Out of Guatamala

Well, how to begin...Reccardo on the second day became Roberto.  After accompaning us to the border, we unknowingly hired another Coyote, Victor.  It seems that Roberto is not very assertive and somewhat incompetent, allowing Victor to edge in on his territory...all this meant to us was another mouth to feed....2.5 hours of confusion and mistrust later, we succeeded in getting on our way.  We paid $260 for a vehicle permit that is supposed to be good throughout Central America, and various smaller fees to get our sad butts into Guatamala.  Victor tried to lure us down an alley, claiming the permit was $450 and he would pay it for us if we just gave him the cash.  Midway down the alley, we smelled the rat and insisted that we pay the fee in person and directly at the immigration window.  Back on the main drag, we were decended upon by hoards of money changers with big wads of cash in their pocket offering between 6.7 and 7.5 Quetzels to the dollar.  I won't tell you who got the 6.7 rate, but his name rhymes with "Rim".

On down the road we go, between the Pacific Coast to the south and the volcanoes to the North, in lush farm land.  The main crop is sugar cane, and the fields go on seemingly for ever.  Numerous cane processing plans spew clouds of brown smoke into the sky, partially blocking views of the high dormant volcanoes. Still, they are spectacular.

At dusk, we stumble into the town of Esquentla looking for habitacion.  As we drive down the dark and dreary street, I wonder how I'm going to describe this place in the blog without using the redundant words, dump or shitty.  I resolve to merely lower the bar and reevaluate my relative rating scale.  Just suffice it to say, Tapachula is looking pretty good.

Wednesday along the road we encountered roadblocks (2) where the local population spread tree branches and rocks across intersections, stopping taffic in every direction...por que?  A protest to demonstrate displeasure at high electricity rates.  Two hours later, they made their point and we were all on our way.

Thursday we were excited to cross the border to El Salvador, and determined to retain our dignity by not to succumbing to the Coyote's offer of services.  Get this...over two miles of semi-trailor trucks stopped dead in their tracks waiting to cross the boarder.  We negotiateed a route around and between them until we reached the boarder...Darwin's theory put to the test!  As to our our self service boarder crossing plan, 4.5 hours later we limped south, licking out wouned egos into El Salvador...but with all our money still in our pockets.

Of course, this put us seriously behind in our quest to reach the capitol city San Salvador, a city of several million people before dusk.  We, therefore, were forced to break all the rules of Central American travel...don't drive at night, don't drive in a large metro area at night, don't stop if you are driving in a large metro area at night, etc.  With the deft navigational skills of the person whos name rhymes with "rim", we suceeded in arriving at our prearranged hotel in the civico central.

Still in Mexico

For all of you who grew up in the community of Tapachula, Mexico, I apologize in advance for offending you in this blog entry, as Tapachula, not Rock Springs WY, is the place God will place the enema tube.  Twenty eight miles north of town, as we slowed down for a routine unmanned security checkpoint, out popped Riccardo from behind the concrete pillar, gingerly flagging us down.  Little did we know, he would become our buddy for the entire afternoon, assisting us in navigating through the cumbersome bureaucratic process of getting a vehicle and two linguistically challenged Gringos across to Guatemala.  Riccardo is what they call a Coyote, who make their living assisting people through the process.  No formal offer of employment is given...no defined tasks for a fee is discussed...just a good guy who appears out of no where to help us...hmmmmm. First, he hops in with us and directs us to a town a few miles down the road to get copies of our Mexican paperwork.  Then back to a beautifully designed governmental compex that we had already passed...with no visible signs or I.D. of what the hell it is...to process the correct paperwork to get a refund of the $200US deposit that Jim put on his card in Nogales.  At that point we realized that without the intervention of Riccardo, we never would have known that this station was the venue for such a transaction...not the border 35 miles down the road as we anticipated.  We would have had to drive back from the boarder,  pissed off and feeling stupid.  Ricardo was earning his money, what ever that will turn out to be.

We were surprised to learn that reccardo was not done with us, as he suggested that he accompany us to the border 35 miles south and assist us getting through the Mexican and Guatamalan immigration offices.  At this point, we didn't really know if that was a good or bad thing.  It was getting late in the afternoon, and we didn't want to cross the border at night.  So we decided to use a Tapachula hotel reservation we made earlier just for this contingency.  As we travelled toward town we explained this to Riccardo and asked him where he wanted us to drop him off.  He pretended not to understand the question, and we both quietly wondered to ourselves just what we were going to do with him.  However, Riccardo seemed to be intent on helping us find our hotel.  Not necessary, we said, pointing to our trusty GPS with the sexy female voice guiding us toward downtown.  What came next was 45 minutes of aimless wandering until we realized that the woman in the GPS had gone completely berserk.  Finally finding the hotel after six direction querries from strangers, we arrived at the hotel, a clean dump that blended in with Tapachula's chaotic urban blight.  Riccardo passionately convinced us he needed to meet us at 9am the next morning to complete the process, and then disappeared into the labarynth of city streets.  To be continued...

Toward Guatamala

So, to recap the day's activities: I  fetched the Little Red Truck from the hotel garage and promptly turned right up a one way street in front of two of Oaxaca's finest police officers...after the awkward correction, they let me proceed,shaking their heads in disgust...but in Mexico, I'm small potatoes. Then, after coffee and fruita on the Plaza Centro in Oaxaca, Jim one upped me with a wrong turn up a one way collector road, with a stream of angry Mexican motorists barrelling toward us.  A quick 4X4 leap frog move crossing two lanes of traffic and over the median, we solved another small life-threatening problem.  On to an entertaining day of delightful winding mountain driving for Jim, and a torturous nausea induced delirium for the passenger (me).  After hitting a hidden speed bump (topes) at 40mph, we pryed skulls off the top of our cab and called off the game because of impending darkness in a city we cannot pronounce...tomorrow looms Guatemala, with all it's uncertainty.

Oaxaca

In Oaxaca, a very cool colonial town in southern Mexico.  The drive south from Mexico City via Puebla was uneventful and pleasant.  We keep expecting trouble around every corner, with Panco Villa descending upon us with guns blazing...but, no, everything is good.  The three border crossings we fear are coming soon, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras.  We'll see...

Mexico City

Taking a leisurely morning to check out the sights in Mexico City, before heading south for Oaxaca.  What an interesting city of almost 20 million people.  Not quite like navigating the streets of Midway!  It's every man for themselves on the road...thank God for the GPS.  Hung out at the Marriott in the center of the city to receive the FedEx package containing the title to the truck, which will be needed to get across the border to Guatamala.  The l990 Little Red Truck with the bobble Jesus on the dash was a bit out of place among a the luxury cars in the hotel circle.  The valet attendants had to flip to see which one had to park it.

As Anticipated, Trouble

Well, here we are in Mazatlan, second night across the border.  Arrived at night, tired, and just looking for a place to crash that has decent wifi service...how about a high rise Best Western on the beach in Civico Centro?  Yes, because it's sure to have decent WiFi service...damn the cost, we are tired.  But nooooo, WiFi screwed up...moving the truck to the secure parking lot, it won't start!  Yes, our first breakdown of the trip!  Probably the ignition is the problem...must find a mechanic tomorrow, and parked in a position to facilitate a compression start in the morning...is this a sign of more to come?  We'll see...  

It's About Time

After recent retirement from their respective careers, Doug and Jim embark on their dream journey...to drive the Pan American Highway (sort of) from their homes in Utah to Ushuaia, Argentina, the southern most town in the world.  With a minimal amount of planning, decent tires, and credit cards, the duo will leave The Northern Utah cold in Jim's 1990 Toyota pickup (repurchased from the insurance company after being totaled) and head for warmer temperatures.  At the end of the trip, the duo will ditch the truck and fly home to reunite with the beautiful Utah spring weather.  This blog describes the inevitable ups and downs of such a trip, and hopefully, will never be used as evidence in a court of law.