Blogging off

Tuesday, August 18th,  James worked and I packed the car. He arrived back at the house around 2 pm and we were on the road by 3 pm.  It was the final drive.  On the Bay Bridge I noticed the engine was revving high.  As I approached 50 and then 55 miles per hour the car was not shifting into 4th.  Manuelly shifting between drive and 3rd made no change. Something was wrong with the transmission.  James jumped on his iPhone and came up with a mechanic that works on Chevys in Berkeley.  So instead of driving north we exited and searched out yet another mechanic.

The options, as described by Gary our friendly mechanic, were as easy as a solenoid in electrical system of the transmission or as complicated as a new transmission.  He wouldn’t know until he ran diagnostics through the computer system the next morning. James and I left the shop and walked to the North Berkeley BART station for our new journey – back to James’ house.

The next morning I made the first call to the mechanic at 9 am.  After talking each hour it was decided the car just needed a new solenoid and that would be done around 3 pm.  James and I took the BART back over to Berkeley and walked to the shop and were on the road by 4 pm. It had been a 24 hour delay.  We stayed the night in Weed, California and rolled into Portland around 2 pm Thursday August 21st.

Thursday night my parents took me out to dinner at a new Thai restaurant in NW.  When I arrived back at the apartment I found an acoustic concert taking place in the backyard. There were over 30 people in attendance.

Friday night five of us went to a new restaurant and bar “Matador” in NW. At one point in the evening I noticed that everyone at the table except me were on the phone or texting. Looking around the restaurant I discovered our table was not unique.

Saturday I was lured to Reid’s house on a false pretense to find a party. It was a welcome home party with a wide array of family and friends in attendance.  What a great re-entry into the city. It is a joy to be surrounded by the familiarity and comfort of home but the lure of the road doesn’t fade quickly or easily.

It’s taken me a while to write this last blog.  After 33,000 miles, 16 countries, 13 months it is difficult to believe I have arrived at the end. In reality it is just the beginning however what and where the next adventure will be is yet to be determined.

Thanks to everyone who has followed along and given encouragement and support.  I couldn’t have made it through the last year without with it, especially the invaluable assistance of my dad. From emergency car question calls to postal logistics to caring for my vacant subterranean apartment to lengthly video chat updates he was always there and supportive granting me the freedom to continue.

Palm Springs, San Luis Obispo, Palm Springs

The two days in Palms Springs soaking up the sun in Merritt’s pool was a perfect first landing in the US. Thursday morning I drove around Los Angeles and up the 101 to San Luis Obispo and stayed with Melanie, Tony and their two kids Lucy and Milo. The last time I had seen any of them was 3 years ago just after Milo was born. It was great to catch up. They have built a beautiful house a short bike ride into the heart of San Luis Obispo.

Friday I drove up the 101 to San Francisco and met James at his office. That night James and I went to dinner with Frank Lindh and his partner Brian Johnson. I had never met Brian and I hadn’t seen Frank for over 7 years.

Saturday I was invited to accompany the company James works with on their employee rafting trip. We drove to the American River north east of Sacramento. We set up camp with the other guys and I was able to use my tent – for the first time this whole trip. Sunday we got our safety training and were off on the water. I’ve never rafted before and it was a perfect introduction; a very easy first half of the day and a few class three rapids the second half of the day.

Monday we drove back to San Francisco and had dinner with Denis and Paul and Joe and David two couples that recently moved back to San Francisco from Portland.

Tuesday James and I will start the last leg of the journey to arrive in Portland later on Wednesday.

Back in the U.S.A.

I arrived at Merritt’s in Palm Springs about 10 am on Monday. The border crossing was simple and quick. I had a pleasant conversation with the customs agent about my trip.  He was very interested in the border crossings and police stops in the various countries I had traveled through. It was much quicker and friendlier than the crossings I have experienced driving to Canada.

This is a great place to relax and reintegrate to the US. I am enjoying every 105 degree of the hot temperature here.

Culiacan, Hermosilla, Mexicali

It’s Sunday the 10th of August. The last three days I’ve driven 9 hours each day covering about 420 miles each day.

Friday I drove from Guadalajara to Culiacan. I had originally thought I might stay in Mazatlan but was able to go a couple hours north and made it to Culiacan about 7 pm. I was happy to realize that I had crossed a time zone and had gained one hour.

I first stopped at the Radisson in Culiacan but quickly left when I was told it was $120 a night. I settled for a local hotel that was just $25 a night. I was sitting on the bed when a large cricket like creature surprised me landing on my leg. I have no idea where he came from in that windowless room and I think he was as surprised as I was scampering quickly under the bed. I never heard or saw him again.

That night I walked up to the main street and found a restaurant named “Tu Sushi”. I ordered a chicken and avocado roll deep fried and topped with sirimi. I also had a meat and vegetable rice dish. It was not the sushi I’m used to but it was tasty.

Saturday I got up early and was on the road by 7 am. I drove from Culiacan to Hermosilla. In Hermosilla I followed the signs to the Zona Hotelera and found a large resort like hotel with a swimming pool. I arrived after 4 pm but was again pleased to learn that I had crossed another time zone and it was actually about 3:30 pm. I had time to lounge by the pool and enjoy the extreme heat. I paid a total of $84 in road tolls on Saturday.

Sunday I was again on the road by 7 am driving from Hermosilla to Mexicali. I easily found the hotel that Marcine had recommended and again had time to enjoy some heat poolside. I saw a sign as I drove through Mexicali showing the temperature was 105 degrees.

The Mexican countryside has been spectacular. Saturday I drove through lots of farm land. Most of the day Sunday was desert and desert mountains. The last part of the drive as I neared Mexicali the farming picked up. For much of the last couple hundred kilometers I drove very close to a large fence on the US border. Driving parallel to the border I have experienced some serious military checks. One check was obligatory for every car. All passengers out of the cars the search included looking at the underside with mirrors.

The Lucerna Hotel is supposedly only 10 minutes from the newer quicker border crossing. I hope to be on the road to the border around 7 am Monday morning. My last border crossing back into the US.

Mexico City, Morelia, Guadalajara

Mexico City, Morelia, Guadalajara

Driving into Mexico City we had two maps, the small city center map in the Lonely Planet and a larger overview showing only the main highways.  Mexico City is supposedly the second largest city in the world, behind Tokyo. I’ve heard numbers between 20 and 30 million.  We drove for miles through the outskirts.  Trying to follow the larger map of highways I became worried that we had missed our anticipated route into the center and rounded the city to the west.  In fact after a long time of not knowing exactly where we were we finally found a street sign and were in fact on the correct street driving north towards the historic center.

We didn’t have the address of the hotel we had made arrangements with but thought we knew the block in which to find it from the Zocalo.  When we went searching for the hotel all the streets in that section of the old historic center were all torn up.  We finally gave up and drove in the direction of the Zona Rosa.  Fortunately we hadn’t reserved the hotel with a credit card.  We stopped at the first hotel we passed, the Hotel Niza.  I parked outside nearly blocking traffic as Darrylle checked out the hotel.

It was passable and so we accepted two rooms with very high ceilings, balconies overlooking the street and terribly inferior bathrooms.  Unfortunately when we were previewing the rooms one was still being cleaned and I saw the mattress without sheets.  I had trouble getting that vision out of my mind and ended up sleeping the second night in my light sleeping bag. The bathrooms were step saver type where showering and using the toilet can be a simultaneous activity. Unfortunately there wasn’t hot water but what can you expect for $18 a night?  We had limited time in Mexico City so we didn’t spend much time in the hotel.

While waiting for me in the lobby Darrylle got the added benefit of a shouting match between two of the hotel employees. After one employee ran out the other threw a pail and then brought Darrylle into the action accusingly asking him why he hadn’t asked for toilet paper the night before, which of course he had.

Our first afternoon in Mexico City was Sunday.  We explored the Zocalo and the areas around.  The Zocalo in Mexico City is quite large and without anything other than the giant flag. There are no trees, paths or benches, just the stone squares that make a huge flat open space.  There was a large stage and a demonstration going on so we walked over and checked it out.  Apparently Mexico City was hosting an international AIDS conference and the opening ceremony had just taken place in the Zolcalo.  We continued to see people wearing the identifying t-shirts or carrying the bags throughout the city for the next 36 hours.

Mexico City is not as consistently picturesque as Morelia or Puebla.  There are many colonial and historic buildings in the center, but there are also large neighborhoods with very different environments.  The street with our hotel felt like what Soho must have felt like in New York twenty plus years ago.  The other few neighborhoods we experienced were a fresh relief from the austerity of the old historic center.  As we drove out of town the freeway went right through the center of Santa Fe, the newest, sleekest and apparently very affluent suburb of Mexico city with it’s shiny towers, corporate headquarters and own airport.

Monday morning we went to the Zocalo and caught a double decker tour bus.  It was the type with on off privileges so we got off in the Condessa area and walked the neighborhood.  We had a drink at a sidewalk cafe and then had great tacos at a corner street market and stand.  As Darrylle put it they were the best flavor for dollar we had experienced, 80 cents each.  Condessa is the furthest neighborhood on the bus tour. There are tree lined streets with lots of shops and restaurants.  It has a very comfortable neighborhood feel.

After finishing the tour we returned to the hotel and headed out to the Zona Rosa for dinner. The Zona Rosa is close into the center and is right along side the famous Reforma Street.  Apparently the Zona Rosa gained fame in the 60’s and 70’s when the alternative crowd aligned themselves with neither the left or right, they were in the middle or pink. Hence the name pink zone.  Today it is also the center of the gay community with one street, Amberes, which is surprisingly lined with gay bars and restaurants.

Tuesday we drove from Mexico City to Morelia.  Neither Darrylle or I knew much about Morelia but it was conveniently placed mid way between the two cities. We drove into a picturesque stone city with very few trees.  All the buildings were consistently built with the same stone with a few stones of pink color accenting specific architectural details like the cathedral spires.  The city has very tastefully lit the buildings at night to make the place post card perfect.

We drove into Morelia without reservations and found three hotels conveniently placed at one corner of the Zocalo.  The first hotel we entered suited us beautifully if not priced over $200 a night.  It was a spectacular stone building with the interior courtyard domed over with a stunning stained glass roof.  The furnishings were rich and warm. If this was the luxury of the old world it was truly decadent.  Despite being supremely impressed with our first interior view of Morelia we pushed on to find more affordable accommodations.

We finally settled at the Best Western which was situated on the Zocalo and entered through the wide colonnade that ran the length of that side of the Zocalo.  It too had a now enclosed interior courtyard.  The hotel was very comfortable, the staff extremely helpful and the whole experience was a great relief from our past few nights at the Hotel Niza.

We only had one night in Morelia so we set off and explored the city as best we could.  In our short time we hoofed much of the city, shopped at every store worthy and dined in the glow of the cathedral towers watching the steady traffic of pedestrians on what was a very busy Tuesday night.

With the advice of the hotel Wednesday we didn’t set out on the toll road to Guadalajara.  Instead we drove the local roads traveling through small artisan villages.  There was the village of ceramics, the village of Catrinas (what I’ve always called Mexican drag queens – clay skeletal women with bright colors and fancy dress ranging from 6 inches to 2 feet tall), the village of cheese, the village of auto parts and more.  We spent a fair amount of time in the village of Catrinas (I can’t remember the name) even seeking out the supposed master of Catrina making.  We were more impressed with the small family stores with their workshops behind.

We ate in a town known for their carnitas.  We ate in the main square and were handed a bag with pieces of pork, a bag with tortillas and small plastic bags of salsa.  It was a make your own affair.  The whole process was on the honor system and we had to search out the stall that had provided our food in order to pay.  We ate with three people from the US who were living in the area and just out shopping for the day.

Our day stretched out and we arrived in Guadalajara in the afternoon and were pleased to find the hotel extremely easy to find.  The Hotel San Francisco Plaza was well situated.  It was another building with a large interior courtyard covered over with glass.  We met with Alberto a friend of Brian’s who we all know from Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta.  We were lucky he was in town as it was vacation time from university.  Alberto led us to one of his favorite local restaurants from local cuisine.

Thursday Darrylle and I walked around the Guadalajara. We searched out the Mexicana Airlines office asking each policeman stationed at the door of each bank we passed. Then we located the street of money exchangers to find the one exchanger (we think in the whole city) that would take the quetzales I still had left from Guatemala.

Finally we headed to the small city of Tlaquepaque which is really a part of Guadalajara now.  It was originally built as summer homes of the wealthy of Guadalajara. Now those palatial homes are shops and restaurants with some of the best shopping we experienced in Mexico.  The stores ranged from the required trashy touristy stuff to some very artsy and creative places.  One end of the pedestrian street is oriented towards furniture.

On Alberto’s advice we ate at Casa Fuerte and had an excellent meal.  We met a couple who were on vacation from the US.  One had even grown up in Portland and gone to Lincoln High School. She was in graduate school and her partner had just finished law school.

The time with Darrylle came to an end too quickly.  He flew out later on Friday but I drove away from the hotel around 9:30 that morning.  I feel as if I’ve known Darrylle all my life.  We are both talkers and we must have talked about every subject possible.  I am so grateful for his joining me in Mexico.  I am certain I wouldn’t have gone the same route.  I have a totally new appreciation for Mexico, it’s history, it’s cities and it’s people.  It is so much more than an amazing coastline.

Veracruz to Xico to Puebla

I had a lazy Tuesday, 7/29/08, morning in Veracruz. Around 11:30 am I headed out to the beach. Veracruz is an old historic port town that has served Mexico City and much of the country for centuries. Boca del Rio just south of the city is the new strip mall, chain restaurant, high rise condo beach town that mirrors many of the other Mexican beach resorts, however without a lot of foreign tourists. I assume that Veracruz and Boca del Rio are truly Mexican vacation destinations.

I went to Playa Mocambo on the advice of the hotel. It was crowded but I believe I was the only gringo. There were large tents covering tables and chairs. If the families weren’t in the water, shopping with the roving vendors or running between the two, they were enjoying drinks or a meal under the tents. I was one of only a few that wanted a lounge chair to actually bake in the sun.

I had taken a bus out to the beach. I caught it literally steps from the hotel and it cost about 65 cents. It was very well air conditioned. I stayed at the beach a little longer that I had planned so I took a taxi back to the hotel to meet Darrylle whose flight arrived at 2:30 pm. The taxi ride was $7 and I arrived at the hotel just after Darrylle had checked in and was heading up to his room.

Darrylle and I walked out into the heavy humid air to find a bar and have a drink. We settled on an open air cafe on the Zocalo (the Mexican word for Plaza de Armas or Plaza Principal) only two blocks from the hotel. Later we ate dinner at a local cafe. We both had sea bass veracruzano, a famous dish from the area. The food in Mexico has been excellent.

Darrylle and I planned to take a double decker tour bus around Veracruz on Wednesday before heading out of town. We had a little trouble finding the bus and when we finally did we were surprised when the tour only lasted half an hour. Somehow we had found the free tour bus not the full service. That explained the confusion when I asked where to pay when I climbed aboard the bus.

A little before noon we left Veracruz for Xico to meet up with John, Diane and Laura, friends of my parents from their mini (the car) club. From the coastal city of Veracruz we climbed into the hills. First we drove to Xalapa where we stopped for lunch. Then we drove through Coatepec, San Marcos and finally at the end of the road found Xico. The city dates from the 17th century and is a small agricultural community. The city itself has about 8,000 inhabitants and it supports another 20,000 in the surrounding countryside. It is that mythical authentic Mexican town you only hear or read about and if you do find it is generally overrun by tourists.

Xico definitely has a tourist side, one that is geared to the Mexicans. After we arrived and found the very comfortable and cozy house that they had rented we all walked a few blocks to the main street in town for some leisurely mole tasting. This area is known for its coffee and coco. Dozens of little stores are set up selling their own brands of mole paste, chile salsas and liquors. The town is picturesque and apparently has been used in a few films. Because it is at the end of the road it doesn’t attract a lot of foreign travelers. Diane and Jim will be using their little house as their base for exploring the region and in deciding where they all want to settle in the coming year. Laura is heading back to the states to get back to teaching. I expect her thoughts will never be far from her future somewhere south of the border.

We all had a great time exploring the town on foot, visiting some fantastic falls only a couple kilometers away and discussing every subject possible. Our time together was a fortuitous convergence of five people at crossroads sharing experiences and advice.

Xico was the perfect place to start our drive across Mexico. Previously I had only experienced Mexican beach towns and Xico is the complete opposite. The town had had a major celebration a week before Darrylle and I arrived and was still decorated with plastic flowers strung across the streets. The cathedral was amazingly adorned with white cloth and fresh flowers like I’ve never seen before. We even caught a glimpse of their holy statue of Mary Magdelena being marched through town as some of the festivities still continued. Horses carrying bamboo, fruit or loads of wood are not uncommon on the streets. No one seems rushed even early in the morning as the women are setting up their sidewalk tables to sell chicken parts.

As usual our breakfast conversation was engaging and Darrylle and I got on the road to Puebla later than we had expected. We had to drive back through Xalapa and then find the road to Mexico City, Puebla being on the way. At the western end of Xalapa Darrylle remembered I wanted to stop and have the wheels aligned (on John’s very good advice) and the muffler reattached as it had again become disconnected. Darrylle reminded me just as we approached a Firedstone/Bridgestone shop. The alignment and the reconnection of the muffler (at a “taller” just around the corner from the tire center) took about an hour.

I could definitely feel the difference from the alignment and we were moving along at a great speed on the toll road to Puebla. The toll road must be under repair because we were soon routed off the toll road to the side roads which added a little time to our travels. We arrived in Puebla around 5 pm making a much longer drive than the expect two to three hours.

Puebla has been an important city in Mexico for centuries. It is situated between Mexico City and Veracruz and was always home to many wealthy Mexicans of European decent. It has a reputation of aristocratic arrogance by those of European descent. We found the exact opposite, many very friendly and welcoming people. It is also home to a large Volkswagen factory. We had seen Volkswagens being loaded onto an auto ship in Veracruz undoubtedly from Puebla.

We took a walking tour from the municipal tourism office on the Zocalo and learned many tidbits of Mexican and Poblano history. Puebla, we were told, is not a colonial city but a city of the viceroyalty era. I’m not sure I understand the distinction, but I think it has to do with the idea it was a power center of the rich aristocrats.

We stayed at The Hotel Royal on the Zocalo. It is an 18th century building facing the cathedral across the square. The south side of the square is dominated by the cathedral dating from the 16th century and with the tallest bell towers in Latin America. The other three sides of the square are occupied by exquisite 18th century three story arcade buildings with grand colonnades along the sidewalks. The wide arcades are occupied by numerous sidewalk cafes. The buildings are brightly colored and very well maintained.

Friday night we ate at the Hotel Purificadora, a restaurant that Darrylle had read about in Food and Wine. The food was passable but the architecture and design of the space were what were truly amazing. From the open air entrance of the hotel there was a picture perfect vista of the neighboring church. The centuries old bell towers were aglow, framed by the austere lines of the clean white contemporary construction thrust upward from the ruins of an old brick building. The juxtaposition of the majestic old church, white linear simplicity, ancient ruins of distressed brick, faded paint and the raw warmth of reclaimed wood were jaw dropping.

Saturday we ate at La Fonda de Santa Clara the antithesis of hip and now. This old mainstay of traditional Poblano food was a perfect complement to the meal the night before.

The old center of Puebla was crowded with pedestrians and we were surprised at the inordinate number of police. Our tour guide explained the police were there to keep unlicensed street vendors off the streets, however we couldn’t help notice a number were in riot gear. Walking the streets on Saturday we were struck by the strong feeling of community. Young and old including tons of young families were shopping, enjoying the street food and being amused by clowns or entertained by musicians (from mariachi bands to traveling minstrels dressed in period clothes). There was a street cleaning project underway with volunteers in identifying t-shirts (including a large number of Mormons) as well as political demonstrations in the square. Of course there was the ever present blaring of competing music from every direction.

Sunday we leave for Mexico City. We have a hotel reserved near the Zocalo and expect the drive to be about two hours.

Chichi to Tuxtla to Veracruz

I toured the market in Chichicastanengo early Sunday and was on the road by 9 am. I had been told that the shorter route towards the border was not a good road and I should double back towards Antigua to get back on the Panamericana. After talking with the man working the morning desk at the hotel and realizing he had actually driven both routes I went with the shorter route. It was a wise choice as the road was mostly new and much better than the road back to Antigua.

The Mexican border was amazingly quick and easy. Even with having to wait for the Mexican Customs official to finish his lunch it was my quickest border crossing. Mexico even takes Visa for the $30 in fees.

I continued on to Tuxtla Guitierez a city I bypassed on the way south. I didn’t realize I had climbed in altitude but the 45 kilometer stretch of freeway all steeply downhill to Tuxtla told me otherwise. I had forgotten how wild the Mexican drivers are. The toll freeways are not at all worth the expense. People travel very fast and when being passed you are expected to drive half in the shoulder so they can pass while traffic is still oncoming. It makes for harrowing driving especially when driving a car generally slower than others.

The descent into Tuxtla was not only exciting because of the driving but the scenery was stunning as well. Despite occasional fog I could see vast canyons surrounding by large mountains, sometimes craggy but always covered by lush greenery giving them the appearance of rocks covered by moss.

The highway became the main street through town and I found a hotel only three blocks from the main square. I believe this is the largest city and the state capitol of Chiapas. It is a fairly modern city. I didn’t see much in the way of historic buildings and the government buildings are all very new and modern.

I got settled in the hotel, realized that the time was one hour ahead so I had lost an hour and set out for dinner. I ate at a little street cafe near the main square. I had tacos with exceptional spicy salsa and pickled peppers and carrots.

I thought I had gotten up early and would make it onto the road about 6:30 am. But then I realized I hadn’t changed my clock. I made it on the road at 7:30 am. I had been stopping about every 70 miles to tighten the bolts on my right rear axle plate (the same wheel were the axle came loose in Ecuador and almost came loose in Chile). It was leaking again and the bolts were becoming loose on an increasing basis. I was really hoping to make it to Veracruz and find a Toyota dealership.

Around 11 am I stopped to tighten the bolts. The (pay) highways generally provide little opportunity to pull off as the shoulder is best left free for passing but I found a graveled space where I could park off the road. As I jumped out of the car I heard the sickening hissing of leaking air. My left rear tire was leaking.

Even though it was noisy it was leaking slowly so I jumped back in the car and drove as far as I could, about 10 more miles, hoping to find an exit or something. I finally had to pull over onto the shoulder and prepare to change to the small emergency spare.

I took out the impact wrench, got out all the tools and took off the spare. In taking off the spare I had to get the key for the lock on one of the lugs. I immediately found one key. But I have two keys, one for the spare and one for the four wheels. The key I found worked the spare but the key for the four wheels was nowhere to be found. I searched everywhere. I basically unloaded the car. I still can’t believe I’ve lost the key and expect it will turn up someday somewhere in the car. I remember specifically putting it in it’s usual place after the last flat.

Not having a key meant I had to find some other way to deal with the situation. I remembered I had the compressor and the hose to fill the tires. So now I turned my attention to dealing with the source of the leak with my patch kit and filling the tire. I found the source and tried to pull it out. I got about three inches of metal the size of a big nail out but then it was stuck. It obviously had some sort of head and couldn’t be pulled out. So I pushed the metal back in so it was below the tread of the tire and filled the tire using the compressor. The compressor is very slow, but effective. Finally I had the tire up to about 30 pounds of pressure and took of. I had about 60 miles to the most likely town for services. I stopped three times to fill the tire with the compressor. I’m sure I sparked more than a few conversations parked along the highway with a blue tube running from the engine to a wheel.

Once I hit a military check. They wanted to completely go through the car and asked me to take everything out – a first at this point. I frantically told them to listen to my tire and that I didn’t have much time to get to a tire center. They couldn’t deny the hissing sound and they obviously didn’t know I had a compressor on board. That was the most effective way I have found of getting around the military checks.

Finally I drove into Minatitilan (where I had actually stayed on my way south). I had assumed that the entrance to town would be lined with roadside mechanics and hopefully something a little more professional. I found a Firestone/Bridgestone outlet. They introduced me to the mechanic next door so I got both the flat tire fixed and the axle plate reattached. I was back on the road by 2:30.

I wanted a large known company for the tire because I needed to get the lock off the wheel. Surprisingly the “lock” provided no real impediment. He basically hammered a socket wrench over the lock lug and then took it off. I don’t think the lock would really stop someone who really wanted a wheel.

The Firestone guy had more trouble with getting the tire off the wheel. He made a feeble effort to use the machine (the same machine which was used and worked fine at the Firestone in Leon with the last flat) but said the tire was too big. So we walked about two blocks down the road to a local “volcanizador”. This guy seperated the tire from the wheel by hand. The Firestone guy and I and five friends of the local tire guy watched him do all the work. He was a very hard worker, heavily sweating in the oppressive heat. He pulled out the three inches of nail with the head on the inside of the tire, patched the tire and inflated it. His cost was $10.

After the tire was fixed I went next door to the local mechanic to fix the axle. After much discussion with his cohort they replaced the five bolts with the extra bolts I had from Chile. Hopefully this will be the end of the axle problem for the next couple thousand miles until I make it home.

I had 180 miles to get to Veracruz.  The total tolls for the pay highway on Monday were $47.00. Darrylle had made reservations for Tuesday night but I drove directly to the hotel (after stopping at a service station and buying a map) and got a room one night early.

Veracruz is very hot and humid. I walked around the malecon and found a street side cafe to have tacos and a beer. Back in the room I cranked up the fan (no a/c) and took a cold shower to ease myself into a well deserved night’s sleep.

San Salvador to Antigua to Chichicastanengo

The supposed three hour drive from San Salvador to Antigua took the better part of a day. I was pleased to roll out of San Salvador at 8 am. A friendly guest at the hotel showed me a very quick and easy route out of the city. It was much better than the circuitous way the woman at the front desk had me going. On my way out I realized how San Salvador is really a suburban feeling city. Wide avenues of strip mall like development. It is very car oriented. Apparently because of past violence no one really walks. The city is also very green. The climate is on the warm side but cools at night and because of lots of rain there is lush vegetation everywhere.

El Salvador is the most densely populated country in Central America. This is very evident on the highways. I realized this when I needed to pee and there was literally nowhere I could stop without being in front of someone’s house or alongside people standing on the road chatting.

My drive south (actually driving east through El Salvador) a year ago was along the coast line and this drive is in the interior. Both roads are considered the Panamericana. The interior road is in the mountains with perfect cone shaped volcanoes towering over lush valleys.

The border crossing at San Cristobol was a little more than the usual mayhem. The line of trucks and cars was stopped about a kilometer from the actual border. As I had approached the traffic jam I had followed the usual pattern of just swinging around the semis using the oncoming lane to get around them. Usually the semis have much more paperwork because of their cargo and they sit in or alongside the road for a long time. In this case I had made the situation worse creating the need to jam my car in between a bus and a semi further up the road when I was met with the oncoming traffic.

The problem was exacerbated because there was really only room for one lane of traffic. I couldn’t figure out how the oncoming traffic from the border was supposed to pass. There was a market on either side of the road the whole length from where the traffic jam began to after the Guatemalan side of the border. The market was so packed with people and stalls that it only left room for one lane of traffic. I don’t know how we did it, but the semis, buses and cars all wiggled themselves around to create enough room for the oncoming semis, buses and cars to pass.

Once I made it to the customs/immigration office I parked my car in a rare open lane of traffic and there was a constant flow of traffic only going one direction. I was lucky that when the whole process ended the flow of traffic was going in my direction and I was able to just squeeze in.

People are generally very helpful and patient. There doesn’t seem to be much road rage at all. Of course I was frustrated. But then I realized that the whole process to get through each side of the border and deal with the traffic took me only one hour and cost $6.00. That is far less frustrating an experience than my parents had crossing the US Canadian border this last year when it took them five hours. Depiste the apparent confusion and disorganization it generally works well. One of the customs officials smiled acknowledgingly when I said the border was crazy. He explained that Fridays are always like that.

My next challenge was the drive through Guatemala City. Before reaching Guatemala City the road climbed and climbed. Then I descended just a short while into the valley looking out over the city. I stopped and got gas and asked about what road to take to Antigua. The road I was on was one of the two Panamericanas (the other one along the coast is the road I had taken on the drive south) and goes right through the city. Fortunately it is pretty direct and the signage was very helpful once I knew what places to head for.

The main thoroughfare I drove on was again Roosevelt. It was lined with the usual plethora of US fast food chains, malls services and a few office towers. The buildings were well kept, the road was well maintained and overall, other than a few chaotic merging experiences, the traffic was orderly. Perhaps I have become accustomed to the big city traffic but the drive through Guatemala City was far better than I expected.

The freeway system in and out of the city was very good and often of newer concrete construction. Leaving the city I climbed out of the valley and headed west. After the turn off to Antigua I descended a very steep grade for many kilometers. It was so steep there were a number of emergency brake failure exits and many signs instructing drivers to use their motors as brakes.

Antigua is a very charming colonial city. It was once the colonial capital until an earth quake in the 18th century leveled it. Now it is loaded with tourists, restaurants, craft stores there’s even an amusement park at one end of the town adding to the feel of an unkempt Disneyland. I saw more blonds in Antigua than I’ve seen anywhere in the last year. There was some sort of celebration on Friday night that included fireworks, a noisy show on a temporary stage in front of the cathedral in the main square and the most obnoxious “parade” I have ever seen and heard.

I left the solitude of my hotel, reading on the interior balcony, to investigate the sirens I’d been hearing all over the city for about a half an hour. There was no amazing car chase or criminal attack. All the volunteer fireman and their vehicles, including the ambulances, were driving around town with their sirens on full, honking their horns. There is nothing pleasant about standing on the sidewalk on a narrow colonial street as 15 siren blaring horn honking vehicles pass very slowly. One firetruck had a dalmatian sitting on the top of the cab.

I left Antigua Saturday morning at 9 am and made it to Chichicastanengo about 11:30. The drive was very mountainous and very populated. The whole duration of the drive was under construction. The completed portions (about 10%) were very nice dual carriageway concrete highway. But the uncompleted sections were horrendous.

Chichicastanengo is known for it’s massive market held every Thursday and Sunday. It is also know for the continued practices of many Mayan traditions supposedly even on the grounds of the cathedral. Sunday I will experience the market and then drive to Huehuetanengo about three hours away towards the Mexican border.

San Salvador

The drive from San Miguel to San Salvador went quickly and without incident. On the way out of town I stopped at a Firestone/Bridgestone shop and inquired about 37 inch tires. After many phone calls I was told they don’t exist in El Salvador. I drove most of the trip without a/c but when I entered San Salvador I turned it on as the car gets much hotter when I’m stopped at lights.

I had asked the hotel in San Miguel for a map of San Salvador so I would have a map entering the city. I also had directions that the hotel had emailed me. I was never able to get my bearings on the map and the hotel directions were somewhat helpful. The Lonely Planet had a good orientation of the city (how the street and building numbers are oriented) and with the assistance of many roadside questions I didn’t have much trouble finding the hotel which turned out to be on the other side of the city from where I entered.

I asked the hotel for a tourist map of the city. They didn’t have one and then I remembered the map in the car. When I showed them the map it took them a few minutes to realize it was a map of San Miguel thus explaining my trouble using it in San Salvador.

It was only a three hour drive so I was in San Salvador by 2 pm. The general manager of the hotel gave me the name of a quick auto service shop as opposed to a dealership where I would need to make an appointment. I took the car to “Taller Racing” and had them scan the engine because the check engine light was one. Of course it was just the catalytic converter again. I also asked them about tires and they confirmed that 37 inch tires don’t exist in El Salvador. I’ll check again in Guatemala. Tuesday night I ate at a great Chinese restuarant called Royal.

Wednesday I sat in the sun and read a while after breakfast. The temperature gets up to about 90 degrees in the afternoon but in the early morning it is quite comfortable. It seems that the heat and humidty builds throughout the day until at some point in the late afternoon a violent explosion of rain, thunder and lightening relieves the heat and the temperature cools for the night. I’ve not had the a/c on at night, just a gentle cool breeze.

Wednesday afternoon I took a taxi into the center of San Salvador, Plaza Barrios. I have to say I don’t think that San Salvador is really about it’s city center. The Cathedral Metropolitana (relatively new and well known for the colorful tiles by Fernando Llort on the front and the grave of Archbishop Oscar Romero who was killed during the civil war) and an old government building front the square. Other than those buildings the square is uninteresting and a bit sad. There are waist high fences bordering any green and channeling wanderers through a strange labyrinth dominated by an inordinate number of pay phones.

A couple blocks away is Parque Libertad. It is even more bizarre. For some reason the plaza was completely blocked off allowing no people in the square. The most interesting church I have seen in Latin America fronts this square. Iglesia el Rosario appears to be a slice out of a large arched brick bunker. The flat sides have thin slashes of collared glass spaced in a manner that reflect the shimmering sunlight as well as evoking some ancient undecipherable writings. The stepped sections in the rise of the arch has larger modern stained glass with even more unintelligible designs. The walls of the interior are not decorated in gold and silver but with pieces of metal from machines and tools. Statues of stone and concrete are punctuated with twisted metal, some forming arms and hands and some without meaning. It lacks opulence but definitely feels like a building of the common man.

From the Iglesia el Rosario I walked to the artesian market (Mercado Ex Cuatel) which was disappointing; not much handmade and lots of vendors begging my attention. I escaped in a taxi to the Zona Rosa, an area of upscale shopping and restaurants. This is the area I stayed when I was in San Salvador 11 years ago. I had a satisfying lunch of shrimp cocktail and sushi at the very trendy La Ola. From there I walked up the street to the Sheraton Hotel El Presidente. I stayed there 11 years ago but I don’t think it was the Sheraton then. At the top of the hill beside the Sheraton is the Monumento a la Revolucion. This is one of my favorite pieces of public art in Latin America. It is a tall piece of curved concrete with a giant figure painted in the curve. Behind the monument is the newer Museum of Modern Art (MARTE). I did a quick tour through the museum and then headed back to the hotel.

Thursday I continued my routine of breakfast followed by reading in the sun. I had made arrangements to have lunch with Karina Copen who attended UPS about 10 years after me. The Politics and Government department of UPS had put me in touch with her as she is the Regional Humanitarian Program Officer for OXFAM America. She brought a friend along who also works for OXFAM. The were very helpful and informative.

On their advice I went to La Uca (the Universidad Centroamericana Jose Simon Cañas) to see the Centro Monseñor Romero. Romero the a Catholic priest who was assassinated while giving a sermon in 1980 during the civil war. The center is housed in the the former quarters of four Jesuit priests who were murdered in their sleep in 1989 by government forces. Their maid and her daughter were also killed. The chapel next door has their graves.

Karina’s friend at lunch has been robbed three times in her two and half years in San Salvador. Karina has not been robbed and everyone from the hotel staff to taxi drivers to employees at the mall where I saw a movie Wednesday night told me that it was safe to walk around this part of town. On my walk back from another satisfying Chinese meal on Thursday night I was very attentive as I withdrew money from an ATM only one block from the hotel on the very busy Paseo Escolon.

Friday I drive to Antigua. According to the owner of the hotel I need to drive through the center of Guatemala City, one of the largest cities in Central America. At least that will give me a chance to look for a major tire center.

Managua to San Miguel

I got up early this morning and was actually on the road at 6:15 am.  The drive through the center of Managua was surprisingly busy at that hour.  This was my fourth time through Managua and I surprised to accidentally find a much quicker route to the road to Leon.  It was warm morning but nothing like what was to come so I had the windows open enjoying the fresh air.

I spent a fair amount of time considering the family history that Elkin had told me and Darrylle.  He is a local Indian from near Arenal.  His grandfather actually grew up in a traditional manner.  They lived off the land hunting and foraging.  The people bathed in the rivers and preferred to stay cool in the shade of the foliage rather than in houses.  They had a tradition centered around the local well for young couples contemplating marriage.  A boy and girl would meet at the well, each with their own vessel to carry water.  He would offer her his pot and if she agreed to marry him she would throw down and break her pot filling his with water and placing it on her head.

The Costa Rican government took it upon themselves to modernize these people and provided many modern conveniences.  They built them houses but the people had never lived with concrete floors and were unsure what to think. At first they thought the houses were for the animals. But eventually they moved in and Elkin explained the houses became extremely dirty.  In a dirt floor home there is no need to clean spills, just cover them over.  But without cleaning a concrete floor will quickly be beyond soiled.

The government provided showers with running water.  This confused the people as they prefered to wash in the rivers, overhead water was very strange.  The government also blocked off the well.  Wells have historically been a source of many diseases and clean water is a right espoused in most universal human rights decrees.  The unintended result is the blocking off a unique tradition that rooted a people to their past.

Elkin had told us how beautiful he thought their life had been, how pure and simple. He expressed sadness that their traditions and way of life will soon die out as do the elders who experienced it.

I wasn’t really coming to any conclusions and didn’t have much time to try.  Only eight miles before Leon I suffered my first ( and hopefully last ) flat tire.  It was not a slow occurance.  The tire split on the side and was flat instantly. I pulled over and jumped out.  The tire was completely flat but there was a hissing sound coming from the car.  It wasn’t the tire and I traced it to the engine.  I also noticed there was an inordinate amount of water dripping from the engine, way too much to be the a/c.  I have been getting some wierd sounds from the a/c. It’s making the same sounds from a year ago before I lost my first of three a/c units.

Everything was fine with the radiator and everything else I could think to check and I couldn’t really deal with the a/c at this point so I turned to the tire.  Fortunately a young Nicaraguan named Santo was riding his bike along the same stretch of road.  Without a word he stopped and began assisting me.

Santo and I disengaged the high lift, took off the spare tire, raised the car, took off the flat tire, put on the spare and lowered the car.  The impact wrench worked wonderfully (thanks Colby for the idea).  I have to say the high lift jack is a bit dangerous.  I think I sprained the little finger on my right hand.  It’s a fairly precarious device and everything went well lifting the car (after I WD40’d the hell out of if).  But lowering the car the high lift decided to drop instantly slapping the lever back and forth. It not only wrenched out of my hand spraining my pinky but also slapped the car. There was only about an inch for the car to drop, but it was a little shocking none the less.

Also disconcerting was the fact that the wheel of the car was just about on the line of the road.  Occassionally a large truck or bus would sound their horn as they were approaching sending both Santo  and me scurrying around the other side of the car.

I realized when I saw the gash in the side of the tire that it was likely history. But it took the word “impossible” from the guys at Firestone for the situation to sink in.  I was left without any spare.  After considering the situation a purchased a 31 inch tire (the tires on the car are 37 inches) as an emergency spare.  As soon as I can find another 37 inch tire I’ll replace the 31 inch (hopefully selling it to whoever has the 37).  I’m really hoping that San Salvador will be the place to find a 37 inch tire.  There was nothing in all of Nicaragua.  In the mean time if I have a blowout on a front tire I’ll have to trade a rear for a front and then put the spare on the rear for the emergency drive to a tire center.  I can’t suffer another irreparable blowout until I find the illusive Central American dealer of 37 inch tires.

After a little trouble like that it’s hard to clear my mind from the worry.  So the next couple of miles I was worried about every bump and pothole. I finally had to let go because the last 20 miles to the border with Honduras was the worst road I’ve driven in Nicaragua.

I have used the a/c some more. But when I hear the strange noise I turn it off.  My check engine light has come on as well so I’ll be finding a Chevy shop in San Salvador to figure things out.

The Nicaragua/Honduras and Honduras/El Salvador borders were my least favorite last year and I have not had a very favorable view of Honduras because of those experiences.  Today’s border crossings were the complete opposite from nearly a year ago.  As I pulled up to the borders and the “transmitadors” (helpers) came running at the car I simply said no thanks and that I’m doing it alone.  A couple of times I firmly stated to leave me alone.

The immigration and customs officials were extremely helpful and courteous.  Last year the two border crossings cost me around $400.  Today’s total was $41.  My advice to anyone crossing these borders is that there is absolutely no need to used the transmitadors.  I think I could have even done it without speaking any Spanish had I tried.  I even enjoyed the drive through Honduras.  Someday I’ll have to come back to Honduras and give the country a fair chance.

I asked the customs agent in El Amitillo (the El Salvador side of the border) where I should stay tonight, San Miguel or Santa Rosa de Lima.  He suggested San Miguel and even suggested a hotel.  So I am at the hotel he recommended, the Hotel Tropico Inn.  He told me the name of the street (which I never understood) and when I asked if it was close to the center he said yes.  I told him my usual practice is to go to the central park and ask from there. He thought that was a good idea.  So I pulled off the main highway loaded with fast food, services and the general commercial bustle of an inter city through way to find the center.

The center of San Miguel is controlled mayhem.  For a while I thought I’d found my way onto a bus only street because I was stuck in middle of innumberable buses with passengers jumping on and off seemingly without purpose. But I think in reality I was the only stupid car driver to attempt this particular street. Constant honking only added to the pressure of non-movement.  There were commercial stalls and sidewalk vending the like of which I haven’t seen since La Paz. I was making for the spires of what I assume was the cathedral at the main square.

After about 15 minutes of not really getting anywhere I asked a few people where I could find the hotel hoping it was in front of me.  The first guy I asked, a taxi driver, couldn’t understand my prounciation of Hotel Tropico Inn (in his defense at this point I thought it was the Hotel Tropical Inn).  Two guys sitting on the stairs of a small shop were a little more helpful.  Before the traffic miraculously decided to move and the honking behind me became unbearable I understood that the hotel was behind me, likely on the road I had turned off to find the center of town.  Everyone, who understood the hotel I was looking for told me the name of the street, but I could never understand what the word was. I’d repeat it to myself, but couldn’t figure it out.  When I reached the main drag where I would find the hotel I was amused to realize it’s Roosevelt Street.

So I am happily ensconced in the Hotel Tropico Inn.  It’s about $40 a night, has a pool, a restaurant (so I don’t have to venture out onto the 82nd Avenue of San Miguel) and free wifi in the room.  Tomorrow I will journey to San Salvador to find a Chevy dealership, a very well stocked tire center and hopefully meet up with a UPS alumna who works with Oxfam America.