Correr Es Mi Destino » On The Road

Of a Flight Back Home

Zhu — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 17:22:28 +0000

Pearson Airport, Waiting for the Ottawa Flight

We do the craziest things when we are in post-traveling limbo. Last year, we ended up at Tim Horton’s at 5 a.m. because we were jetlagged. This time, we walked to the supermarket even though it was – 10°C and we had quite a few bags to carry to restock the fridge. “I don’t think we will be able to take a taxi back,” I joked. “And street food isn’t an option either.”

The trip back home was tiring. It always is. I sometimes dream of flying door-to-door but it’s not going to happen as long as we live in Ottawa. Our airport sucks: it is barely bigger than a Wal-Mart and it has very few direct international flights. We always have to transfer in the U.S. or in Toronto.

We left Playa Del Carmen under the rain at noon, bused to Cancún and waited for a few hours at the airport. We were lucky to fly Air Canada, which has a nice on-board entertainment system (yes American airlines, you suck!). We got to Toronto Pearson around 9 p.m. and happily jumped the immigration queue because of our connecting flight.

That’s when I realized it’s been ten years that I set foot in Canada.

In February 2002, after our first crazy trip in Latin America, we ended up in Ottawa. We bought the return ticket in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I made Feng a fake student card so that we could buy the cheap flight to Toronto. I was supposed to fly back to Paris but I couldn’t stand the thought of it. From Rio to Paris in a few hours—it was too brutal.

So I followed Feng to Canada.

We had a stopover in Houston, Texas. My first time ever on American soil. I couldn’t stop staring at the cops—there were the biggest meanest-looking and cops I had ever seen. No match to the French police, for sure.

We weren’t exactly prepared for Canada. I wasn’t, obviously—I hadn’t planned to come to Canada in the first place. We had no winter clothes but “Peruvian jackets” (thick wool jackets we had bought in Cuzco, before going to the Macchu Picchu) and a scarf, bought in Guatemala. Feng had warned me: it was going to be cold. February in Canada, what do you expect?

As soon as we were through immigration, I hurried outside, both scared and eager to experience the famous Canadian cold. I’m not sure what I was expecting—to freeze right there, at the airport door? To turn into an instant snowman?

I breathed in deeply. It felt cold, it felt dry. It smelled of winter, of wooden houses.

I loved it, even though I usually don’t like the cold.

It was unusually chilly that day for Toronto and temperatures were in the – 20°C. But I didn’t complain. We walked downtown Toronto, headed to Chapters (“heaven,” I proclaimed) and had a burger in a sports bar later. Canada was nice, I thought. Cold but comfortable.

This time, when I walked out, I remember my first time there ten years ago. This time, the night we arrived wasn’t that cold in Toronto—around 5°C I think. But it smelled the same as it did when I first landed, this unique mix of salt, dry air, wood, exhaust and coffee.

We stayed at Pearson for a few hours and finally took a red eye to Ottawa. The plane was late and we only made it home around 2 a.m. It was strange to be in an airport that late. Everything was closed and all the passengers were sleepy, in a hurry to get back home. In a world where a lot of stores open 24/7, airports still close at night. Funny.

You know what are the strangest things of being back home? Scratching my last few mosquito bites, and putting cream on the little sunburn I got the last day in Playa del Carmen—looking back, going topless the last day was not a good idea.

P.S.: Sorry about the blog mess, I had to update my theme and WordPress and I’m working on fixing the last bugs!

Landing in Toronto

Waiting at Pearson

Welcome Winter

Zhu — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 19:15:21 +0000

Last Time Without a Jacket… For a While

We are heading home. The trip is over. Winter is starting… for us. Am I sad to leave? Always. A little bit. But to be honest, I don’t mind it that much. We’ve been everywhere we wanted to and a couple of weeks more wouldn’t change anything—we would probably spend it bumming around somewhere.

Some parts of the trip were pretty rough, especially in Honduras. I’m a backpacker, I can take it. But I wouldn’t mind showering in my own shower, which I know for a fact has hot water and proper water pressure. Our kitchen doesn’t come with cockroaches and I’m looking forward to cooking again, to making a meal to my taste. To sleeping in my bed, with clean sheet and comfy pillow.

Coming home last year was psychologically harder because we were geographically far. This time, we are flying out of Cancún and the flight will be short—four or five hour-long, at most. We won’t even be jetlagged.

We’ve been gone for seven weeks and it has been a good trip. As much as I like Mexico and Central America, I like this part of the world as a tourist and I can’t see myself settling anywhere there.

I still love the freedom of traveling. I like exploring places, seeing the world. But I like having a home to go back to as well.

For the first few years, when Feng and I were traveling, we were shouting a big “fuck you” to the world. We had little money saved and it was gone to the last cent by the end of the trip. We didn’t care about going home because we didn’t have one. Life at home didn’t matter. We came back because we were broke or about to be and because we had to work and save money to travel again. We thought in terms of weeks, months left before going traveling. We lived out of our respective backpacks. Our friends were people we met one night and had a quick drink with before parting ways in the morning.

Unfortunately, this kind of life gets old after a while. Early 2004, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was tired to go back to France at the end of each trip and I was tired of traveling, of sleeping in hotel rooms.

We ended up in Ottawa. I ended up being an immigrant. And then, five years later, I ended up being a Canadian. Life changes. We still travel. Maybe we aren’t as crazy. Maybe we are more reasonable now. We actually know we won’t spend years on the road—I’m not sure we would like it anyway.

I’m pretty sure I’ll cry at some point—when I’ll get my exit stamp, when we will board the plane, when I will wake up and realize this is it.

I always do.

But life goes on, and there is a life to live at home, in Canada, the country I choose to belong to. There are projects I want to work on, people I want to see.

Thank you for following us on the road and for all of your comments. There are still stories to be told, here or elsewhere. I’ll be back in a few days as a (tan) Canadian!

Playa Del Carmen

Zhu — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 00:14:03 +0000

!Hola chica! ¡Mire!

I don’t wanna mirar.

Playa Del Carmen is a circus.

Walk in the main street and dodge restaurants, tours and hotels offers. Decline to hold the baby tiger or the little iguana for the picture. Walk straight, ignore people, because even a polite “no gracias” won’t be enough. I do not want to go to Chichen Itza or Tulum. I just want to go buy a bottle of water. I do not want to eat. It’s 3 p.m.

I think people took classes at the Silk Market in Beijing. They are just about as pushy.

Cozumel is very American but Playa Del Carmen is apparently loved by Europeans—Italians, French, Spanish, Germans… all nationalities stroll the main street, more or less drunk and more or less tan. I wonder if tourists feel weird walking in a street full of gringos. I do. The best part of Mexico are the Mexicans, no?

Trust me, you do want to get away from the main street for all the reasons mentioned above.

There is the beach. A pretty nice one, all things considered. The water isn’t as clear as in Tulum and it’s pretty packed but it’s long, so there is room for everyone. I liked the stormy sky, it made the water even more blue. It added depth. We beach bummed for most of the day. Our last beach.

Playa Del Carmen is our last stop. It’s the end of the trip. Tomorrow, we will fly from Cancún, back home.

I have this theory that the last stop shouldn’t be too nice a place because otherwise, you regret leaving. I won’t be sad to leave Playa. It was nice… for a day.

Leaving Cozumel

Playa Del Carmen Bus Station

Playa Del Carmen

Sombreros For Sale

And Blankets!

The Beach

Isla Cozumel, The (Ghost) Town

Zhu — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 14:13:56 +0000

Cozumel is really quiet at night. Like really quiet. Like ”where the hell can we find some food” quiet.

Like I said yesterday, we are a bit out of our element here. Cozumel mostly caters to the “all inclusive” crowd and people tend to stay in their hotels where they lounge by the pool, drink and sleep.

We ended up in a small eatery where a large group was busy downing shots of tequila. Food was pretty bad and expensive. “No wonder people complain they get sick when they eat Mexican food,” we joked. “Street food in Tulum, Valladolid or just about anywhere was better and fresher!”

This morning, we went snorkeling around some shallow reef. It isn’t our first time snorkeling. This trip, we did it in Utila, and we snorkeled in Australia, Thailand and a bunch of other places before. Regardless, the underwater world never ceases to amaze me. What you see once you have a mask on is amazing and you really don’t suspect it until you look down, just below the surface. Hundreds of fishes swimming around, tree-like corals at the bottom, and a few rays of sunshine lighting up the scene like in a huge aquarium.

In the afternoon, we headed to the town to get some food. While Mexican towns are usually very lively, Cozumel was dead quiet. The island seems to march to the beat of the cruise ships which dock there for a few hours. The main street is lined up with diamond stores (because nothing says “Mexico” like diamonds, right?), cigar shops (usually with some kind of Fidel Castro poster) and tequila shops (because there is nothing better than a free shot of tequila at 10 a.m.). The town reminds me of Niagara Falls: same international franchises, same tacky taglines and souvenirs.

There weren’t any cruise ship at the dock today so most stores were closed. Mexican families were picnicking on the rocky beach and most people were drinking by the water.

Cozumel on a Sunday…

Leather Sandals

Scooters

Snorkeling

Glass Bottom Boat

Cozumel Zocalo

Cozumel Town Shoreline

Mexican Family at the Beach

Sculptures by the Water

Maya Calendar

Quintana Roo License Plate

Reverse Culture Shock in Isla Cozumel

Zhu — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 04:32:21 +0000

We are experiencing a reverse culture shock and we are not even back home yet. No, we are still in Mexico—I think so, anyway.

For our last few days, we had the chance to book a nice hotel in Isla Cozumel, Mexico biggest island. We knew it was going to be a touristic place: the Cancún-Playa Del Carmen-Cozumel is a hot spot for North Americans, especially during the winter.

From Tulum, we took a collectivo to Playa. Once there, we entered another world, one of pasty-white tourists in Hawaiian shirts, drinking tequila and strolling the main street. The ferry was a strange experience: passengers were all gringos for a start. Before the boat left, a guy selling food and drink showed up and most passengers bought chips and beer. I’m still French when it comes to food and I never really understood why North Americans feel the need to eat in places where you don’t really need to. The first time I saw a guy eating a burger at the wheel in Canada, I was puzzled. “Why doesn’t he park somewhere and have a proper lunch?” I wondered.

Don’t get me wrong, I snack too. But I tend to do it when it’s a long bus ride, not an hour-long trip to the island. And I’m always surprised to see so many people associate “holiday” with “booze”. I don’t really drink myself but I’m not a teetotaller—it’s just strange to see people behaving like drunks everywhere.

On the boat, most tourists clearly weren’t having their first drink of the day. They were loud, the kind of loud people are when they have one too many.

And then, the band started to play. Yes, there was a band on the boat, playing “Mexican” music—well, something that kind of sounded party-ish/holiday-ish. For a second, I feared people would start dancing. Ain’t no fucking cruise ship people!

I’m a killjoy. I know.

We are clearly out of our element here. Cozumel is a huge island and the hotel is located 4.5 kilometres from the town. There isn’t much around and the few restaurants charge American prices. Forget about paying in peso, everything is in U.S. dollar.

We look different. Actually, only Mexicans and us were searched by the military upon arriving in Cozumel. I take it as a compliment: we blended in.

We are going to make the most of our time in Cozumel. But it still feels strange to be in a “resort” kind of place, miles away from Honduras or Guatemala.

The Boat in Playa

In The Boat

Arriving in Cozumel

Beach Bumming in Tulum

Zhu — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 01:23:49 +0000

For our last few days in Mexico, we decided to be beach-bum. An easy decision to make considering how great the coastline is in Quintana Roo, and how cold it will be when we go back to Canada.

From Valladolid, we bused back to Tulum. Back in December, when we stopped there, I was amazed by the great beach but I naively thought most of the Caribbean would be like that. I was wrong. Utila, in Honduras, had clear waters but no beach—we swam from a pier. Placencia and Dangriga had small beaches but the sand was very coarse and the water was dirty. San Pedro and Caye Calker had good shallow water but sea grass was a problem.

Tulum is truly unique. It has everything: talcum powder sand, clear and clean water and a long stretch of sand. It’s not too busy either, which is a plus in my book.

Even the village, 8 kilometres from the beach, is laid back. All things considered, for such a touristic place in Mexico, cost of living is quite low. We can have lunch for two for about 100 pesos (less than $10). And beach bumming doesn’t cost a cent—except litres of water and jugo de toronja because it gets hot under the sun!

Tulum Playa

Not Scared At All

Tulum Playa

Valladolid, Cenote and More Ruinas

Zhu — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 00:53:14 +0000

Valladolid was a breath of fresh air. A large enough city often overlooked by tourists who bus directly from Cancún to Chichén Itzá, it had everything we need, including a number of interesting things to see—minus the crowd. For Mexico, we pretty much ditched the guidebook. Hotels are cheap here and my Spanish is more than enough to get by. We are on our own. It feels great.

In a way, Valladolid reminded me of Arequipa. A city stuck between tradition and modernity, a noble and proud place with a rich history. Sun-drenched colourful walls, women wearing the traditional Yucatán dress, a zócalo center to the life of the people… in many aspects, Valladolid is your traditional Mexican city.

It’s hard to believe all the CNN security warnings and reports on Mexico. I have no doubt there is drug-related violence but I feel it was blown out of proportion by the media. I feel safe in Mexico. Safer than in Honduras, for sure. People are welcoming and it’s not a problem to hang out outside after dark. Like in any place, we still pay attention but again, I would in any major U.S. city.

On the first day, we headed to Chichén Itzá, an hour away. Our second day there was busier. We started by checking out Cenote Zací in the morning. Cenotes are limestone sinkholes filled with fresh water, there are a lot of these in Yucatán and Quintana Roo. I wasn’t expecting much of that cenote because it was located right downtown (sometimes, the less accessible the better!) but it turned out to be better than expected. In the early morning, we were the only visitors and the water was a deep blue, and amazingly clear: we could see the limestone walls and the fishes swimming!

In the afternoon, we headed to Ek’ Balam, a major archeological site. It’s hard to access and it’s much less popular than Chichén Itzá so it was mercifully quiet and vegetation still covered most of the site. In these kinds of places, the atmosphere is everything and wandering around the ruinas almost alone was quite enjoyable. The site isn’t that big but the huge acropolis was well worth the steep climb for the view on the jungle.

Finally, I finished the day around the zócalo for some street photography. Zócalos (main plazas) are often at the centre of people’s life in Latin America. This is where you can grab some street food (and I’m not one to say no to marquesas, aka Nutella crêpes), observe the people, have a good chat and relax.

Valladolid Cathedral

Ek Balam

Cenote Zaci

Ek Balam

Beetles in Mexico

Tequila

Mexican Bar

Valladolid

Selling Tamales

Drumming in the Park

At The Park

Three Mexican Teens

Night Traffic

Back to the Maya World: Chichén Itzá

Zhu — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 14:00:56 +0000

And we are back in Mexico for the final leg of the trip–one more week to go.

Crossing the border turned out easier than planned, as we discovered there was a boat from San Pedro to Chetumal. We didn’t even have to backtrack to Belize City—a 90 minute-long ride, a smooth one this time, took us across the border.

As soon as the boat arrived, we jumped on the quay and were told to stand in line, a few feet behind our backpacks. The military and a trained dog inspected our luggage but no one traveled with a few pounds of cocaine so we were let go quickly. At the other end of the spectrum, the migracíon officer didn’t even bother looking at our passports—he just stamped them without checking our IDs.

From Chetumal, we jumped in a bus to Tulum, three hours away. We somehow got a chicken bus that stopped everywhere. “Directo” in Mexico doesn’t mean “direct” as in “this bus won’t stop every five metres to pick up passengers on the ride of the road”, it means that you don’t have to change bus to reach your destination. Semantics…

By the time we arrived in Tulum, we were starving and tired and we didn’t accomplish much other than eating quesadillas and marveling at the modern convenience stores. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a franchise person and I’m not a huge consumer in general. But we hadn’t seen a real convenience store (and much less a well-stocked supermarket) since southern Guatemala. Most stores in Belize and Honduras are just little tienditas where products aren’t always fresh. And I’m not buying yogurts unless I take them from a fridge that is actually plugged in and actually cold.

From Tulum, we headed to Valladolid—more on that later as soon as I learn how to pronounce the name of that city properly. Our first stop was of course in Chichén Itzá, a few kilometres away.

Chichén Itzá is probably the most famous and most visited Maya archeological site. The main temple is one of the icons of Mexico and it never fails to impress. We’ve been there three times and I’m still in awe!

Because Chichén Itzá is easy to access (unlike Tikal, for instance), you have to share it with hordes of tourists from Cancún. It does get very crowded and the parking lot was packed with tour buses. You can’t climb any of the structures anymore (we did in 2001!) which is kind of a shame.

Another annoyance was the number of tacky souvenir stalls in the site. Usually, in such places, souvenir stalls are outside or right at the entrance—it used to be like that in Chichén Itzá anyway. But now, stalls are lined up between each structure and it feels like walking in a market. Every two metres, someone tried to sell us plastic “Maya” masks and other tacky stuff. I know, the sellers are only trying to make a living, but it doesn’t make the site very enjoyable when you have to say “no gracias” every two minutes. I wonder if there are more sellers this year because of the whole “2012 end of the world” prediction?

Regardless, it was great to be back at Chichén Itzá and we enjoyed it despite the buzz.

Arriving in Mexico, Chetumal

Road Block in Mexico (one of many!)

Chichen Itza

Chichen Itza, The Main Temple

Lazy Lizard on Top of the Pyramid

Chichen Itza

The Only Round Building in the Maya World

: Chichen Itza

: The Ball Court

: Skulls

: The Ball Court

Chichen Itza

The Ball Court

Chichen Itza

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Ambergris Caye, San Pedro and La Isla Bonita

Zhu — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 19:00:49 +0000

If you don’t want to have a song stuck in your head for the rest of the day, do not read any further.

Last night I dreamt of San Pedro
Just like I’d never gone, I knew the song
This is where I want to be
La Isla Bonita

Apparently, some twenty years ago, Madonna had a good time in Ambergris Caye, Belize. And I only realize the song referred to that San Pedro (there are tons of them in Latin America!) tonight.

A few days ago, we woke up in Caye Calker, tired and sick of a place we couldn’t recognize anymore. What next? We had planned to stay on the island for a few days before heading to Mexico. We still had some Belize dollars left but Belize is a small country and it seemed like we had been everywhere but in one place: Ambergris Caye, 40 minutes away.

Originally, Caye Calker was the backpacker hangout while Ambergris Caye, more developed and bigger, catered to richer people. We shrugged the stereotype off and hopped on the boat. “It’s like going from Ko Phi Phi to Phuket,” we joked. We knew what to expect: a touristic place with all the amenities.

But we managed to be surprised.

Ambergris Caye is big. San Pedro, the village, lies in the middle of the narrow island. The north and the south sides are home to condos—some finished, most in various stages of completion—and gated properties. The few main streets are paved, street food and souvenirs stalls congregate around the main square.

But unlike Caye Calker, San Pedro was quiet. We found a budget hotel easily and walked north along the shore in search of a good patch of sand to sit down and relax. There were plenty under the cool shade of coconut trees. In some places, we had a stretch of beach to ourselves, in other, we shared it with locals—not tourists.

I guess it’s the irony of such places. Tourists stick to their resorts: they eat there, swim there, sleep there. At most, they hit local bars where booze is cheaper. We barely saw them. By staying in San Pedro where the locals actually live, we had access to a few cheap restaurants, supermarkets and almost unspoiled stretches of beach.

I can deal with that!

The sea was too shallow for a good swim but perfect for feet-dipping. From the piers, we spotted a few stingrays, including three or four who swam right to the shore to pick up some left-over fish. They were huge and alien-looking with their big eyes.

The sea was Caribbean blue with darker patch where the seagrass was and lighter patch where it was deeper. In the horizon, we could see the waves breaking over the reef barrier. It was just breezy enough.

It was pretty damn close to being perfect.

San Pedro was also much more laid back than I had expected. Maybe it was because we were in the village, away from the resorts. In a way it reminded me of Cancún. Yes, the stretch of beach is touristy but Cancún centro still looks like a Mexican town.

The couple of days we ended up spending in la “isla bonita” made it up for Caye Calker, our lost paradise.

San Pedro

Caribbean Sea

San Pedro Church

The Main Square

Under The Coconut Tree

Tan Feet

San Pedro

Seegrass and Blue Water

San Pedro Beach

Seashells

Have a Bloody Good Day Mate

Seashells

Two Maradonas

From the Bridge

San Pedro Woman

Stingrays by the Shore

The Boy, the Pelican and the Stingray

San Pedro Beach

San Pedro Beach and a Rainbow

Belize License Plate

In The Chicken Bus

Zhu — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 17:40:13 +0000

One of the most fascinating aspects of Belize is its population, or rather the ethnic mix in such a small territory. The population of Belize is only about 300,000 in a country the size of Massachusetts but diversity is the key here.

Take a chicken bus, one of these old U.S. school buses painted blue, purple, red or any bright colour. Listen to reggae music blasting through the loudspeakers—by the end of the trip, you will know the lyrics to every Bob Marley songs, resistance is futile. Observe the people as the hail the bus on the side of the road or as they get off in the middle of nowhere. That’s Belize for you.

From Dangriga to Belize City, I took a few quick snapshots of the other passengers during the three-hour long bus ride. Funny enough, pretty much all of the ethnic groups were represented.

First, the mestizos, those of mixed European and Indigenous ancestry. This group often speaks Spanish and they take you back to Guatemala or Southern Mexico. There are also a sizable group of Maya people, who live close to the border with Mexico and the border with Guatemala.

Creoles, descendants of African slaves and British pirates, are the largest population group and often strongly identify with the Black Caribbean culture, which makes Belize so different than other countries in Latin America.

If you spot a family with blond hair, modest clothes and many children, no, you aren’t hallucinating. Belize has a small but easy-to-spot Mennonite community which is the backbone of the country’s agricultural sector.

Respect is the keyword in Belize. I found people beautiful, mostly because of their diversity and the way they interact with each other’s. And observing them makes bus rides interesting!

In The Chicken Bus

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