way for a passing sea turtle. A few hours later, though, a new species is spotted - a pair of red-rumped Pearts. Note to self: more suncream required on the parts that protrude from the water. It's been a tough year for bottoms, and it gets worse the following day when we take to the bikes in anger for the first time in weeks.
Our route takes us south west, across the Yukutan peninsula. The terrain is flat and the road cuts through dense, lush tropical vegetation. We
resurrect our Australian habits and set off soon after daybreak, to complete our riding by midday, before the heat and humidity become unbearable and the afternoon storms strike. The tiny villages we pass along the way are made up of small houses of cane and thatch. Around about the vegetation has been cleared to make way for maize, courgettes and other crops scattered along the stoney ground. The people living and working here are an indigenous population, and it's a far cry from the bright lights of Cancun. From time to time, a Sustrans-worthy cycle way appears and we join the small army of tricyclists ferrying goods and people about. We cross two such tricyclists each carrying aloft a birdcage holding a bright vermillion finch.
One stopover finds us at a small farm run by a pair of retired maths teachers. There are comfortable cabins, set amongst lovely gardens where chickens and quail roam. Here, we have the novel experience of eating fried, fleshy cactus strips, tasty with lime and salt.
In the towns that we pass it's the end of the school term. In Chemex, the First School leavers are celebrating with an outdoor fiesta. The girls
are turned out like young ladies in their fine, new dresses. One young girl approaches us with the disarming question "Why did you come to Chemex?" It's a good question, and I´m still wondering. She tells us that it is four years before she will be leaving for the Secondary school and she is looking forward to having a beautiful dress, make-up and a pair of strappy high-heels. She adds that the latter are very expensive though, 120 pesos - about six pounds.
In Peto we stumble into the Secondary School-leaving celebrations. The girls are parading proudly around the plaza, immaculate in evening gowns. They are in groups of six ready for the display of dancing to follow. We see teams in lilac, in gold and in blue, teams with frilly white dresses and not-so-frilly white dresses, accesorised with baskets of pineapples. The boys look uncomfortable in shirts which co-ordinate with their partner's dress, and borrowed suits with shoulders too broad and trousers too long. There are speeches from the school teachers, commending the pupils on their hard work and encouraging them in the new life ahead of them. I wonder what their dreams and ambitions are, and whether
they will really have the opportunity to achieve them.
We stop awhile in the little town of Piste, adjacent to the Mayan city ruins of Chichen Itza. This impressive centre of religion, ritual and learning has numerous buildings and temples in various states of preservation. The most famous of them, the great pyramid of Kukulcan, is almost perfectly restored. Such was the Mayan's understanding of astronomy, and the pyramid so precisely aligned, that at the spring equinox the sun creates the image of a snake's body slithering down the pyramid to unite with the great carved snake's head at the base.
The Mayans firmly believed in the potency of sacrificed human blood to apease their creator and ensure rains for a bountiful harvest, and many buildings and rituals were dedicated to this end. There is a ball court, employed less for sport than ritual, where the captain of one of the competing teams - it is undecided whether it is the winning or the losing team - would be sacrificed following the game. We thought that this could bring an exciting dimension to modern team building techniques, as well as providing a definitive measure of the popularity of
the team captain. Another platform, adorned with a freize of skulls, was used to display the skulls of prisoners of war and other miscreants.
From Piste we creep along into Campeche state, sweating through the mornings, and spending the afternoons refuelling and wringing ourselves out. We break one of our morning journeys with a visit to the lesser known, and less well preserved, ruins at Sayil. This Mayan settlement has barely been rescued from the forest that had reclaimed it. The upper sections of thousand-year-old temples protrude from mounds of fallen stonework. Forest vegetation crowds around, and all is silent except for the cries of unseen birds and the hum of insects.
Finally, we have crossed the peninsula to arrive in the walled city of Campeche, perched on the Gulf of Mexico. The old city is a gem; streets of pastel coloured buildings, with a beautiful cathedral and plaza. The serene streets are the haunt of tourists and tour groups. Many of them peer into the patio of our hostel and take photographs. Perhaps they want to experience the curious life outside a 4-star hotel or an air-conditioned tour bus. Outside the city walls is the bustling work-a-day
city, crowded with shops, market stalls and street vendors, and devoid of tourists.
To avoid a busy and difficult stretch of road, we take to the bus for a ride towards the Mayan ruins of Palenque in Chiapas. Our base for two nights is the small, friendly town of Playas de Catazaja, situated on the fringes of a wetland area which is allegedly the haunt of manatees. Tempting though it is, we eschew the delights of a wild manatee hunt and spend a day visiting the ruins of Palenque. The star attractions here are the Temple of The Inscriptions, final resting place of Pakal one of the most important rulers of the city, and the Palace Residence of the ruling family. However, buried under the vast surrounding forest are more than 1500 other buildings which may never see the light of day again. As we climb up onto the temples and residences, see the friezes with traces of the original colouring, gaze back at portraits of Mayan faces with unnaturally elongated skulls and enlarged noses - the result of ancient and brutal cosmetic surgery - it takes only a little imagination to envisage the cruel and unjust society which
they created and maintained for so long. Their eventual downfall was more than likely due to over exploitation of the natural timber resources, which resulted in calamatous drought conditions. Does any of this sound familiar?
And so, leaving the Mayans behind us, we move along into Tabasco state. The landscape opens up; there are ranches amongst wetlands and cattle graze shoulder deep in the waterways. Clouds of snowy white egrets rise as we pass by. Between us and San Cristobal De Las Casas, our next destination, are hills, steep and clad in forest. Hasta luego...
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John from Oz
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You two Have good memories!!
I am thrilled that you two are putting your practices in Australia to good use. I have really enjoyed reading about your adventures and I compliment the author on the writing skills! The whole adventure is written about in an entertaining and skilled way!! Ride on dudes and do keep the words coming!!! I love the photos also!!!! Cheers.