Sixtyfirst year, day one
November 2, 2007
It's 5:30pm, sunset, chiping crickets getting louder in the jungle, with the fading light. We are not at our B and B, the Flycatcher Lodge in Santa Elena (yes, Elena!), as planned, but rather sitting on the side of the road in a broken down bus. Our beds our 40 k farther up the road.
All was well for the first 3 hours of the "2.5" hour trip. The second class bus stopped not only at every village but at every house where someone wanted on or off as well. Then, all of a sudden as we were driving along, a loud alarm went off. Not the 95kph alarm, a tolerable bleep and flashing red light that activated every time the driver managed to urge the bus over that speed. Wé had heard that a lot. No, this was a shrill, earsplitting sound that caused the driver to pull over on to the nonexistant shoulder, shut off the bus, grab a 2 liter bottle of water on the dash, grab a 2 liter bottle of water on the dash, exit the bus, and race to the rear. Five mexican guys, mechanics all, got out too. Soon one was back calling for "Mas aqua!" and all of the passangers ourselves included offered up our bottled water to the radiator. Soon the driver and helpers are back on the bus. It turns over, starts slowly, and the alarm sounds again. The driver takes us up a small hill, then cuts the engine and we coast down the other side. He repeats this maneuver a couple of times, until we´ve gone maybe half a kilometer, and someone spots a swamp. All the mechanics get off with the driver and the empty bottles, and disappear into the green...
The day started well. At midnight CT and I were finishing dinner on a lovely second floor balcony overlooking the main square, still alive with people. The bay of Campeche is the major gulf shriping ground, and that´s what we´ve been eating since we got here. Tonight I had the camarones butterflied in the shell, grilled, and covered with a white wine sauce ¬ delicious. Sarah had a "shrimp steak". I thought it was a typo for surf and turf, but the waiter seemed to be explaining it was only shrimp. ¿Must be from one hellava shrimp!? At anyrate, when it arrived it was indeed shrimp curled and toothpicked together to make something the size and shape of a small steak, covered with a wonderful mango sauce.
We finished that off, moved on to dessert a tasty chocolate cake thing with one candle and a chocolate sign that said Felecidad or some such. This was accompanied by a large tequila-grapefruit slammer, which when the waiter pounded it on the table escaped from under the edge of the lid of linen napkin and sprayed my shirt. Everyone laughed including me and the waiter, he and the other patrons sang Happy Birthday, I blew our ALL the candles. Not long after that, the tower bells in the beautifullly lit cathedral commanding the square struck midnight, and I turned 60.
This morning we got up early to catch the first bus out to some large Mayan ruins at Edzna. It costs 20 usd each to get there with the tour company and all they furnish is a cab, no guide. But the guy running the local hostal tells us about the rural bus leaving at 7am for one tenth the price. So get to the market buss stop bright and early, but on asking if this where we catch the bus for Bonfir, we get a loud excited shower of Spanish, which we think we understand means that the early bus isn´t running today because its the Day of the Dead. But there is another bus on the other side of the market.... So we follow the one other person who leaves the original stop at this news to a section of the curb in the fruit section marked off with safty cones. We come to understand that this is were a Collectivo will start from. Collectivos are vans that make designated runs, and leave not so much on as schedule as when they fill up. Most are twelve passanger, and we are #12 and 13 on the curb. But not to worry. By the time it arrives, loads up, and takes off there are 20+ of us packed in, not counting the driver.
And take off it does! Soon we are rocketing across the countryside at high speed. From the rear seat, I am contemplating the dinnerplate size image of the blessed virgin done in sequins on the headliner over the driver, and wondering if I should rethink my position on religion. But quickly we arrive at the ruins, and when we get off the driver charges us 5usd for the two of us so we´re smiling. When we get into the site, we realize that we are the only ones there. This a big place, with a lot of restored buildings and a very tall pyrimid, and for the next two hours we have it all to ourselves. Except for the buzzards perched near the steep steps, hoping we will miss one I guess. It is a spectacular experience, and somehow quite fitting for the Dia del Muerto. We were done exploring with the help of our guide book about the time the first other visitors arrive. They are a couple from the East coast who offer to share their taxi back to Campeche if we cant catch a bus or collectivo.
After standing on the side of the hiway for almost an hour, we are beginning to think we might end up accepting their offer, and since it´s getting hot our there,we´re wondering how much more time they are going to spend at the ruins. But just then a car pulls up, a Mexican man and his son with a load of flowers in the back, and the dad offers us a ride. They are very nice, and drive us right back to the market, and steadfastly refuse any pesos for gas.
We have time to check out, visit the ATM (none of these or places that accept credit cards where we are headed), schlep our stuff down to the bus station, grab a bite and catch the next bus to Santa Elena. At first it looks like our packs will be in the cargo hold with several boxes of fish, but fortunately, we think, we end up on another bus. The one with the leaky radiator....
Now back on the side of the road in the jungle, it´s getting dark quickly. But the men return from the swamp, fill up the radiator, and we´re off again, this time at full speed with no alarms. We manage to spot the sign for the Flycatcher as the bus pulls into Santa Elena, so the driver lets us off at the driveway. A few minutes later we are greeted warmly by our hosts who had just about given up. The bus is often late, but never that late. They show us to our lovely room with a queen bed and with just about the best mattress we´ve ever had away from home. They recommend a restaurant across the road called ¨The Pickled Onion¨just a few hundred yards away, and soon we are sitting on their terrace drinking micheala, a beer with spices, and eating pollo pibel, delicious chicken cooked in more different spices baked in a bananna leaf. Victoria Onion, the Canadian expat who runs the place, has assured us that all the greens and vegetables are washed with purified water, so CT is working her way through the first salad she has had in days. The night is warm, a few dogs bark, a comfortable bed awaits us, and we are happy. Or as our daughter has taught us to say, ¨baringa llena, corazone contendo¨.
It's 5:30pm, sunset, chiping crickets getting louder in the jungle, with the fading light. We are not at our B and B, the Flycatcher Lodge in Santa Elena (yes, Elena!), as planned, but rather sitting on the side of the road in a broken down bus. Our beds our 40 k farther up the road.
All was well for the first 3 hours of the "2.5" hour trip. The second class bus stopped not only at every village but at every house where someone wanted on or off as well. Then, all of a sudden as we were driving along, a loud alarm went off. Not the 95kph alarm, a tolerable bleep and flashing red light that activated every time the driver managed to urge the bus over that speed. Wé had heard that a lot. No, this was a shrill, earsplitting sound that caused the driver to pull over on to the nonexistant shoulder, shut off the bus, grab a 2 liter bottle of water on the dash, grab a 2 liter bottle of water on the dash, exit the bus, and race to the rear. Five mexican guys, mechanics all, got out too. Soon one was back calling for "Mas aqua!" and all of the passangers ourselves included offered up our bottled water to the radiator. Soon the driver and helpers are back on the bus. It turns over, starts slowly, and the alarm sounds again. The driver takes us up a small hill, then cuts the engine and we coast down the other side. He repeats this maneuver a couple of times, until we´ve gone maybe half a kilometer, and someone spots a swamp. All the mechanics get off with the driver and the empty bottles, and disappear into the green...
The day started well. At midnight CT and I were finishing dinner on a lovely second floor balcony overlooking the main square, still alive with people. The bay of Campeche is the major gulf shriping ground, and that´s what we´ve been eating since we got here. Tonight I had the camarones butterflied in the shell, grilled, and covered with a white wine sauce ¬ delicious. Sarah had a "shrimp steak". I thought it was a typo for surf and turf, but the waiter seemed to be explaining it was only shrimp. ¿Must be from one hellava shrimp!? At anyrate, when it arrived it was indeed shrimp curled and toothpicked together to make something the size and shape of a small steak, covered with a wonderful mango sauce.
We finished that off, moved on to dessert a tasty chocolate cake thing with one candle and a chocolate sign that said Felecidad or some such. This was accompanied by a large tequila-grapefruit slammer, which when the waiter pounded it on the table escaped from under the edge of the lid of linen napkin and sprayed my shirt. Everyone laughed including me and the waiter, he and the other patrons sang Happy Birthday, I blew our ALL the candles. Not long after that, the tower bells in the beautifullly lit cathedral commanding the square struck midnight, and I turned 60.
This morning we got up early to catch the first bus out to some large Mayan ruins at Edzna. It costs 20 usd each to get there with the tour company and all they furnish is a cab, no guide. But the guy running the local hostal tells us about the rural bus leaving at 7am for one tenth the price. So get to the market buss stop bright and early, but on asking if this where we catch the bus for Bonfir, we get a loud excited shower of Spanish, which we think we understand means that the early bus isn´t running today because its the Day of the Dead. But there is another bus on the other side of the market.... So we follow the one other person who leaves the original stop at this news to a section of the curb in the fruit section marked off with safty cones. We come to understand that this is were a Collectivo will start from. Collectivos are vans that make designated runs, and leave not so much on as schedule as when they fill up. Most are twelve passanger, and we are #12 and 13 on the curb. But not to worry. By the time it arrives, loads up, and takes off there are 20+ of us packed in, not counting the driver.
And take off it does! Soon we are rocketing across the countryside at high speed. From the rear seat, I am contemplating the dinnerplate size image of the blessed virgin done in sequins on the headliner over the driver, and wondering if I should rethink my position on religion. But quickly we arrive at the ruins, and when we get off the driver charges us 5usd for the two of us so we´re smiling. When we get into the site, we realize that we are the only ones there. This a big place, with a lot of restored buildings and a very tall pyrimid, and for the next two hours we have it all to ourselves. Except for the buzzards perched near the steep steps, hoping we will miss one I guess. It is a spectacular experience, and somehow quite fitting for the Dia del Muerto. We were done exploring with the help of our guide book about the time the first other visitors arrive. They are a couple from the East coast who offer to share their taxi back to Campeche if we cant catch a bus or collectivo.
After standing on the side of the hiway for almost an hour, we are beginning to think we might end up accepting their offer, and since it´s getting hot our there,we´re wondering how much more time they are going to spend at the ruins. But just then a car pulls up, a Mexican man and his son with a load of flowers in the back, and the dad offers us a ride. They are very nice, and drive us right back to the market, and steadfastly refuse any pesos for gas.
We have time to check out, visit the ATM (none of these or places that accept credit cards where we are headed), schlep our stuff down to the bus station, grab a bite and catch the next bus to Santa Elena. At first it looks like our packs will be in the cargo hold with several boxes of fish, but fortunately, we think, we end up on another bus. The one with the leaky radiator....
Now back on the side of the road in the jungle, it´s getting dark quickly. But the men return from the swamp, fill up the radiator, and we´re off again, this time at full speed with no alarms. We manage to spot the sign for the Flycatcher as the bus pulls into Santa Elena, so the driver lets us off at the driveway. A few minutes later we are greeted warmly by our hosts who had just about given up. The bus is often late, but never that late. They show us to our lovely room with a queen bed and with just about the best mattress we´ve ever had away from home. They recommend a restaurant across the road called ¨The Pickled Onion¨just a few hundred yards away, and soon we are sitting on their terrace drinking micheala, a beer with spices, and eating pollo pibel, delicious chicken cooked in more different spices baked in a bananna leaf. Victoria Onion, the Canadian expat who runs the place, has assured us that all the greens and vegetables are washed with purified water, so CT is working her way through the first salad she has had in days. The night is warm, a few dogs bark, a comfortable bed awaits us, and we are happy. Or as our daughter has taught us to say, ¨baringa llena, corazone contendo¨.
posted by Axolotl at 5:52 PM
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