Number 11 Guatemala 1994

Chico y Chavo, For a fistful of Quetzales

Chico y Chavo ready for the test ride

End of 1993 I left with two friends for a trip to Central America. However, we did not travel together. I went from Guatemala to Costa Rica, Thomas from Mexico to Nicaragua and Manni from Mexico to Costa Rica. Since there was no Internet nor mobile phones at the time, we had agreed to leave messages fro the others in what appeared to be the most appealing place to stay in the towns we wanted to pass through. And it worked: I met both of them.

Locals in front of a local bus

But this is not the story of today. I arrived in Guatemala on the 30th of December. On new year’s eve, the lovely colonial ruin of Antigua, the old capital of Guatemala, became a war zone. People, mostly tourists, were literally throwing fireworks at each other. There was a guy who swung a meter of Chinese firecrackers around his head, which went into the crowd while exploding. I took refuge at a table at a bar and met Rob, one of the most entertaining and interesting fellow travellers ever. In addition, he was one of the few people who were able to take pictures of me, which were not embarrassing or negative.

Indian girls and tourist men

Rob was just starting a bicycle trip from Guatemala back home to the American East coast, where he came from. He had had bought an old ambulance and driven it down to Guatemala to help the Indians. This was the time of the Guerrilla wars in Guatemala, and Robs motto was: “My government helps the Guatemalan Army, so I have to help the Indians”. His dream was to cycle around the world.

Village new years fiesta in the village of Guate above Antigua Guatemala

The next day, after we had survived the war zone and overcome the consequence, a considerable intoxicated state, he asked me to join him on his bike trip. I would have liked to but I neither had a bike nor the necessary bags and equipment. But he waived my objections away. I could rent a bike and straps to fix my bag-pack to the rear. So, to test how we could get along, I indeed rented a bike and we went up the hill to a village at the base of one of the volcanoes around Antigua. By accident, they had a little new years fiesta, and the intoxication started again.

Ready to move

The next day we took off. The idea was to go up north, if possible to the Maya ruins of Tikal, a considerable distance of about 600 km. The first part of the route was fine. It was a practically new paved road without traffic. But our idea was to go into the country side and pass through the small Indian villages. As the philanthropist he was, Rob had brought a thick book of basic medical treatment, which he wanted to try on the locals. But he also was careful, because the area, to where we went, was Guerrilla territory. So he fixed his weapon, a big machete, easily reachable to the side of his bike bag.

Our route from Antigua to Lanquin

Once we had left the main road, things got complicated. This part of Guatemala consists of high mountains, steep valleys and the road of mostly boulders. We crept up the hills like slugs and had be very careful downhill because of the rocks and runs in the road. There was no way we would reach our first destination, the little village of Granados, that night. So we targeted the Mayan ruins of Mixco Viejo, about 60 km from Antigua. We thought there might be a settlement and a place to sleep and eat.

The road north

Sunset came quickly and no ruins came in sight. We continued in the darkness. My bicycle did not have a light and I used a headlamp instead. The sight was poor and on a steep slope we almost hit an Indian family camped in the middle of the road.

The Mayan ruins of Mixco viejo in the late morning light

Eventually we reached the ruins. There was nothing else. So we spread out blankets and sleeping bags between the ancient ruins, had some crackers, fruit and nuts and went to sleep. Rob had put his machete next to him. In the middle of the night, I woke up from a loud scream. Rob stood next to me swinging his machete. I shouted at him. He calmed down and told me that he had had a dream that a group of guerrillas had attacked him.

Ready for breakfast between the ghosts of the Mayas

The road got worse the next day. We needed the whole day to reach the village of Granados only about 40 km away. There was little traffic, but on an especially bumpy and steep sloop we flagged down a pickup which gave us and our bicycles a lift to the summit. In Granados we eventually found a woman who gave us a bare room to sleep in the dental clinic, which only operated on Saturday’s from 8 till 5. Food we found in a little stall next to the church.

The dental clinic, where we slept the second night

The village church of Granados and the only eating place of the village in the blue stall next to the church

Happy to have reached the village of Granados

Ready for lunch

The next days the road got better. We stayed in pretty little villages usually dominated by bright white colonial churches. We started to call ourselves with the nicknames chico and chavo. Eventually, 188 km after Granados, we reached San Augustin Lanquin, a village which is famous for the famous grutas de Lanquin, now a national park. In this karst landscape, a river passes through a tunnel, while a tributary has created beautiful pools on the ridge above the tunnel. There was no way that my schedule would allow me to continue to cycle further north all the way to Tikal. So eventually, we both took busses back to Antigua.

A little impression of the cycling topography

Refreshment stand on the way

Chavo enjoying his lunch

Worn out!

Help to the summit by a pickup

A roadside farm

The top of the crest on the way to Rabinal

Main street of the village of Rabinal

Above the valley

Aldrich and Armstrong of Apollo 11 landed on the moon on July 22, 1969. That was some years ago .....

Later in the year I had the chance to visit Rob in his beautiful New England village full of Victorian mansions. When I left, he promised to pass by in Holland on his planned world tour. Unfortunately, afterwards, without all the means of communication we have now, I have lost contact. I don’t know whether he ever did his bicycle tour around the world.

The hospedaje in Lanquin

The pools of Lanquin

Link to other posts about Guatemala

https://h-s-coronastories.blogspot.com/2022/01/number-78-guatemala-1994-antigua.html

Snack stand in the Guamalteken countryside

I tried to get into contact with Chavo many times but unfortunately he seems to be lost...

Number 10: Japan 2005

The bicycle thief of Shionomisaki

In 2005 I had the chance to go for work to Tokyo. I had been in Japan before and I had loved it. So I decided to not fly to Tokyo, but to Osaka and travel from there by local trains to Tokyo.

South of Osaka is the Wakayama District, with, at the tip of the peninsula, Cap Shionomisaki, which in fact is the southernmost point of Honshu. Hotels were expensive at the time in Japan, but I had stayed in Youth Hostels before, which usually are a good bargain and a great place to meet other people. I learned that there is a Youth Hostel right on Cap Shionomisaki and decided to go there. There is a train line around the whole peninsula. After a couple of other memorable intermediate stops I left the train in Kushimoto and took the bus to the Youth Hostel.

I got a huge room for myself with a view over the ocean where right from my window I could see the freighters going down along the Cap from Tokyo to more southern destinations in Asia. I was the only guest. The location was spectacular. Not only was the building right on top of the Cap, it also was next to the lighthouse, and at the base of the cliff below the youth hostel was a little harbor, where I could go for a swim. I arrived on the 31st of October, but although the Japanese only swim in July and August, the water was still warm and pleasant. A couple of days and a few hundred kilometer further on, I hiked in the snow in the Japanese alps.

Just before the trip I had bought my first digital SLR, a NIKON D70, and I had only one accu. I had the charger, but no adapter for the Japanese plug holes. So the next day I went to Kushimoto again. At most of the Japanese stations you can rent bicycles, so I got one to find a shop to buy the adapter and then go and explore the Shionomisaki peninsula and the neighboring island Kii Oshima.

I am not too tall, but unfortunately all bicycles for rent were rather small. They were all alike, rather simple, no gears and a lock which would make every dutchman shake from laughter. But for a day it would do. I cycled down the quiet streets of Kushimoto to find an electric, household or appliance store which sold adapters. At the first, I could find, I left the bicycle at the door, went inside and explained what I wanted, but they did not have it. Same thing at the second. At the third, they advised me to go to a big hardware store on the outskirts of town.

Finally I found it. It was big and I was hopeful. Before, I had not locked the bicycle, since I only went into the shops briefly and I could see the bike from inside the store. I took out my key and tried to open the lock. The key did not fit. I was sure that I had the right key. They had given me a separate lock with the key inside at the station. At closer inspection, I thought that the lock had been covered in blue plastic. This one was black.

In front of all the shops where I had been before were collections of bicycles. Was it possible that … ???? I jumped on my bike and cycled back into town to find the last of the three shops were I had been. There was no bicycle with a lock which fitted to my key. OK, next one. And indeed. There was an identical bicycle, which had a lock which fitted to my key, and also had a tiny sticker of the station car rental on the mudguard.

I left the stolen bike and got out of there as quickly as possible. I never found an adapter, but the camera battery was sufficient till I arrived in Tokyo.

Typical station along the line around the peninsula

At the time, there was plenty lof staff in all the stations. One guard blocks the overpass because a train is about to leave, while another helps a late coming old woman across the tracks

One of the kiosks selling bento for the traveller in a station

My backpack, always too big for the japanese lockers. So I usually left it with somebody in a shop or a guard in the station. They always were helpful

Managing ATMs is always some guess work

The youth hostel above Cap Shionomisaki

Breakfast in the youth hostel

The lighthouse at Cap Shionomisaki  and the little harbor at the base of the cliffs

Kashinosaki lighthouse on Kii Oshima

In Europe the little ports are full of pleasure crafts. In Japan, everybodies pleasure craft seems to be a fishing boat

A real fisherman mending his nets. It is fascinating how much handwork still exists in such a high technology country

These rocks are a mojor attraction of Kii Oshima

The famous bicycle featuring in the story

Sunset from the window of my room in the youth hostel

Dinner with the japanese colleagues in Tokio