I travel for work and for pleasure. I like to bring a camera along wherever I travel; it makes me see even short business trips as new experiences. I love food of all sorts and experiencing new cultures. I always travel solo and occasionally by bicycle.
![In the interest of time I took a cheap tourist van from Copán to Antigua. We left early and the driver was not at all happy to see a girl with a bicycle in the first light of morning. He complained about it excessively and I just smiled and thanked him for his help. I got the last seat, in the front next to him, and he glared at me until we got to the border crossing. I didn’t have to go through immigration since I hadn’t on the reverse side, and the lady recognized me. So I went back to the van and waited, and the driver came up to the window and said that there was a $120 USD tax for taking my bike across the border. I started to argue and he pointed his finger at me and laughed heartily. I laughed in return and from that point we got along marvelously.
The worst part of the ride was just across the border, where there were a couple of large trucks coming down a steep hill. A pair of pigs crossed our path, and the driver made an ominous sigh, they walked right in front of the first truck, who honked but couldn’t stop; the first pig escaped but the second was hit. I thought briefly about looking away, but my curiosity overcame my fear. The pig died a nasty death and it was a shock to see. I realized that I’d never actually witnessed the death of anything larger than a bug and that I am rather sheltered. It stuck with me for quite a while, but eventually I dosed off as we passed wildly around corners and sections where the road had fallen down the cliffs.
We stopped for a bit of breakfast and then continued along the road to Guatemala City. We passed a bunch of places where there were big trucks being washed by guys with brooms and sprayers on the side. The driver said that he was going to stop, because it had rained and the van had gotten dirty. I told him that my bike was dirty too, so it would be good, and he laughed. Just then he saw an open car wash and asked the guy how much. 20 Quetzales. The driver frowned, but the guy said that he would wash the bike on top and we all had a good laugh.
Some of the roads were nice for riding between Chiquimula and Guatemala City, but as we got closer to the city I was very glad not to be riding. The traffic was horrible…we spent over an hour getting through about 5 miles downtown and the pollution was awful. We passed the McDonalds and Taco Bell section, and then the road turned into a decent climb up to Antigua. The road had a nice shoulder or, at least, passing lane for a lot of the distance, but traffic and pollution were still really heavy.
Antigua has a completely different feel from the rest of Guatemala. It has tons of old colonial buildings, and husks of old buildings destroyed by earthquakes, and the feel is a lot less hectic. I’d heard a lot of good things about the Posada San Sebastián and, since I hadn’t heard back from them as to whether they had a room available, I decided to check there first. They’d just had one open up and were happy to keep my bike in a room downstairs. It is an amazingly ecclectic place, filled to the brim with antiques, an absolute collector’s paradise. Best, there was a piano in the lobby. My room wasn’t vacant yet, so I left my things and went to find some lunch and to print some sheet music. Once I got checked into my room the first thing I did was go to try out the piano. The poor thing hadn’t been tuned in probably 50 years, and the tops of the keys were mostly absent; some notes didn’t sound and others gave a dull and momentary plink; still, I had enough working keys to play one of my preludes, and I at least was able to work through the others mentally. In spite of the poor piano’s condition it was really wonderful to play a piano again.
There was supposed to be a company, Old Town Outfitters, in town that did bike tours around Antigua, and I thought that it would be fun to take a trip to explore a little with other cyclists, so I went out to find them. I did, but the girl I talked to was less than helpful. Surly, actually. They were going to charge me $100 US for transport part way to Lago Atitlán and shard guide service for the rest of the ride in (taking my trailer). Their normal rate was $195, including an overnight stay on the lake, a day kayaking, and transport back to Antigua. So, needless to say I wasn’t interested in that, and they were not offering any other tours. They did have really cool jerseys, though, so I got one of those. They wouldn’t even sell me a bike bottle to replace the one I’d given to Castro in Belize. “We have them,” said the girl “but you have to take a tour.” Right.
When I got back to the hotel there were a bunch of bike cases and guys with mountain bikes. I asked about them, and it turns out that they were a large group who had just finished a 12-day trip with Old Town Outfitters. They had a wonderful experience, so I expect I just got a bad egg. But they invited me to have dinner with them and showed me the video that they had taken on their trip. It was really great. They gave me a lot of their spare electrolytes and one of the bike bottles they’d gotten on the tour. We had a fun dinner at a little cheap-but-good restaurant and had a great time chatting about bikes, travel, etc. When we got back to the hotel, I met more of their fellow cyclists, and two of them were staying to go to the market in Chichicastenango (huge; touristy, but an experience). Since they had originally been a group of 4, until 2 realized that night that their flight was actually leaving the next morning, I decided to go along with them since there was a reservation in place already.
The bus came at 7:00 for Chichi, a typical tourist van which is just like a collectivo filled with gringos, so it costs 10X the price. But they were a really nice couple and it was a lot of fun to have people to explore the market with. There was an Israeli woman that would not let her (huge) suitcase be put on top of the bus. “NO BABY! I NEED THIS!” she would scream when the driver asked her to allow him to put it with the other bags on top. She said that she would put it in behind her, which the guy in the jump seat behind her objected to, since his knees were already touching her seat. The driver ended up losing a fare because she would not trust him, even a little. It may not have been a chicken bus, but that didn’t mean that it was without plenty of squawking!
The first part we went into was really touristy; there were all of the typical things, at outrageous prices, even in the US. I am not really big on bargaining, so it wasn’t exactly my bag. Things got a bit more interesting when we turned down a side street that had tons of Asian imports; lots of plastic, very few gringos. I guess none of us come to Guate to get a pleather cellphone cover…go figure. But there were other delights, like fresh fruit and piping hot hand-made tortillas. We got caught in a bit of a traffic jam for a while, where everyone was squeezed through the stalls with no gaps between people. I was really worried that someone would get trampled or that a baby would get crushed to death, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it, laughing and smiling through it all.
After that we came to the food, and sampled all sorts of delicious things: some bagel-like cookies, sugared coconut, nut and molasses bars, it was all very tasty. At the other end of all the food there was a huge fair going on. It was also the solstice, so it was an even bigger event than the normal big market day; they had ferris wheels, games and lots of excited children running everywhere. There was supposed to be a big ceremony in front of the church with men swinging from poles, but it was so packed that we couldn’t get up there, and it wasn’t until 2:00 anyhow, which is when the tourist van left. Supposedly. We found, though, that there was a mysterious Dutch couple missing. They had apparently called the driver to tell him they went to the wrong place, and then that they stopped to eat?!? He said that he would have to wait for them because his company would fine him if he didn’t. One German girl said that she wanted to talk to his boss, that she would tell him that the rest of us wanted to leave. From the conversations I’d overheard between the driver and his friend, I suspected that the reality was as he said, that there were police on the main street blocking the road, and he didn’t want to get a fine. I suspect that things are here as they are in Perú, where there are mysterious and variable fines around the Christmas season. But, the feisty German girl insisted on talking to his boss, and in about 15 minutes, there he was with his cell phone, and she told someone that we were out in the hot sun and wanted to leave. And the guy said OK. Then we left.
A few rows in front of me were a couple of my fellow Americans. The man was in his late 50s or so, a photography professor at some school in Texas. He was talking, loudly, to a pair of Dutch women in front of him. He started ranting about life in the US, beginning with healthcare. He and his apparent girlfriend were traveling for just over a week. He said: “No one in the US gets more than 10 days of vacation. And you can NEVER take ten days off in a row.” I piped up saying that I had 5 weeks off, but somehow he didn’t hear me. I found it a little ironic, though, because I’ve met so many Americans on this trip that are traveling for extended periods of time. And a mere 10 days of vacation sounds like few professors I know. That was probably because he was already on his healthcare rant. One of the Dutch girls was a doctor, and she gasped in horror when he told her that, even with insurance, doctor fees would run you around $40,000 for a broken toe. I mean, seriously? I think that there are a lot of problems with our healthcare system, and I wish that more Americans took the time to travel abroad in more than a superficial manner, but I really hate people who feel the need to rant against our country and our people while traveling abroad, to reinforce the negative stereotypes that exist against us and, in this case, to utterly lie. I felt like he assumed that everyone dislikes America as much as he does and thus wanted to show that he was not like the rest of us; I found this slightly ironic since most Europeans I encounter are more aware of our issues than the vast majority of Americans and are inclined to like us anyhow, even if they disagree with our policies. But to say that most Americans think that European-style health care will result in not being treated for 4 months if you are hit by a bus? That trivializes the real issues and creates impressions that have no basis in fact. To be honest, there are many times when I’ve been traveling abroad when I’ve been tempted to sing the Canadian national anthem; this is usually when another American thinks that speaking louder in English will make up for their lack of ability to even attempt 5 words of another language, or when a purple-haired lady in too-tight spandex waves her US Passport in the air as if it were a magic wand. When you see the stereotype of the Ugly American in action, it is embarrassing. But, I think it is important that people understand that these sorts of people are the exception to the rule, and that we are far from the only country that produces the occasional rude and self-centered jerk. I think it is important that people understand that many Americans are interested in exploring and respecting other cultures. So I refrained from kicking the guy in the teeth and figured that the Dutch girls probably knew better anyhow; in the end actions speak so much louder than words.
[osm_map lat=”14.738” long=”-90.961” zoom=”10” width=”600” height=”450” marker=”14.727,-90.89”]](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lvriobOFoQ1r7heg6o1_500.jpg)
In the interest of time I took a cheap tourist van from Copán to Antigua. We left early and the driver was not at all happy to see a girl with a bicycle in the first light of morning. He complained about it excessively and I just smiled and thanked him for his help. I got the last seat, in the front next to him, and he glared at me until we got to the border crossing. I didn’t have to go through immigration since I hadn’t on the reverse side, and the lady recognized me. So I went back to the van and waited, and the driver came up to the window and said that there was a $120 USD tax for taking my bike across the border. I started to argue and he pointed his finger at me and laughed heartily. I laughed in return and from that point we got along marvelously.
The worst part of the ride was just across the border, where there were a couple of large trucks coming down a steep hill. A pair of pigs crossed our path, and the driver made an ominous sigh, they walked right in front of the first truck, who honked but couldn’t stop; the first pig escaped but the second was hit. I thought briefly about looking away, but my curiosity overcame my fear. The pig died a nasty death and it was a shock to see. I realized that I’d never actually witnessed the death of anything larger than a bug and that I am rather sheltered. It stuck with me for quite a while, but eventually I dosed off as we passed wildly around corners and sections where the road had fallen down the cliffs.
We stopped for a bit of breakfast and then continued along the road to Guatemala City. We passed a bunch of places where there were big trucks being washed by guys with brooms and sprayers on the side. The driver said that he was going to stop, because it had rained and the van had gotten dirty. I told him that my bike was dirty too, so it would be good, and he laughed. Just then he saw an open car wash and asked the guy how much. 20 Quetzales. The driver frowned, but the guy said that he would wash the bike on top and we all had a good laugh.
Some of the roads were nice for riding between Chiquimula and Guatemala City, but as we got closer to the city I was very glad not to be riding. The traffic was horrible…we spent over an hour getting through about 5 miles downtown and the pollution was awful. We passed the McDonalds and Taco Bell section, and then the road turned into a decent climb up to Antigua. The road had a nice shoulder or, at least, passing lane for a lot of the distance, but traffic and pollution were still really heavy.
Antigua has a completely different feel from the rest of Guatemala. It has tons of old colonial buildings, and husks of old buildings destroyed by earthquakes, and the feel is a lot less hectic. I’d heard a lot of good things about the Posada San Sebastián and, since I hadn’t heard back from them as to whether they had a room available, I decided to check there first. They’d just had one open up and were happy to keep my bike in a room downstairs. It is an amazingly ecclectic place, filled to the brim with antiques, an absolute collector’s paradise. Best, there was a piano in the lobby. My room wasn’t vacant yet, so I left my things and went to find some lunch and to print some sheet music. Once I got checked into my room the first thing I did was go to try out the piano. The poor thing hadn’t been tuned in probably 50 years, and the tops of the keys were mostly absent; some notes didn’t sound and others gave a dull and momentary plink; still, I had enough working keys to play one of my preludes, and I at least was able to work through the others mentally. In spite of the poor piano’s condition it was really wonderful to play a piano again.
There was supposed to be a company, Old Town Outfitters, in town that did bike tours around Antigua, and I thought that it would be fun to take a trip to explore a little with other cyclists, so I went out to find them. I did, but the girl I talked to was less than helpful. Surly, actually. They were going to charge me $100 US for transport part way to Lago Atitlán and shard guide service for the rest of the ride in (taking my trailer). Their normal rate was $195, including an overnight stay on the lake, a day kayaking, and transport back to Antigua. So, needless to say I wasn’t interested in that, and they were not offering any other tours. They did have really cool jerseys, though, so I got one of those. They wouldn’t even sell me a bike bottle to replace the one I’d given to Castro in Belize. “We have them,” said the girl “but you have to take a tour.” Right.
When I got back to the hotel there were a bunch of bike cases and guys with mountain bikes. I asked about them, and it turns out that they were a large group who had just finished a 12-day trip with Old Town Outfitters. They had a wonderful experience, so I expect I just got a bad egg. But they invited me to have dinner with them and showed me the video that they had taken on their trip. It was really great. They gave me a lot of their spare electrolytes and one of the bike bottles they’d gotten on the tour. We had a fun dinner at a little cheap-but-good restaurant and had a great time chatting about bikes, travel, etc. When we got back to the hotel, I met more of their fellow cyclists, and two of them were staying to go to the market in Chichicastenango (huge; touristy, but an experience). Since they had originally been a group of 4, until 2 realized that night that their flight was actually leaving the next morning, I decided to go along with them since there was a reservation in place already.
The bus came at 7:00 for Chichi, a typical tourist van which is just like a collectivo filled with gringos, so it costs 10X the price. But they were a really nice couple and it was a lot of fun to have people to explore the market with. There was an Israeli woman that would not let her (huge) suitcase be put on top of the bus. “NO BABY! I NEED THIS!” she would scream when the driver asked her to allow him to put it with the other bags on top. She said that she would put it in behind her, which the guy in the jump seat behind her objected to, since his knees were already touching her seat. The driver ended up losing a fare because she would not trust him, even a little. It may not have been a chicken bus, but that didn’t mean that it was without plenty of squawking!
The first part we went into was really touristy; there were all of the typical things, at outrageous prices, even in the US. I am not really big on bargaining, so it wasn’t exactly my bag. Things got a bit more interesting when we turned down a side street that had tons of Asian imports; lots of plastic, very few gringos. I guess none of us come to Guate to get a pleather cellphone cover…go figure. But there were other delights, like fresh fruit and piping hot hand-made tortillas. We got caught in a bit of a traffic jam for a while, where everyone was squeezed through the stalls with no gaps between people. I was really worried that someone would get trampled or that a baby would get crushed to death, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it, laughing and smiling through it all.
After that we came to the food, and sampled all sorts of delicious things: some bagel-like cookies, sugared coconut, nut and molasses bars, it was all very tasty. At the other end of all the food there was a huge fair going on. It was also the solstice, so it was an even bigger event than the normal big market day; they had ferris wheels, games and lots of excited children running everywhere. There was supposed to be a big ceremony in front of the church with men swinging from poles, but it was so packed that we couldn’t get up there, and it wasn’t until 2:00 anyhow, which is when the tourist van left. Supposedly. We found, though, that there was a mysterious Dutch couple missing. They had apparently called the driver to tell him they went to the wrong place, and then that they stopped to eat?!? He said that he would have to wait for them because his company would fine him if he didn’t. One German girl said that she wanted to talk to his boss, that she would tell him that the rest of us wanted to leave. From the conversations I’d overheard between the driver and his friend, I suspected that the reality was as he said, that there were police on the main street blocking the road, and he didn’t want to get a fine. I suspect that things are here as they are in Perú, where there are mysterious and variable fines around the Christmas season. But, the feisty German girl insisted on talking to his boss, and in about 15 minutes, there he was with his cell phone, and she told someone that we were out in the hot sun and wanted to leave. And the guy said OK. Then we left.
A few rows in front of me were a couple of my fellow Americans. The man was in his late 50s or so, a photography professor at some school in Texas. He was talking, loudly, to a pair of Dutch women in front of him. He started ranting about life in the US, beginning with healthcare. He and his apparent girlfriend were traveling for just over a week. He said: “No one in the US gets more than 10 days of vacation. And you can NEVER take ten days off in a row.” I piped up saying that I had 5 weeks off, but somehow he didn’t hear me. I found it a little ironic, though, because I’ve met so many Americans on this trip that are traveling for extended periods of time. And a mere 10 days of vacation sounds like few professors I know. That was probably because he was already on his healthcare rant. One of the Dutch girls was a doctor, and she gasped in horror when he told her that, even with insurance, doctor fees would run you around $40,000 for a broken toe. I mean, seriously? I think that there are a lot of problems with our healthcare system, and I wish that more Americans took the time to travel abroad in more than a superficial manner, but I really hate people who feel the need to rant against our country and our people while traveling abroad, to reinforce the negative stereotypes that exist against us and, in this case, to utterly lie. I felt like he assumed that everyone dislikes America as much as he does and thus wanted to show that he was not like the rest of us; I found this slightly ironic since most Europeans I encounter are more aware of our issues than the vast majority of Americans and are inclined to like us anyhow, even if they disagree with our policies. But to say that most Americans think that European-style health care will result in not being treated for 4 months if you are hit by a bus? That trivializes the real issues and creates impressions that have no basis in fact. To be honest, there are many times when I’ve been traveling abroad when I’ve been tempted to sing the Canadian national anthem; this is usually when another American thinks that speaking louder in English will make up for their lack of ability to even attempt 5 words of another language, or when a purple-haired lady in too-tight spandex waves her US Passport in the air as if it were a magic wand. When you see the stereotype of the Ugly American in action, it is embarrassing. But, I think it is important that people understand that these sorts of people are the exception to the rule, and that we are far from the only country that produces the occasional rude and self-centered jerk. I think it is important that people understand that many Americans are interested in exploring and respecting other cultures. So I refrained from kicking the guy in the teeth and figured that the Dutch girls probably knew better anyhow; in the end actions speak so much louder than words.
[osm_map lat=”14.738” long=”-90.961” zoom=”10” width=”600” height=”450” marker=”14.727,-90.89”]
