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Up early on Sunday to go on a trip to a Mayan household and village celebrating the Day of the Dead, Dia de Muertos, where they get together to celebrate and remember friends and family who have died. The trip only runs once a year (obviously J) and has only been run once before, so we’re lucky to have found it through our language school. We pile into a small fleet of minibuses and drive for two hours or so into the interior of Yucatan. The peninsula is very flat (as it’s a Karst Plain), so all you can see when you’re driving is forest to about 50 feet of height, so it’s an uninteresting drive, although the driver claimed to have seen a tarantula walking across the road. The local people live only near water, which is reasonably hard to come by round here. The Karst geology, where water erodes soft limestone, causes all the rivers to sink below ground: there are no surface rivers in Yucatan at all. In places, though, the caves through which the rivers run collapse, leaving the water exposed in a pool called a cenote. So houses are built near these features, as without water, you can’t live. Here’s their local example, swelled a bit by the rain which has been falling for some weeks. Their altar for Dia de Muertos is near the pool.
The people live simply, and are open and friendly, and inquisitive about us.
We move to the local village, Tres Reyes. This is a substantial township where they will be performing a Mayan shamanistic ceremony. Here they have a more typical cenote, a very large, steep-sided hole with a pool at the bottom. (You can scuba dive in the deep ones, and I hope to later in the week).
Here’s us, hanging at the cenote. I don’t know why I’m standing like that: possibly because I’ve been climbing up and down muddy cliff paths wearing flip-flops.
It offers a lot of protection, and during Hurricane Katrina (the one which destroyed New Orleans) the town moved down here for three days while the storm raged. It’s a lovely place, quite Indiana Jones with the hanging vines and all. They have incense burners set up around the cenote for the ceremony, burning the sap of a tree. The smell reminds me of the flux in solder, for some reason.
There’s turtles in them there cenotes. Must have walked here I guess, as the rivers are all underground.
There’s a man and a boy dressed in local ceremonial costumes also, making music with drums and a wind instrument which sounds like a bird.
After we’ve looked round and taken pictures, the shaman conducts the ceremony. He passes through the crowd splashing us with water.
Back up in the town square, there’s a more conventional altar. The crowd are invited to come up and ask the shaman to remember someone important to them if they wish, and many do.
At the end, they offer round bowls of a drink made from the bark of a tree. Never one to turn down a scoop, I have a go. It tastes a bit like Pernod, but contains no alcohol. Hmm. I didn’t drink it all, by the way.
It’s absolutely bonging hot: so hot, in fact, the Diane is thinking of buying a hat, and I’m thinking of buying a bigger one. After the conclusion of the ceremony, we have a rather splendid four-course lunch, very welcome as it’s 3pm, and then return to Playa del Carmen. All in all, a very enjoyable day, and next time, I really must remember to set the camera back to high resolution after taking low-res pictures to sell stuff on the web! Twit.
Well, our obsessive tracking of Hurrican Rina showed her weakening all the time, so our Saturday flight began to look like a runner. We managed to check in online on Friday morning, so we had some confidence it would go. To celebrate, we went and watched the changing of the guard. Then back to Gatwick for another night in the delightful Travelodge Gatwick Airport, a tatty sixties box in an industrial estate 100 yards from the runway.
The flight went pretty smoothly, really, in a haze of mediocre movies and occasional meals. We landed at Cancun at about 2:30pm, and then waited and queued for about another two hours, as the baggage carousel disgorged bags eight at a time, and we queued to go through customs. Finally, though, we were on a minibus and off to Playa del Carmen, where we arrived in the late afternoon. Our activities that evening were confined to unpacking, buying water, eating in a little taco place up the road from us, having a beer in the German bar over the road, and sleeping. On Sunday, though, we were up in time for breakfast, which is 8am-10am at our hotel, the Barrio Latino. Diane in her favourite pose again, here. It’s a budget hotel, but nice.
We ambled down to the beach, about 5 minutes walk from the hotel. It’s really very hot, and very humid, especially so, as it’s the rainy season still, and there are torrential downpours at intervals throughout the day. Here’s Diane, favourite pose again, on the beach, and it’s not raining yet.
We will soon start studying Spanish at the International House Riviera Maya language school, so we wandered around town until we found it, then went shopping again, this time buying cheapo beach towels and beer, as there is a fridge in our room J We still needed notebooks to use during lessons, so Diane took herself off to Walmart (yes, they’re here also). Monday morning, it’s still raining heavily every now and again, and they’re also digging up the road round the corner from our hotel.
The first day at language school is quite tough. It’s an immersion course, so no English is spoken, and concentrating for four hours is tiring. The Tuesday is even more so, as some lessons were cancelled last week, and so we’re starting at 7:30am !! Six hours of Spanish with only two breaks. Wednesday gets easier, and we also celebrate Dio de Muertes, the day of the dead, a big deal in Mexico, and make a little altar to Frida Kahlo, a famous Mexican painter. It’s complete with tequila and cigarettes, as she enjoyed both.
We usually have lunch in a local taco place, and they also have a picture of Frida. The food is excellent, and cheap.
We settle into a routine of school until about 2pm, lunch, back to the hotel, out to the beach for a couple of hours while the sun goes down, with maybe a swim. Here it is on a windy day: the kite surfers are out.
Sometimes we end the afternoon with a drink in a bar on the beach. This is, er, orange juice. Well, I think it has orange juice in it.
And that’s how we end the week. I can barely remember Gatwick now, thank heavens. Laundry and the beach on Saturday, a tour of the local area on Sunday, with visits to two Mayan villages. Splendid.
We’ve been back from the US for about 6 weeks, and apart from a couple of cycling trips and a brief interlude diving in the Azores for me, we’ve been preparing to go to Central and South America. As well as a bit of research, this has mostly boiled down to clearing the house out, as we are renting it out while we are away.
This has proved to be a bit of a chore, and we’re both now heartily tired of it. If I could time-travel, I would pop back about twenty years like Bill and Ted and say to myself “Dude, really, don’t buy all that stuff. You’ll just end up chucking it out or giving it to Oxfam.” Our house would then be a minimalist’s dream, and emptying it merely a further exercise in Zen. As it is, we have a world-class collection of plastic storage containers which we have to find space for, as well as tons of other stuff. It’s a mystery where it all came from.
Anyway, all done now, which is handy as we’re at Gatwick, and we’re supposed to be flying to Cancun today. In fact we’re not, as Hurricane Rina struck Cancun this morning, and our flight was cancelled. So, we’re rebooked for Saturday in the hope that Rina moves on and we can get there. We’ll maybe mooch into London for a night.
When we get to Cancun, we’re catching the bus down to Playa del Carmen, which has less of a reputation as a party town. We’ll stay there a while, and then head down to Belize. We have a plan up to about Christmas, but it’s all a bit vague after that, although in general we’ll be heading south for a while.
Oh, and for the record, we’re not taking bikes: this time we’re backpacking. Anyway, here’s a photo of Diane on the platform at Bath Spa station with our luggage, shortly before we boarded the train and she discovered she’d left the little rucsac she’s holding on the platform J Fortunately we got it back, but it was exciting for a while.
It’s ten miles or so to the border, and as we’re staying here tonight, we don’t have to haul all our stuff along. We set off reasonably early to avoid the heat.
The bike route signs show us the way.
Well, sort of anyway. We find our way to the pedestrian crossing area, and then we’re there. The Mexican border.
We’ve cycled 1927.94 route miles to get here, according to the gps. We’ve cycled over 2000 miles in total counting social miles.
And that’s it. On the way back we stop for a coffee and I have a drink and an apple turnover. Together, I think they’ve got at least one calorie in them for every mile we’ve cycled.
And then that evening, we have some wine out of paper cups to celebrate. Oh, the high life, eh ?
Thoughts ? Well, the border’s nothing much, really, although as it’s been our destination for ten weeks it was a good feeling actually arriving. It takes a while to sink in that we’re done, and we have to cycle north to LA now for our flight home. We’re planning a few celebrations en route.
It’s a lovely Sunday morning as we leave Carlsbad, and so we are only two amongst many hundreds of cyclists as we continue along the coast. In fact, everyone is out doing something active: surfing, running, cycling, roller-blading. It’s going to be hot.
We chat with some of them at the lights as we pass through the seaside towns between Carlsbad and San Diego. This place was called Stratford Square: you don’t get many half-timbered buildings round here, let me tell you.
We climb a big hill up to La Jolla with all the roadies, to cries of “good climb, man” and “welcome to San Diego !” It’s very hot now, and it makes me look slightly tetchy in photographs.
Then we’re down into La Jolla itself, a jolly rich-looking town composed of lots of University of California San Diego.
We go a bit more down-market and pass through Mission Bay.
And then we get slightly lost but get a good view of San Diego across the water.
Our route takes us past Lindbergh Field, aka San Diego International Airport. Here’s a mural of Charles L himself.
Our route takes us all along the scenic waterfront, and past the USS Midway, a decommissioned aircraft carrier which is now a museum. San Diego is a very big Navy town, and they have many bases and installations around the bay.
Our way, though, lies down towards the border, so we head south and cycle through National City. This is where the docks are, including the Navy yards, and it looks like it. The big raised structure is the bridge over to Coronado.
National City is where people round here go to buy cars.
But we don’t want any, so we head for Chula Vista and our last two nights camping, at KOA. Like a few of the KOAs we’ve been to, it’s nestled under a motorway, so it’s a wee bit noisy. The Border tomorrow.
We leave San Clemente on the world’s widest cycle path.
We’re approaching our destination: the border is about 20 miles south of San Diego.
The bike route now passes through an active US Marine Corps base, Camp Pendleton.
We pass through a checkpoint where our passports are inspected by the military police. They’ve got rules, also. Sometimes they close the path, and then you have to ride down Interstate 5, which I imagine is a bit like riding down the M4. It’s open today, though.
The road is deserted apart from cyclists, and often quite ropey. There’s a good bit, though, where they’ve resurfaced it so they can practice landing aircraft on it. There are a lot of helicopters flying around, and muffled gunfire from over the hills.
We finally pop out of the camp in Oceanside and have a cup of coffee in the Nautical Bean.
From Oceanside, we ride past another lot of beaches and eventually into Carlsbad.
Past another power station, and our day is done.
Tomorrow, San Diego. Two days to the border.
The days are taking on a different pattern now: less fog in the morning, nice and clear, and really hot by 11am. We set off along the path to Huntington Beach.
On the way, we meet and chat to another cyclist. We pause in HB itself to exchange details and have a drink. It’s really warming up now.
Eventually we reach Newport Beach, which seems to be a rich little town, boasting a Maserati dealership. We stop for lunch at a Ruby’s diner. Apparently, Arnold Schwarzenegger, the Governator, passed a law which requires restaurants to say how many calories there are in their dishes. It’s distressing, really. You should have seen the milkshakes, some were 1500 calories all by themselves.
On we go, over a headland, past a beach, over a headland, past a beach.
It’s hotter than the hobs of hell now. Here’s a photo Diane took be accident when we stopped for a breather and a cool down.
When we arrive in San Clemente, we’re staying in a nice motel again. We have a beer to celebrate.
Diane is very happy to have a glass to drink it out of. When we camp, we drink it from cups or the bottles.
Spiffing. Off to Carlsbad tomorrow.
Our rest day follows it’s usual course. I go and find coffee and croissants somewhere when I awake, and then we lounge about and get up at about 9-ish. In this case, it’s at a donut place in the mall over the road. We then take a walk to Redondo Pier, where there’s a lot of fishing going on. A Night Heron also lives here, cadging fish.
Day fishing boats tie up here also, which the pelicans know. They come and do some cadging of their own.
It’s a nice, clear day here in Southern California. Top power stations, guys.
We walk back in the evening for a drink at Naja’s, which has 70 beers, though not in the ceiling.
I have a couple of Sierra Nevadas, one of my favourites. Nice pants, dude.
The next day, we’re off to Sunset Beach, just south of Los Angeles. This involves 20 miles or so of cycling through the cities of Torrance and Long Beach. I’m sure Long Beach has some nice bits, but we’re going to ride through the less attractive areas: the industrial bits around the Port of Los Angeles. We leave our motel and ride down the Pacific Coast Highway, locally known as the PCH. We pass lots of malls for the first five miles or so.
Then we’re into Long Beach, and the landscape becomes more industrial and smelly. Reminds me of where I grew up, Bootle, near Liverpool. I well remember the smell of the gas works, and the tannery. The roads aren’t too busy, as it’s a weekday at about 11am.
All goes well apart from a slight wobble where Diane misses where I’ve gone and almost ends up on the freeway heading to the attractively-named Terminal Island.
Anyway, after that we’re laughing, and we soon arrive in Sunset Beach. Here I am waiting for our hotel check-in time to come round, as we’re a bit early, reading a book on my Kindle.
It’s a nice place, and you can almost see Long Beach in the distance.
Off to San Clemente tomorrow.
We’re up early, as we want to be gone from Leo Carrillo. We roll at about 8am. The surfers are already up and at it on the actual Leo Carrillo State Beach, which is really very picturesque.
We soon stop at a Starbucks in Malibu, as we didn’t even pause to make our usual morning cup of tea. Malibu itself is a very thin town, clinging to the hills by the ocean. This is Malibu Pier. I’m sure it’s very expensive to live here and all that. I keep hearing the Joni Mitchell track Trouble Child in my head (“…breaking like the waves at Malibu”).
We stop at a petrol station to use the restrooms. Whilst standing there, we meet a couple who are on their way to LAX. They’ve just been reunited after 46 years apart: childhood sweethearts together again.
The roads are getting busier and busier, and we can see LA in the distance now.
Then we cross the city limits.
Tis a big old place, then. What price Harmony, Population 18, that we passed some weeks ago ? We cycle along the Santa Monica bike path, which is actually on the beach. Almost in it, really. Those are the Santa Monica mountains in the background.
The path runs all the way past Venice Beach (cool and froogy, lots of homeless). At Venice Pier, we run into a couple of fellow tourists we haven’t seen since Monterey. They’re staying in Venice tonight, and then flying back to Australia tomorrow. We continue, and then swing inland around Marina del Rey.
Here’s me chatting to a local who’d bought his bike that day, and was trying it out. We hit the beach again near LAX, whose runway ends just before the sea starts. Beach volleyball is evidently popular here, though not on a Monday.
Well, if you’ve got a nice beach, what’s the thing to do ? Build a power station, of course. This is Scattergood Steam Plant. The bike path runs right past it.
After a bit more cycling, we arrive in Hermosa Beach. Some assiduous web research has found us the Hermosa Cyclery. We stop there briefly to arrange to have our bikes boxed for the trip home. We’re only seven or so miles from LAX so it’s pretty convenient.
Then we cycle the couple of miles to Redondo Beach, where we’re staying for a couple of days. And yes, that’s another power station just peeking out there. It has a big muriel of a whale on it.
It’s a nice, quiet place compared to Venice Beach, or even Hermosa. And we have a nice motel room so we can catch up on our missing sleep from last night. We’ve cycled 44 miles to get here, and almost all of it urban.
By the way, I know how to spell mural. Calling it a muriel is a hangover from my youth, long, long ago.
It’s, er, cool and cloudy again when we set out the following morning. We’re gone pretty early, as the parks guys like hiker-bikers to leave to prevent “transients” (aka the homeless) from settling in. Of which more later. Here’s Diane putting another layer on next to a nice power station.
After coffee in Oxnard, we hit farmland again and stop at a stall to buy fruit.
It was cheap and yummy. This is a big armed forces area, so we’re riding around the massive Ventura County Naval Base. Amongst other things, they test missiles, and so have a large display of old and current hardware at their Missile Park. The tallest one is a Polaris.
We’re riding around the Santa Monica Mountains now, mostly at sea level. It’s very hot. We stop for lunch by the beach and chat to some other cyclists who will be at the border in a couple of days, rather than a week like us. They aren’t carrying anything, though, they are being followed by some friends in a van.
This being a weekend, there are vast, and I mean vast, numbers of motorcyclists around. They all pop out here from LA and meet up at Neptune’s Net.
This doesn’t show the hundreds of other bikes or the police cars, and can’t convey the noise, which was immense. Shortly thereafter, we haul into Leo Carrillo State Beach, and set up in hiker-biker. They have a camp store selling beer and t-shirts, so I buy both.
Anyway, for some weeks our fellow cyclists had been warning us about the state campgrounds south of Santa Barbara, and especially near LA. Most said they wouldn’t stay in them, and some even packed in their trips before they got there. Even The Book mentioned the transient problem. But we wanted them to be nice places, and so, with some foreboding, we are camping at the closest campground to LA.
It was super-noisy until very late, and that was just the regular campers. Also, the rangers (who carry guns) come and check who’s there at about 7pm. All good, although there’s a couple of guys staying there already who look homeless to me. Then, at about 11pm, more people sneak in and set up about 20 feet away. They have a big fire and sit around talking, and occasionally shouting at each other, until about 4am. They wander about looking for wood, shouting and waving torches, which is disconcerting for us in a small tent. All in all, not a good experience.
So, farewell then, state campgrounds. We’ll motel it or stay at commercial sites for the rest of the trip. The big city tomorrow.
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