Trip Diary - Photo Diary - Start the trip in the UK - USA - Mexico - Belize - Continue on to Belize
Northern and Western Mexico. Blimey O´Reilly (yes there are Irish pubs in Mexico, no escaping them) have such a lot to say since those faraway days of Karaoke in the mountains of U-U-U-Utah! After a hearty breakfast sat opposite a nutter scribbling, "Jesus loves you" onto a serviette over and over, we set off for the unbearably dry heat of New Mexico, leaving behind the chili festival and balloon festival of Albuquerque. Met up with the lovely biker dudes Tammy and Duke (people Mark met in Colorado) and prepared ourselves for the fearsome crossing over the border into Mexico, which actually was a breeze once we bonded with the one-legged Mexican offering immigration advice. Was sad to leave USA, but Mexico is just wonderful, all the stereotypes (big, fat, Tijuana-Brass style moustaches being most abundant!) are there, plus more! Rapidly noticed that my Spanish is a little different to their Mexican Spanish - there’s been a few hiccups, my personal fave being "Hi my name is Daisy and I am a vagina" - oops, got something lost in translation there! We’re not visiting the delights of Mexico City or Acapulco as we somewhat value our lives, but the rest of Mexico is glorious - nothing scary or dangerous as you may be lead to believe. Saying that, you have to watch the corrupt bastards known as ´police´- had an experience with them after being caught doing 70 MPH in a 40 MPH - our cash was preferable to our apologies, but we were strong and wheedled our way out of it. Spent a few days at a Motorbike Festival for the bearded, single, real ale campaigners and perpetually dull. If I heard one more question involving "miles to the gallon" or saw another bore taking pictures of our exhaust, I swear I’d be getting the bus (realized there was no air-con and I’d no doubt have to sit next to a rabid, dribbling child with TB). The place, Creel, was just amazing though - near a vast, luscious canyon housing indigenous people, eagles and endless shrines to JC.
At this point I start to wonder how many different ways a nation the most size of Europe can arrange refried beans, tortillas and tomato sauce on one plate and still call it something new. Not the culinary expertise I was lead to expect from nights out at Dig In The Ribs, but hey, there’s always Pollo Feliz (Happy Chicken - doubt that this is true after seeing the filthy battery farms at the roadside!). Speaking of poor care of animals:
ROADKILL COUNT:
Left Duke & Tammy and headed South to the Pacific coast in, again, unbearable heat. Assume the Mexican food and drink is so salty to act as an electrolyte replacement, though there are alternative suggestions as to why this might be. I prefer to keep an open mind. So anyway, we ride for days through some of the most stunning landscapes I’ve seen in my life (if you though Luton was glamorous, think again!!!), humming along to Lemon Jelly, meeting wonderfully friendly locals and slowly managing to communicate more and more in this strange tongue. Then we meet THEM.... It was a sunny day at the seaside when Matt, Mark & Dan (The Boys) came into our lives. Mark, astoundingly, from the next street to ours in Brighton - cue "small world" comment. The next 7 days are spent in something of a haze. All I know is my kidneys ached like there was no tomorrow. Something to do with a bar called Tequila Town, a coked-up Colombian and an insane capacity for pure Hedonism. Our nasty, bitey, ant-ridden hovel wasn't seen before 6am, all the time the Iron Maiden /Black Sabbath/ Shakira jukebox was plugged in, so were we!
The tropical fish, strawberry Daiquiris and 100 degree plus heat eventually got too much so we headed 200 miles inland with The Boys, though endless cactus, maize and lime fields, to....da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da...TEQUILA! Jesus, no fouler a beverage was ever consumed by man! Though the raspberry and Irish cream Tequila was vaguely novel for about 5 minutes! And what’s more, the biggest importer of Tequila are the Danes - who’d have thought it? Must be the cold.
So this is where this installment reaches its conclusion. Mark and I are in the process of creating a website in true spod fashion, will let you know the details as soon as. Miss you all and please keep the gossip coming, meatier the better please (fabricated if necessary). In the last episode we left Daisy and Mark hurtling South from Moab along the highway to meet with the Colorado Possee for a raid into Mexico..... Daisy and I had met with Tami, Duke and his folks at the border town of Deming in New Mexico. After sorting the relevant documentation for the crossing, the idea was for us all to cross the border together and head for the town of Creel, two days ride into Mexico, hitting it in time for a Horizons Unlimited bike meet. With the help of three small boys, a one legged interpreter and a passing lawyer, we were able to guarantee our crossing into Mexico in pretty quick time. The next day we finished our last bean free breakfast and rode back towards the border, past the US roadblocks and shinny customs buildings . We rode past the tall, friendly, efficient US customs officers wearing cleanly pressed uniforms and mirrored sets of aviator sunglasses. We rode past the sign saying “Welcome to Mexico” , over numerous speed bumps, through an archaic arch in a 10 foot high mud and brick wall and into Mexico.
Bang! Culture shock one - potholes, huge water filled potholes in small, close streets surrounded by small, cluttered buildings. Bang! Culture shock two - more people on the pavements and streets than cars. Some walking some standing, some spitting, some kicking dogs, but all staring at us and our bikes. Bang! Culture shock three - the hooker standing on the street corner in the midday sun, on a Sunday! One week later, with the town of Creel emptying of motorcyclists, everything seemed fine and normal. It seemed normal to eat refried beans with every meal. It seemed normal for the roads to be littered with dead dogs and the verges to be crammed with tethered Donkeys. It seemed normal to be stopped at least once a day at the numerous military checkpoints. It seemed normal that buses and trucks use both lanes when driving around blind corners on twisty mountain roads. It was even normal for me to order a coffee without accidentally asking for cheese in it instead of milk. Culture shock over. After nearly a week of riding, eating and laughing together, goodbyes are made (tears from the girls, handshakes for the boys) and our American friends depart - we’re back on our own. Fast forward days of riding. Riding long straight roads, through high plains. The roads pot-holed and virtually empty. Hedgerows of wild flows and tall grasses, spewing forth millions of yellow butterflies all willing to be decapitated by our battered motorcycle. As time rolls on, the red fairing turns a sticky shade of yellow.
We wake in a town and find three UK plated bikes next to ours. Three English lads, all heading south. Two are from Bristol and one from the next street along from us in Brighton. Hellos and goodbyes are made, along with promises of meeting up again on the road. A night in a town with some fellow bikers from California. A town square full of people at night, must be another fiesta. Food peddlers everywhere, filling the air with the smell of tacos and beans. A cat fight starts between two schoolies in the centre and the whole square rushes to watch. Grown men and woman stand on tip toe, laughing and giggling, until police with big machine guns and even bigger moustaches appear and break up the fight. Game over.
Fast forward again along the “Spine of the Devil”, a road traversing high mountain ridges with 1000 foot drop offs. Onwards now down the tropical coast road, past banana trees and lime groves to the town of Puerto Vallarta. Keep on going past the plush hotels and into the old quarter then right turn Clyde. We see the English lads bikes again and pop into their hotel. Anybody fancy a pint? A two days stay turns to three, which turns to four, which turns to be seven. Good company, excessive drinking and claustrophobic heat all conspire to keep us in our daily routine. Holiday shirts are purchased. Pre-dinner cocktails are consumed whilst we watch electrical storms over the Pacific. Every night finishes in Tequila Town, a small bar full of seasonal tourism workers from around the world and local misfits. The bar where the staff and locals know you name and you know the numbers for your favorite tracks on the jukebox. Need to leave soon, or we'll wake up in 10 years time and still find ourselves here. Plans are made for an escape.
Matt is spending time with his girlfriend Dee who has flown across from Britain (and more than likely brought a cold with her), whilst Dan and Mark join us for the ride across to the real Tequila town. Good to be back on the bike after a week on the feet, even though three out of four of us are clogged up with cold. The ride out of town turns into wacky races, as we join the carnival of the afternoon traffic, but settles into fast road riding once we’re in the countryside. Trusting in fellow riders to signal clear overtakes, we make good time through the twisty forest roads past the traffic. Along the way we pass by a 4x4 and a telephoto lenses clicks away at us - strange. The 4x4 tries to keep up with us, but it’s overeager driving just seems kind of normal for Mexico and we soon loose sight and memory of it. At a roadside stop, the same 4x4 pulls up again. A father and son of Architects get out and flood us with questions and statements. The father rode down to Argentina on his BMW650 a couple of years ago. The son has just returned from a trip to London and Barcelona. Cards are offered up and we are told that if we’re in their town and there’s anything (anything) we need, just to call.
Arriving in Tequila and we all sound like death. The cold combined with the Tequila results in my rare steak turning out as almost raw fish bathed in barbeque sauce. Surprisingly, as a welcome change to beans, it tastes pretty good. The next day sees a tour around a Tequila distillery which ends in us being picked up again by the tour bus, which has in the time that we left it, filled with school children and turned into an impromptu mobile disco - Mexico is weird.
The story so far...The Bells left you in Tequila where Jose Cuervara failed to nip the filthy colds and insect bites in the bud, but the 1/2 chicken and prescription (not needed here!) painkillers certainly helped! On leaving Tequila, we got stopped by some incredibly menacing 15 year old soldiers brandishing large guns and sucking on pink ice lollies! We managed to keep ourselves under control (they can smell it you know) and in desperation informed them "No soy Americano", to which they allowed us to trundle on. If truth be told, I have no fear of the Mexican Army, they seem genuinely interested in our trip and are just filling a bit or time in between crisps, lollies and chocolate chip cookies. It´s the fuzz you have to watch, such corrupt bastards. Rode Eastwards past miles and miles of strawberry sellers on the roadside before reaching a crazy place called Guanajuato that seems to house most of Mexico´s money, students and Canadian tourists. Built on a massively hilly landscape, the houses are all different shapes, sizes and colours and most of the road network is underground! Still didn't manage to avoid The Beans though, which by now have become less of a friend and more like a second cousin with a lack of social skills that you´re obliged to invite to your wedding (no one in particular). So celebrated Day of the Dead, a bit like Halloween except it really is about celebrating dead people instead of weeping and wailing which I think is a brilliant festival. Sadly getting commercialised, but still steeped in tradition and oh my god the flowers - I'm surprised there´s any left growing in the entire country! Colour explosion! After an incident with a sleeping policeman at 50MPH, we rode 8,000 feet up a mountain/hill/grassy knoll/whatever to a village where they almost WERE dead - very possibly the grumpiest, least personality-filled people in the land. Maybe because it´s freezing, foggy and rains all the time. The man spitting on the cafe floor was the point we decided "time to go" and gave them the biggest note in payment we could find, just to piss them off, which it did. Visited the crazy world of an English eccentric called Edward James who had far too much money and built a huge orchid garden in the middle of the jungle in the middle of, seriously, God knows where. All would have been well, but the frost came down and finished off the orchids. Not to be disillusioned, Edward decided to build it again. In concrete. 50 feet high. Painted every colour in the spectrum. And then added a few waterfalls, Escher-style non-sensicle staircases and a whole bunch of weirdness. What a gem of a place! Very similar to Portmeirion, except it´s going a bit to rack and ruin which is a damn shame as it´s one of the best thing I´ve seen in Mexico so far. Reached the Gulf of Mexico on the East Coast (parts very similar to Wales it has to be said) and finally got a taste of what´s become affectionately known as "Old Stuff", in this case ruins of a Mayan village, complete with a 100foot high calendar in the shape of a pyramid - coooooooool! Anyone remember The Mysterious Cities Of Gold (BBC1, 4pm, circa 1986). Haven´t been able to see Aztec Old Stuff as that´s around Mexico City and there isn't a chance in hell we´re going near there! Apparently the sewage rumours aren´t actually rumours...urgh... After a few nondescript towns, diabolical, Christ DOUBLE DIABOLICAL ´character´ hotels and industrious coconut, banana, honey, pineapple and dried shrimp-sellers, we reach the Yucatan Peninsular, famous for the purpose-built city of Cancun. Obviously don´t go there, not in keeping with our ´Spit, Sawdust and Bean Regime´ but visit some more Old Stuff and head to the Caribbean Coast. Mark gets his head shaved, losing his antennae connection to the cosmos and accidentally orders Tripe Soup (events not connected). Daisy almost wets herself laughing (at both events). Nothing a Strawberry Daiquiri can´t solve! Episode 4 hereby culminates at the Mexico-Belize border. Live life on the edge my friends, get another Pina Colada in!!! Lots of love Daisy xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx P.S. Am sending a cute little pop number that's been keeping a smile on our faces throughout Mexico! From: Mark Central, Eastern and Southern Mexico. A few notes on riding through Mexico:
On the Roads
Omnipresent wherever you ride in Mexico are the infuriating speed bumps known as Topas (Toe-pays). They are can be found inside and at the edges of villages, town and cities. These little gems take on many different forms (metal studs, lumps of concrete, ‘vibradors’) but all conspire on sneaking up on us whilst we ride down the road. I say we, as although Daisy has no real control of the bike she still feels their soothing affects on her coccyx when we hit them at a brisk speed.
On the People
On the Religion On the Police
On the Military 1. We get flagged down by a solider with very theatrical body language. …oh, and since Tequila we’ve seen some old stuff and one of us was stung by a large insect on the face - from the pictures below, can you guess who?
Continue on to Belize |
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From: Daisy
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| ©2006 Mark Bell |