Back on the road

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The final two weeks of our two and a half month journey across southern Mexico started in Merida, capital of the Yucutan state and its colonial heart. Merida is a bustling city full of locals going about their day in streets lined with old colonial buildings that proudly show their age and wouldn’t look out of place in the old town of Havana. We timed our departure from the monkey sanctuary with Halloween and the El Dia de los Muertos (The Day of the Dead) weekend as Merida is one of the top five places in the world to enjoy the festivities. Families in Mexico and Latin communities around the world celebrate the memory of their loved ones through parades and elaborate altars they share with others outside their homes and in the city square. They also colourfully decorate their deceased relative’s graves and spend time in the cemeteries playing songs and gathering in their memory. This is a tradition that dates back over 300 years and to see people openly sharing something other cultures consider so personal was truly a sight to behold.

On the evening of Halloween, people lined the streets of the city to watch the parade. Giant skeleton puppets passed, followed by masked men shooting fireworks and children dressed as ghouls who weaved in and out of the procession, howling the distress of lost souls. They were followed by a long line of youngsters pretending to mourn for those they had lost, some of which were so convincing that I began to feel bad for standing there watching without offering at least a hug. Moments later, decorated tuk tuks and horse drawn carriages came rolling by with passengers that had made a commendable effort to look the part, the last of which had a bottle of whiskey in her hand and seemed to be enjoying the journey considerably more than everyone else. After the procession, the girls got their faces painted while Rich and I made our excuses. This was probably not the best idea seeing as Kate is allergic to face paint but I was interested to see how her body would react so I let her crack on with it. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for Kate, not a great deal happened.

I won’t lie, the majority of our time in Merida was spent enjoying instant access to alcohol (a luxury we didn’t have during our five and a half weeks living in the jungle) and recovering from the repercussions of said enjoyment. This behaviour was encouraged by our travelling companions and we all spent our time together in Merida blaming one another for our lack of will power while trying to convince ourselves things would be different once we part ways. As expected, soon after Rich and Bex left Mexico we found sobriety and arranged a day trip to Celestun, a tiny fishing village in the Gulf of Mexico that is home to a biosphere reserve that protects the thousands of migratory birds that pass through its lagoons each year. We’re not the most enthusiastic of bird watchers but we were keen to see one bird in particular that brings visitors to these waterways; flamingos. At certain times of the year, flocks of up to 20,000 flamingos, the biggest colony in the Americas, gather in these waters. Unfortunately, this was not that time of year. However, our two hour boat journey into the sheltered lagoons of Celestun treated us to a satisfactory amount of flamingos as well as a healthy amount of pelicans, egrets, herons and storks. During the relaxing cruise through the area, the captain of our 8-seat boat ensured everyone was awake when he drove us into a mangrove passageway barely wide enough to pass through at full throttle. I, for one, was not impressed.

After a solid three days of convincing Kate we needed to see another Mayan temple, she reluctantly agreed to accompany me to Uxmal, formerly one of the largest cities of the Yucutan peninsula, back during the Classic Period of 600-900AD. These ruins are less crowded than others in southern Mexico. You could literally count the amount of other visitors we saw that day on five or six hands. The site is also void of the endless plots of vendors selling souvenirs that sadly overwhelm some of the more popular ruins. The architecture and detail in the sculpture of the temples and palaces at Uxmal were unlike any we had seen thus far. Subsequently, Kate forgave me for the hassle and torment I had bestowed upon her to secure company for the day. Result.

From Merida we took a day-long bus journey to the southernmost Mexican state of Chiapas and a tiny little jungle hideaway called El Panchan. Part of me was unsure as to why we were returning to the jungle only a week or so after an arduous five week stint, but we had heard many positive things about this retreat that is home to a variety of bohemian residents and wanderers, artists, archaeologists, and backpackers who never quite managed to leave. El Panchan was set up by Son Moises, an archaeologist who came to the area as one of the first explorers of the Palenque ruins. He bought the land and raised a family as he continued to explore the area and named it El Panchan, Mayan for heaven on earth. The settlement is now a sprawling maze of rustic huts and unusual sleeping options, crisscrossed by a gentle stream and hidden below the tall, thick jungle canopy. There is a single restaurant where all residents gather each night to feast, drink and enjoy local live musical entertainment. And a slice of heaven it was. The rooms weren’t too shabby, the food and music were great and the only thing that disturbed our sleep was the chorus of howler monkeys from the trees above each morning. Why they are called howler monkeys I do not know. Growler monkeys would be far more fitting. The guttural ‘howl’ sounds like Darth Vader turned up several notches and bled through a distortion pedal into an earhole lined with sandpaper and broken glass. If you want to know what this sounds like, think back to the roar of the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park as the sound used was a recording of these noisy sods. Alternatively, just type howler monkeys into youtube.

Our main reason for stopping at El Panchan was to see Palenque, one of the most beautiful Maya ruins in all of Mexico, famed for its unrivalled jungle setting and ferocious mosquitos. This former city is extremely vast and the area that is open to the public only covers 2km of the 19km that have been discovered, 34 structures out of the 1400 that are currently recorded, the majority of which remain unexcavated. Giant pyramids tower out of the thickly forested hills and early each day the ruins are partly hidden behind dense morning mists. We spent the best part of a day enjoying the tranquillity and exploring the ruins and the jungle paths between the different groups of buildings. We were also rewarded for making the effort to find Palenque’s waterfall, possibly the most enchanting series of falls I have ever seen, the so-called Bano de la Reina (Bath of the Queen).

After the humidity of the rainforest we ventured on to our last port of call in Mexico, the highlands city of San Cristobal de las Casas. The bus system in Mexico is probably the best we’ve ever used, but nothing could be done to prevent the road blocks that resulted in us having to take a five hour detour to get to the highlands, increasing our journey time from four to nine hours. When we got off the heavily air conditioned bus, we were expecting to be hit with the usual wall of heat that had greeted us after every bus trip. However, we were 2100m above sea level and should have expected the coldness that waited for us. Foolishly not anticipating this difference in temperature, we rocked up in San Cristobal wearing shorts and vests and the one pair of trousers and thin jumper I possessed were packed deep in my bag as, up until now, they had been the least used item I was carrying.

San Cristobal is one of Mexico’s best preserved Spanish colonial cities and sits within a small valley up in the central highlands of the southern state of Chiapas. Cobbled streets, colourful textile markets and quirky cafes fill the city centre and the countryside which surrounds it is home to many indigenous groups that descend from the Mayas, and endless fields of grazing animals and farmland. The local indigenous people all wear traditional dress which varies from group to group and can be seen across the highlands. San Cristobal is a great place to use as a base for exploring the whole Chiapas area. From here we explored the Sumidero Canyon on a two hour boat trip along the Grijalva River, passing between the towering canyon walls. These 1000m cliffs were formed as long ago as the Grand Canyon, around 35 million years ago, and, as we’ve never been to the Grand Canyon, it was easily the most impressive canyon we have ever seen. Along the way we saw a few waterfalls that fell into a cloud of rain as the walls below vanished, a troop of spider monkeys and a couple of freshwater crocodiles.

As a few months had passed since we last went horse riding and the bruises had well and truly healed, we thought what better way to explore the highland countryside and indigenous settlements than on horseback. Full of confidence, what with this being the fourth time I’ve ridden a horse, I was looking forward to a gentle walk along the river with plenty of photo opportunities from atop of my steed. What it actually turned out to be was a climb up and over a muddy hill at a 45 degree gradient through a track barely wide enough for a snake to pass. Luckily my horse was familiar with this route so I just hung on, leaning so far forward that I could kiss its ears and so far back that I could kiss its rear end, as and when such angles were necessary to ensure I remained as one with my animal. Once the hill was conquered, we joined up with the stream I was longing for and a few relaxing moments were enjoyed. Shortly thereafter we joined back onto the road towards the settlement of Chemula. Once again I ended up with the horse that always had to be in the lead. Still not quite capable of a controlled canter, imagine the horror when my horse went from trot to canter to full on gallop. As I flew past Kate, apparently she heard me screaming out her name in a moment of panic. However, all I remember is clinging on for dear life while trying to remember where the brakes were. Needless to say, I survived and have since retired from horse riding, having now completed the task I set out to achieve - mastering all four speeds.

After two and a half months in this amazing country, experiencing some of most memorable experiences of our 30-ish years, both good and bad, we packed our bags and boarded the 7am bus that was to transport us to the third country of our trip, Guatemala. A country that has a bad rep in the press and less than appealing crime statistics on government advice websites. A country whose praises are sung by those who have visited, many claiming it’s the unexpected hidden gem of the Americas.

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