Lost in translation

Part of the week-long fair in Flores,
these lovely ladies are danced through the streets daily as part of a folklore story  

The marimba gets carted around the streets behind the ladies

Being severely handicapped in the local language can have many interesting outcomes. Conversations inevitably end in internal frustration, external awkwardness and communal confusion. On one hand, you are limited to repeating the same conversation daily. Not only are conversations about what I had for breakfast yesterday, what I am having for breakfast today and what I will have for breakfast tomorrow utterly boring for the obvious reasons, but also because breakfast is ALWAYS eggs, beans and tortillas. Perhaps a refried plantain on the odd occasion to stretch my vocabulary a bit.

The semi-outdoor smkoy kitchen where our beans, eggs and tortillias are ritually produced.
Note the meat smoking over the fire.

On the other hand, the inability to communicate can also have unintended but hilarious consequences. Vinko, Rosita (15) and I were watching cartoons and nursing our common cold when a young cousin wanders in and mentions something about some accident in a nearby town and a big building on fire (or simply a big fire?). When pressed, more details about an accident and the possibility of cars being involved emerged, followed by a definite confirmation that whatever happened happened on the road and something else about “muchas personas” and something about being dead.  Later we enquire about the fire and/or the accident, but nobody else seems to know anything about it.

This is how the traditional bollos were made:
mazie porridge stuffed with beans, then wrapped in banana leaves,
then steamed in a giant tub over the fire for a few hours. Any takers?

The next morning Doña Rosa, mama of the house, sits down with us and explains that the main meal of the day will be in the evening instead of at noon as is usually the case.
 
“Is it because it is Sunday?” we ask.
“Yes, it is Sunday.”  Close. Keep fishing.
“Is it because of church?”
“Yes, I am going to church this morning.” Closer.  “The meal is a special traditional meal called bollos – it´s usually made this time of year when the festival in Flores is on.” Bingo! 
 
But then a string of words came at us like bullets, of which we caught on to: “I´m going to church this afternoon… death… traditional meal… walking… 3pm…” Pause.  “…cousin of Don Carmen… muchas personas… the festival… go if you want…”
 
“Death? Was it because of the accident last night?” we tentatively enquire.
“No… No accident… … … … … … … … muchas personas… walking.”
 
Righto. Afterwards we agreed that whatever it was, we were being welcomed to participate in the events of afternoon. We returned home around 3pm, certain that we at least understood its significance as the start of some activity. We snuck into Darling’s room, armed with dictionary and notebooks.
 
“Vas a ir a la iglesia este tarde?”  [Are you going to the church this afternoon?]
“No.”
“Y Doña Rosa? Ella va a la iglesia ahora?”  [Is Doña Rosa going to the church now?]
“Si.”
“Porque?” [Why?]
“Por la entierra de la sobrina de Don Carmen.” Frantic dictionary search ensues. 
“A funeral? His niece died?”
“Si”. Ah.
 
Now what? We retreat to our room to consider our options. Under the impression that it was some traditional fiesta that started at the church and walked through the street ending in traditional food, we had nodded enthusiastically that we would like to tag along to experience local culture when Doña Rosa invited us along this morning.  But now there was a body, a burial and “muchas personas” involved. Vinko – dictionary in hand – trotted back to the house to express proper condolences and to kindly decline the invitation to attend.

A few minutes later he returned.
 
“I understand now what happened.”
“What?”
“There was an accident. The lady was a relative of Carmen´s.”
“Yes, his niece right?”
“Yes. She had diabetes… and she was very sick… and she got kicked in the head by a horse.”


Raised eyebrows. Suppressed laughter.
 
“It´s not funny. It was an accident.”  Pause.  “Rosa definitely said a horse.”  Pause.  “Although I´m not sure which one happened first - if she was kicked by the horse before she got diabetes. I mean, I don´t know if it was the horse or the diabetes that killed her.”  Pause.  “But she died.”

Moral of the story? In life (and translation) only death is certain.

The view towards the east from a restaurant in San Andres. You can see San Jose on the peninsula. 

A Tribe of their own

One of the reasons why I personally like travelling so much (aside from the evolving scenery and sense of discovery, which rank top on the list) is the transient, non-committal feeling of it all. I like the constant shift between being here and being gone, being part of a defining moment in time and taking off before the moment loses its magic, the feeling that any of these haphazard, kindergarden-constructed days could change your life. The sense of freedom and wonder is exhilirating, addictive. Because of the fleeting feeling travel necessitates, it is unusual and more concrete when you get to experience moments within a group. The combined energy of the tribe opens a whole other universe of potential.

First encounter camping at Lake Peten. Sunrise at El Encantandero campsite

Westwards across Lake Peten.

We had a feeling like this between Christmas and New Years when we stayed in Flores, a heritage island in Lake Peten where the little Spanish stone houses were built on top of an old Mayan city. Cobblestone roads, colonial houses painted in M&M colours, flowerpots on the balconies... you get the picture. And in this charming town, in one of the colourful houses is Los Amigos Hostel, complete with a garden courtyard, yummy restaurant, bookshelves, a parrot a cat and a sausage dog, oversized pillows and plenty of hammocks. And a resident community of travelling macrame artists (the kind my sister would call nasty-ass-cracker-backbackers, complete with dreadlocks and flappy hemp pants), who loved the place so much that they have been stationed in the same hammocks and pillows for over 3 weeks working away at bracelets, necklaces, earrings and the like. This groups became our tribe, no thanks to the fact that Vinko picked up some macrame skills in Cancun and was keen to expand his repertoire (191 things you didn't know about Vinko!) We didn't quite join in the Kumbaja singing on the last night, but I was genuinely sad to part with these people three days later.

But we were barely on the road when we met the first member of another phantom tribe we belong to: the Crazy People on Bicycles Tribe. Everywhere we have been so far, the people who weren't utterly shocked at our travel methods were the ones who had encountered a bike tourist before. We keep hearing about this mysterious Swiss guy who always seems to be 2 weeks ahead of us, or another couple from 2 years ago. And more are coming out of the woodwork weekly, for example a Cairo to Cape Town rider raising funds for Tour d'Afrique Foundation. We were starting to doubt the authenticity of the rumours since we have not met any other cyclists. But on our way out of Flores we met Anna, an Aussie going all the way from Alaska to Argentina on bicycle. She's been going for about 18 months now, and has covered over 22,000km. With our day-glo orange milk crates and clearly ghetto arrangement of bags, it was no wonder that she could barely contain laughter. It was both an inspiring and intimidating first encounter with the phantom tribe.

Our current tribe is the community in the small village of San Andres, where we are living while struggling to get a grip on the Spanish language. We love it here. A bundle of colourful houses with rusty tin roofs tumble down the green mountain, connected by impossibly steep roads and hidden cobblestone stairways that usually lead nowhere but will dead-end with a spectacular view of the lake below. In the oppressive midday heat (welcome to winter in Peten province!) it's a ghost town - save for some feral dogs skulking around - but at sundown kids spill out onto the roads to play football, neighbours sit on front steps to share jokes and a lone fisherman cuts across the violet, pink and orange surface.

Streetscape, San Jose (2km from our house)

Sunset from Ni'Tun Ecolodge, New Years Eve

San Jose, about 2km east along the lake from San Andres

Our host family through the Eco-Escuala de Espanol program is Don Carmen and Dona Rosa Chabin. The family currently has 8 members living here, although some other rooms around us are rented out to include another 6 or so people milling around at the call of the rooster, which never fails to be at some random hour like 3am. We have our own little bungalow (glorified play hut), which looks across the short side of a 5x10m courtyard into the "open-plan" hand-wash laundry. Behind that is the "semi-open-plan" kitchen where Darling makes over 100 tortillas on the fire every day to feed the hungry masses. A cold shower ensures that everyone gets 2 showers daily without a line up. It's an ideal detour into village living for us, although the communal nature means that we are all sharing the same common cold now. I guess it comes with the (tribal) territory.

Part of laundry day (everyday) - this sweet arrangement is right under our window

An adventurous holiday

We arrived in Guatemala around 10 in the morning of 23 December, leaving Belize and the comforts of conversing in English behind. Our initial enchantment with the country was again dampened a bit by its magnificent hills - beautiful to look at but absolute torture to ride up. When all else failed (which it did), we had the pleasure of pushing our bikes up a monster of a hill for 35 minutes straight.

Once we arrived at El Sombrero Ecolodge, we had vivid flashbacks to our time in Vietnam, where showing up independently and unannounced will reward you with blank stares and a good serving of bewilderment. But the location right on the Yaxha laguna and only 3km from the archeological site is unbeatable. It's also the only option in a 20km radius or so, and we were thrilled to camp up in the little "tree house" platform for a mere $5.

This is camping luxury my friends - El Sombrero Ecolodge, Yaxha

Our visit to the ancient Mayan city of Yaxha, which flourished during the Late Classic period, was magical despite an unusual arrival. My brakes were acting up the past 2 days, so we arrived at the bottom of the gravel hill to find a large group of American tourists pointing in our direction and looking rather disappointed that all the raucous was caused by a silly girl on a bike rather than a jaguar chasing some wild pigs down the hill. I believe the whole saga was captured on at least 6 camcorders to enthrall the family back home with... apart from this group who left after taking a few photos, we had the whole site to ourselves. Yaxha is structured around a central axis with one of the avenues stretching down the hill to connect directly to the lake. We climbed the stairs from the lake through the forest and progressed through grassy tree-covered mounds to half uncolvered small structured to perfectly restored temples. We sat for a long time on top of one of the temples that towered of the green canopy listening to the howler monkeys and contemplating human nature and the rise and fall of civilizations.

Christmas dinner was a turkey with all the trimmings, shared with the owners of El Sombrero and two German bird watchers who were visiting an insane number of mayan sites on their short trip. Pre-dinner we realised that we didn't change enough money at the border, and we were already $3 short to pay our bill, and the closest ATM is a day's ride away. Hunger won, and it was decided that we would feast for Christmas Eve and spend the following day (Xmas) tagging along on the Germans' tour to a remote Mayan site called El Naranjo, since they were passing through a town with an ATM on the way.

We started the El Naranjo adventure at 9am. Sebastian was driving, Gabriella was commentating, Carlos - a short but sharp Mayan man we picked up along the way - was giving driving directions through the cattle fields and what little jungle remained, the Germans were checking their watches and looking anxious, and we sat in the back of the pick-up bouncing around like popcorn and not knowing where we were or where we were going. By noon we had to call a mechanic out to the rocky road to come and remove some small rocks from the brakes. By 1pm we were a mere 4km from the site when the road disappeared into a meter deep cement-like black mud (a guaranteed stuck) and we had to turn back. By 2pm we had backtracked most of the way, found an alternative path, asked permission from the farmer to cross his land, removed some trees from the road and now stood facing a locked gate ($%#?????) at the bottom of a steep hill. Reversing was not an option, turning around was impossile, and my suggestion of just ramming the gate down was disapproved. By now the Germans looked thoroughly distressed. We ate some wild mushrooms while we waited for Sebastian, who had hiked 2km back to get a key, to return. We figured any outcome from the mushrooms would be an improvement to the situation. We were disappointed.

At last the key arrived, we crossed that last of the 5km on a track barely fit for horses and arrived (Merry Chistmas!) at 3pm at El Naranjo archeological site. The site is currently being consolidated by a team of over 100 people, who were all home for the holidays, so we wandered through the completely deserted site in peace. Carlos - the Mayan guy - worked at the site for 8 months drawing every piece of the main temple for the catalogue, and he had lots of cool information to share. As with other post-classic sites impending doom could be foretold by the architecture: the rish and powerful lived in impossibly high structures; they built their own courtyards high in the shy and walled off the entrances to avoid contact with the suffering masses. Ornately carved walls were not as common anymore and the building stones were much smaller because the quarries were depleted. The sacrificial temple was hence augmented. Again we pondered civilization.

We had a really adventurous Christmas, but we did miss our families and a more familiar festivity. We hope you all had a wonderful time and relaxed till you were bored!

Acknowledgments

We wanted to start 2011 by thanking some people who truly deserve it. Travel adventures such as this one are not possible without the support of truly good hearted people. Our ability to carry out this trip is not through our means alone, to the contrary there is a long list of people in the chain that streches from its inception to the present day. The successes of our travel belong in part to the people that made it possible. This page is dedicated to these colorful individuals.

First and foremost, thank you from the bottom of our hearts to our families for all their support and most importantly for loving us for exactly who we are despite our crazy ideas. A big thank you to all our friends back home, wherever that may be, who stood besides us at the crack of dawn sharing outmost optimism. Our dear friends, you are all part of a much bigger family, we gauge our sanity by you.

Thank you very much to Paco and his dear friend Jesus in Cancun for setting us off on the right foot. For taking part in our adventure and providing the neccesery pushes along the way, thank you - the capable hands at Hadza Bikes in Cancun; Luis and Fabian in Puerto Morelos; Wilbert and son of Santa Fe Cabanas in Tulum; Pepe and the welcoming staff of CESiaK, Dan Hazard of Xamach Dos; the whole loving community of Punta Allen; Manuel at Caseta Santa Teresa in Siaan Kaan; Rheine and Elka of Laguna Azul in Pedro Antonio Santo; Stefan and Romana from Austria; Oscar de Alba of Kuuch Kaanil in Bacalar; Manuel and Mansul for Chachoben; Nathalie and Eduardo of Backpackers Paradise in Sarteneja; Katherine from New Zealand; Rawell, Lance and family Pelayo of Lamani Riverside Retreat in Orange Walk Town; Angie and Mick Webb with family of Crooked Tree Lodge; Gabriel the bamboo rasta of FaceItProductionBambuMe; Margo, Brittany and Aretha at Monkey Bay Wildlife Sanctuary; Tim and Corey from Calgary; Rod at The Olde Mill; Marcus and Theo along with their family of Parrot Nest Lodge in Bullet Tree Falls; Abby and Owen from Washington; Nicole from San Francisco; Sandra from New York; Mick Fleming, Lucy and Brionny along with the entire world class staff at Chaa Creek Lodge; Dosio and family of Macal River Camp at Chaa Creek Lodge; Teo and Ramona from Seattle; Sebastian de la Hoz Moretti and his mother Gabriela of Ecolodge El Sombrero at Laguna Yaxha; Jeronimo and his staff of hostel Los Amigos in Flores; Catarina and her amazing groundskeeper Jose of El Encantandero at Jobompiche; Lorena, Bernie and staff of Ni´tun; John, Ally and family from New York...and the list continues to grow.

To all of the above people, a heartfelt - thank you, baie dankie, mnogo hvala, muchas gracias!

Taking a break at 6 weeks

After puffing into San Ignacio, we puffed our way out again 5km north to Bullet Tree Falls, a pleasant little village that lies lazily on the banks of the sparkling emerald Mopan River and just a spit away from Guatemala. It turns out that Marcus and Theo, our very generous CouchSurfing hosts, run the Parrot Nest Lodge. Imagine our giddy glee when we found out that we were to have our very own bungalow, a definitive upgrade from the floor space we were expecting! Vinko had been suppressing a cold and at the first sign of friendly faces and homey comforts he released the floodgates and we spent the next five days taking it easy, getting cruisy with the guests and locals, and generally just getting our shit together. 6 weeks on the road will leave you in a bit of a spin, mind the pun. We also found out that the memory stick containing all the photos of the trip thus far decided to keel over and die on us. So we needed a few days to mourn and drink away the pain of this loss. Trust me folks, I'm more disappointed than you that we don't have any glitzy images to keep you reading this post ;-P

Rio On pools and waterfall at Mountain Pine Ridge

The Croat Haka amidst the natural water park of Rio Pools

Danger mouse through slippery slide waterfalls

Bullet Tree Falls and the surrounding area has so much to offer: multiple winding rivers, lush mountains, deep valleys, caves, Mayan sites, waterfalls, real cheese and whole wheat bread... Marcus - being wildly extroverted and always up for anything and everything - knows all the local hide-outs, which places has happy hour when and you can hardly walk half a block without loud greeting being swapped across the street. We spent mornings at the colourful market trying all the concoctions of fruit wine (carrot wine anyone?!?), happy afternoons floating down the river on tubes, and never-ending evenings downing super cheap cocktails at Meluchi's, a little bar operating from a 12 foot container overlooking the cemetery and blaring with either reggaeton or karaoke (great fun, especially considering the super cheap cocktails). We also got the chance to splash around in the Rio On Pools and Black Rock Falls at the Mountain Pine Ridge Forest Reserve. The myriad of pools and waterfalls are freezing - what were we thinking?!?!?

Black Rock Falls, home of the brave, Tarzan´s playground

Lady in red, just downstream from Black Rock Falls

Marcus and Owen showing off their Carrot and Craboo wines at Parrot Nest Lodge, Bullet Tree Falls

But all is not play for this travelling duo... oh no sir, we also had to visit Chaa Creek Lodge as part of our research. Marcus and Theo are good friends with the owners of Chaa Creek, Mick and Lucy, who came to the property in the late 70s as crusty backpackers who survived on picking beans and taking their produce to the San Ignacio markets in a canoe. So there is hope for us yet! Despite the fact that the lodge was fully booked for Christmas and very busy, Mick carted us around in his little 4WD gold-buggy while doing his rounds and we got to learn so mush about the property and its evolution into the amazing place it is today. The number one thing that we learned at Chaa Creek was the importance of great staff - each person seemed proud of the place and happy to be there, and we felt special because they were so pleased to be of assistance. Spending time at the lodge was inspiring and it ignited us to start pedalling again to go seek our piece of paradise. Good thing too, since the looming hills towards the west was not a motivating thought even on the best of days! Onwards to Guatemala!

Betta is bigga, is greatta! Sign at Rio On Pools, Belize

Speed bump = sleeping policeman, literal is betta in Belize, Cristo Rey Village

Northern and Central Belize

Belize has kept us busy! We have met the loveliest people in some beautiful places, and spending time on the internet has not been high on our priority list. We just cruised into San Ignacio in Western Belize, although the term "cruised" is a bit of a stretch of the imagination - we just encountered the first of the hills on this ride and "huffed" is a much more honest representation of our arrival into town! For those in the know, San Ignacio area reminds us a lot of Montville & Maleny in QLD, and Pai in Thailand.

To back-track a little bit: Arriving in blue-green Belize was simple and straight forward, and actually quite a mind-trip. As soon as we got stamped, the music changed from Spanish ballads to Reggae, "Hola!" was bumped out of the way by "Hey Mahn!" and there was no mistaking that we were in Belize. Sugar cane field and sapphire lakes sprang up around us as we rode on one of only three highways in the countries - a roughly tarred, unmarked road that is just wide enough for two cars to drive on. And the mosquitoes! They show up in armies and show no mercy! We veered off into Corozal, which has a bit of a seedy feel but a great little internet cafe, and camped out that night with our two Austrian friends from Bacalar, Stefan and Romana, ready to set off to Sarteneja by boat the next day to avoid riding on the highway.

See Ma - no trees, walls or fences required!

Now, Sarteneja is a little fishing village on the end of the Shipstern Nature Reserve, 60km from the next town of any mention. And that 60km is not an easy ride - it is to date the worst road we've been on. The whole road was rocks the size of potatoes with sharp edges, so no matter where you rode, it was catastrophic. We decided that secondary roads in Belize wasn't going to be worth it. Upside is that we did go past a whole whack (pun intended) of Mennonite settlements, where all the kids passing us on horse-carts looked like brothers and sisters.

Literally THE WORST ROAD EVER - (Little Belize to Orange Walk)

In Orange Walk Town, we did our second tour-activity and took a boat down the New River to the Lamanai Archeological Reserve. The boat ride itself was spectacular - clean blue water, lush vegetation, birds and critters galore and we even had two spider monkeys come on board to grab some bananas. A classic case of Monkey See, Monkey Do: because they are the only two monkeys on the island and they only encounter human tourists, they walk on their hind legs when they come onto the boat. Apparently Lamanai was the only Mayan city in the larger area to flourish during the Late and Post-classic Mayan Period, so its architecture is unique and the culture was much different that many other cities of the time. We got our first sighting and sound-clip from the Howler Monkeys, who happened to have a territorial war going on in the canopy above our heads. Imagine this: you're 8 people in a jungle, age-old ruins around you and it sounds like the banshees of hell are closing in on you. Incredible experience though!

Dos platanos (spider monkey on Lamanai tour)

High Temple at Lamanai, and yes we are at the top there...

We headed down the highway to Crooked Tree Wildlife Sanctuary, where our trip almost ended. Not in a bad way - we stayed for 3 days with Angie, Mick and their kids (Zach and Cory) at the Crooked Tree Lodge; we loved the lagoon and serenity of the place, they needed a cook for the busy season. I won them over with a potato dish and it was a close call, but in the end we decided to seek our destiny elsewhere.

Ghetto breakfast - old corn tortillas given new life by topping with peanut butter and bananas before toasting in the pan!

Good ol´classic southern barbecue meat at Slim´s Grill in Biscayne, Belize

Noah makes possibly the best Cashew and Blackberry wine in Belize, Sand Hill

The ride leaving Crooked Tree was hard, partially because we couldn't find a good place to stay along the way, and partially because my stubbornness wanted to get all the way to Monkey Bay Wildlife Sanctuary. The 85km ride was our longest yet, and we rested there for 4 whole days to check out the area and recover. After yoga in the morning, Tim and Cory, two motor bikers from Calgary (Dad, take note! Terranova Expedition - their Dec 12 blog has some photos of our day at the zoo!) gave us a ride on their bikes back to the zoo. The zoo was devastated by Hurricane Richard in October, but the staff did everything they could to ensure we still had a great day. Hats off to them. We got up close and personal with a python, tapiers, mountain lions and scarlet macaws. We even got to do a "roll-over, high-five" with a jaguar - so close that you could smell its breath and it was exhilarating. Jaguars are massive cats, much bigger than either of us anticipated. The next day we we cycled 20km backwards (one-way!) to Gracy Rock, a small Creole Village, with our new friend Alex who grew up in the village. It's a gorgeous little village on the Sibun river - we had to paddle a boat over the river to Alex's house. Him and his family was very kind to us and it was his birthday coming up, and I made him and the rest of the great people at Monkey Bay 2 massive lasagnas the night before we left.

Oh my god! Look at that beard!!! - Belize Zoo

The Schalk of envy, Tim and Corey from Terranova Expedition with one of the bikes

Bridge over Sibun River with Alex at Gracy Rock

Now we are in hilly country and apparently the hills towards Guatemala are even more difficult. So wish us luck - we'll be heading out there probably in about a week!

Adios Mexico, Bienvenidos a Belize

The last week in Mexico was a tumble dryer; we travelled quickly and struggled in parts of the wilderness, pampered ourselves at an ecolodge and lay-low for a while in a campers hideaway paradise, and even played a small role in the theartical drama of a bustling populated albeit little Mexican town.

The boat to Punta Herrero from Punta Allen was in the end a mystery never to be resolved, the weather did not improve, at least not within a reasonable time bracket for our trip, and we took the rugged road through Sian Kaan to get to Felipe Carrillo Puerto. Cycling through the middle of a biosphere reserve jungle as four o'clock swings around, the day begins to yawn and you have no clue where you will sleep that night can heighten the stress levels just a tad. Luckily for us the lesser visited Caseta Santa Teresa did in fact exist and came just at the saving tick of time, Manuel the ranger working there was a saint and showed us into the very comfortable military style sleeping quarters and bathrooms. We had a great nights sleep after a well deserved warm meal and loads of liquids.

We reached Felipe Carrillo Puerto well into the afternoon after another tough ride and a minor puncture in Sian Kaan. The road closer to Carrillo seemed to be the hunting ground for many a poacher or logger, it was a sad sight to see the scars left behind as layers of jungle were torn out of the thick vegetation. A quick stop at the first little mini-mart, a few cold cokes later and we found a hotel to rest for the night. That evening and early the next morning we enjoyed the delights the regional town markets of Mexico tend to offer, fresh licuados and hot empanadas - yumm!

After the Sian Kaan adventure, the rough nights sleep in Carrillo and lots of headwind, the 75km ride to Pedro Antonio Santos for our next stop was a real, real tough challenge. We crashed for a quick lunch and a rest in one of the random staggered yellow concrete bus stops along the highway. We reached our destination late into the day, it was a beautiful end to our ride - the wind calmed, birds and grasshoppers flew across our view of the setting sun. We rode in these calm, dry and comfortable conditions until reaching the turn off to Laguna Azul, a German run camping and cabana hang-out on the northern edge of the Bacalar Laguna. We stayed for two magical and relaxing nights where we came to a deeper understanding of why people tend to move to live at the edge of a lake.

Vinko and Stefan attempting the world's first canoe launched Kite Surf, Laguna Azul

Our stay in Bacalar was eco-romantic at the Kuuch Kaanil cabanas, again the stunning lake and the relaxing setting made it difficult to cut our stay any shorter (we stayed for three nights). While staying with the nice people at Kuuch Kaanil we explored the lake for half a morning with a couple from Mexico city who were staying there on a friends recommendation. Our guide Angel took us to a 120 meter deep cenote (Cenote Azul - often used by deep sea free divers) as well as gliding through the Canal de los Piratas, a channel used by logging pirates local from the region who used to smuggle out mahogany to be used on expensive furniture made in England and Europe before the 20th century. This area is definitely going on our top picks list to return to and maybe start our eco-venture, it is truly amazing and very well worth looking after. The couple from Mexico city, Manuel and Mansul turned out to be extremely generous people. That afternoon they invited us to come along for a walk around Chachobben (they insisted on paying our entry fee!), a rarely visited group of Mayan temple ruins much more majestic and stunning that anything seen at Chitchen Itza - but this is probably largely due to the fact that you might well turn out to be the only person at the site to experience its calm wonder.

The mission ride to Belize turned out to be quite a bit more difficult (mostly due to head wind - again) and quite a bit further than we initially envisioned. We crossed the border after paying a departure tax to leave Mexico - a common feature it seems in most Central American nations. Right on the border between Mexico and Belize there is a place known as the free-zone, a place of bargain shopping with tax free prices the size of a smaller town, totally lawless and chaotic. Immediately upon entering Belize one could sense the striking differences in culture; the music, the accents, the clothing, the cars and of course the currency. We bought only necessary supplies in the free-zone and snatched a quick lunch at a road stall serving Mexican style buns with chicken and salsa, these went down well with a couple of soft drinks to quench our day's thirst.

We reached Corozal, our first destination in Belize, after a brisk hour ride from the border. Drivers on the road, again were very considerate and took sweeping lines to provide lots of clearance for us - this is even more remarkable when considering the fact that this was highway number one, a road with just enough space for two trucks to pass each other and no painted lines. Corozal is a cute little town with a lovely little central plaza or park, it had just the right number of shops and stops for us to stock up on supplies, get on the internet to complete this website (yay - milestone!) and get a night's rest. We got up very early the next morning for our boat transfer to Sarteneja, an end of the road seaside town with a more regional road access to Orange Walk - at this point our preferred travel route.

Three 250 horsepower outboards, that beats anything we saw as kids on Lastovo!

All in all, we miss Mexico already and having explored just a small number of gems that just the state of Quintana Roo had to offer, we pledge to return again sometime to explore more of this thriving middle ground and rich melting point standing between North and Central America. Belize it turns out, as we predicted, is already a lot more pleasant and friendly than people warned us along our route so far - but that's always the case, isn't it?!