El Vaiven del Viaje

Continuing along the carribean coast we landed in Santa Marta, a popular vacation spot for locals, but for reasons I don't understand. The main beach is also a shipping port with Panamax ships cruising in all the time, and the waterfront, while pleasant at times, can quickly turn into a boxing arena as locals scrap over women, drugs, or chicle. After a few days there we realized that neighboring Taganga is a much more pleasant place to stay, and we checked into the Oso Perezoso, a laid back hotel with rooftop hammocks and excellent fruit crepe breakfasts. Our main goal in this part of the coast was to go to Tayrona National Park to camp and play in the waves, so after a couple nights in Taganga we hopped on the bus, then another bus, then hitchhiked, and then began the hike into the park. The hike in goes through some nice dense jungle and we spotted a sloth hanging out along the way. We quickly became friends with the couple we had hitchhiked with and it was nice to meet some Colombians that weren't pushing hot dogs on us or trying to exchange our money. Arriving at the beach we found that we had to pay $15 a night to camp, even though we had brought out own tent, and the only restaurant around charged $9 for a simple meal. Luckily we had prepared for the high food prices, and my bag was stuffed with food, including an entire roast chicken, the smell of which peaked my appetite to the point of insanity along the hike. We spent two nights at the park, playing in the waves, building sand castle crabs, and even getting tan in unlikely spots on the nude beach.

While Tayrona had some very beautiful aspects, we left the coast feeling a bit discouraged. The prices were high, the people were generally rude, haggling was required everywhere, and the beaches were even a little below our jaded standards (Viviana just coming from Puerto Rico, and me just coming from San Blas). We had begun to get a little nervous that Colombia would not live up to the rave reviews we had been hearing for years.



Fortunately the interior of the country gave us a completely different experience. Our first stop was the mountain town of San Gil, a center of outdoor adventure for tourists, and a beautiful small town filled with friendly locals. From there we spent a day exploring the smaller picturesque towns of Barichara and Guane, full of colonial buildings with whitewashed adobe architecture. The next day we did a 60 meter repel down the bottom third of a 180 meter waterfall. We were thoroughly enjoying the town, but decided to leave to pursue our dream of backpacking in El Cocuy National Park, a reserve full of snowcapped peaks, lagoons and rivers, all located well off the tourist track. We left our unnecessary equipment at the hostel in San Gil and headed out by bus along the crazy winding roads along the Chicamocha gorge. After 4 hours of the twisting roads we both felt sick and decided to recover at a hotel in Tunja before finishing the last 10 hour leg to the park. Unfortunately, when we awoke and went to buy tickets we were informed that a landslide had closed the road, and were left with no option but to return to San Gil along the gut wrenching road.

After recovering our equipment, a third trip back down the same road brought us into Bogota. Remembering the squalor and insecurity of the Central American capitals I had visited, my expectations for Bogota were pretty low. We checked into our hostal and set out to see the city. I soon realized that Bogota is full of culture, activity, and nightlife. We visited a number of museums the first day, including the Museo del Oro (gold museum), Museo de la Policia (police museum with Pablo Escobars jacket and blood stain), and the Botero Museum (popular Colombian artist who drew pictures of fat little cartoon people). Most of them had free entrance as well, which appealed to my penny-pinching side. At night we prowled the streets of the La Candelaria district, chatting with locals, drinking Aguila beer, and taking in the aroma of the ganja plant that seems to fill the streets all over Colombia. The next day we hopped a bus over to the salt cathedral, a gigantic church built into an active salt mine. The cathedral has 14 small chambers with the stations of the cross, as well as 2 much larger chambers for masses and events, and occupies an area of 8000 sq meters (~72000 sq ft.) all located 200 meters (~1800 ft) underground (it could be argued that the church brings you closer to the scorching inferno than the pearly gates). The crosses, statues, pilars, and nearly everything in the cathedral is carved out of the salt stone itself, making for an unusual ambience. The last day in Bogota we took part in the cyclovia, a public event held every Sunday where they close down the main thoroughfares in the city to car traffic and open it up to bikes, skateboards, rollerblades, and pedestrians. We rented some bikes and cruised down the busy streets, buying up fresh mango, shishkabobs, and other street food along the way. The closed down streets are lined with activities as well, such as public aerobics classes, concerts, and markets. We made our way to the giant Simon Bolivar park and then back to the hotel, for a total of about 120 blocks. The next day we said our farewells to the city and grabbed the overnight bus to Medellin to meet up with some friends.

In Tucson both Viviana and I had an unusual number of Colombian friends, and almost all of the ones that have returned home now live in Medellin. We spent the last week staying at our friend Jorge's house, exploring the city by day and crawling the streets for rumba by night. Medellin is full of metrocables, ski-lift like public transportation that takes you up the steep hills of the valleys, and e took one of these up to the giant parque Arvi. Our next couple days were spent checking out the downtown area, including museums and city parks (such as the Parque de Los Pies Descalzos, where everyone has to go around barefoot). At night we went saw live salsa music in the club and live jazz in the street. We went to the zona rosa and tasted the citys huge array of fruit infused rum and exotic mojitos. On the weekend we cruised the windy, landslide prone roads up to some small pueblos in the mountains and swam in rivers, marvelled at the colorfully painted balconies, and listened to charming tales of horrifying machete assaults that the local children told us. An unfortunate pothole on the way back sent the car battery up into the hood, short circuiting the alarm and causing a minor 1 and a half hour delay while we solved the issue, as well as some minor ear damage from the endless siren. Despite the horror stories, it was very interesting to me that out of all the major cities I've visited so far, I felt safer walking the streets at night in Medellin than anywhere else. While poverty is still rampant in Colombia, it has made some amazing developments recently and in my experience looks to be a lot further along than almost any country I visited in Central America (with the possible exception of Costa Rica).

After bidding farewell to our gracious host we hopped onto another bus for the twisting road to Salento, a small mountain town in the 'Zona Cafetera' (coffee zone). From here we plan to get back to nature with some hiking, fishing, and hopefully horseback riding. Then its off to Ecuador for mountains and volunteer work.

Gran Colombia

My first stop in Panama was the city of David, where I caught a bus up to Cerro Punto to do a 2 day hike through the highlands to Boquete. The trail offered some great views and a fair amount of bird watching with only a few washed out sections. I strung up my hammock in a small clearing on top of a hill and settled in for the night. It looked as though thunderstorms were coming in from all sides, but my good luck continued and after 30 minutes it was clear skies, a full moon, and the sound of howler monkeys in the distance. The downside of the trip was that it got very cold during the night in the uninsulated hammock, and I also made friends with a number of tics, one of which was embedded in my foot. The hike ended in the popular tourist town of Boquete, which really didnt impress me much and seemed to be more of a gringo retirement village than a backpacker hotspot, so I cruised down to nexus of the Americas, Panama City.

The Panama City skyline quickly put to shame that of any other Central American city. Upon arrival I headed straight down to the unusual Casco Viejo district, a wild contrast of dilapidated colonial structures and rejuvenated government buildings. In the daytime you can just walk around enjoying the scenery and eating 75 cent hot dogs, but at night the criminal element pours in from the neighboring ghetto making the streets very dangerous and all blonde people targets. Luckily someone realized this and built the Luna´s Castle hostal, a giant colonial mansion packed with rooms and endless partying. The first night I took the party bus around town, a retired US school bus with the seats taken out and replaced by a dance floor, a bar, a DJ, and some poles to hang on to (or show your skills on). I made a few attempts to leave the city for nearby attractions, but was thwarted at the beach by high prices, and shut down in the jungle by crazy rainstorms (which put a foot of water in my hostel that night). My primary goal in Panama City was to arrange a boat trip to Cartagena, and after a few days I had it all ready with Luke and Sarah.



Luke is the captain of the sailboat Nepenthe, which means anti-depressant in some language I can´t remember. Anyway, the 41ft sailboat is aptly named and the 5 day sailing trip removed every remnant of Panama City stress I had. The first 3 days were spent sailing through the remote San Blas archipelago, a string of tiny picturesque islands often with only one village, one house, or one palm tree on them. We snorkelled a shipwreck, barbecued on an uninhabited island, and fished. I got a little innovative with the fishing on this trip, catching jack (the fish, not the colloquialism) on the hand line and even catching a fish while in the act of snorkelling (sort of an underwater pet on a leash). We hooked into a few big ones, including a 9ft nurse shark, but weren´t able to get the monsters into the boat. After playtime was over we set sail, but there was no wind so we took the sails down and used the engine to power us over to Cartagena, a 36 hour voyage.



After the dighy dropped me off I realized I had finally reached the South American continent. I checked into the hostel and went out to explore the walled city in the heart of the larger metropolis. Cartagena is full of balcony-lined historic buildings, salsa music, and expensive beer. My anxiety of seeing my long lost girlfriend was growing quite a bit at this point so I didn´t do too much the first few days.

On Wednesday I picked Viviana up at the airport and set off to show her my honed traveling know-how on an excursion to a volcano filled with mud you can bathe in. We took the city bus down to the terminal and hopped on the connecting bus for the hour and a half journey to the volcano. Three hours later I was starting to think I may have made a mistake. We got off at the completely uninteresting town of Barranquilla, ate some chicken and started back for Cartagena. On the way back the bus pulled up to a line of traffic 15 minutes out of the Cartagena that looked fairly normal, until we saw cops running by with their guns drawn. The bus made a speedy 10 point turn on the narrow road and went to a nearby gas station so the driver and passangers could yell at eachother for a half an hour. We slowly found out that there was a riot because the town had been without electricity for a month, and some teenagers began lighting things on fire and throwing rocks at the cops in the middle of the street. Luckily it was cleared up after another hour and we eventually made it home.

Two days after my humbling experience, we headed out to Santa Marta, a beach town where the locals come to party on the weekends. From here we plan to take care of some last minute travel arrangements and do some camping and swimming in the Parque Tayrona. With Central America under my belt and South America under my feet I feel ready for whatever comes next...

Nicas and Ticos

So where was I... After a short stay visiting churches and drinking beer in Granada I caught the chicken bus on up to León to catch up on my history. León was a major participant in the Sandinista movement and I spent a good deal of time there learning about the intriguing and controversial past of the FSLN party, including partaking in a ceremonial march to the barracks once held by Somoza. I'll spare you the history lesson, but it makes for some excellent reading, full of CIA conspiracies, illegal weapons trade, and passionate revolution. I also took some time to learn Nicaraguan billiards and see some bubbling pits of mud.


After León I shot down to the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua. Ometepe is formed from two volcanic peaks whose lava flows have created a land bridge between them, and truly resembles something out of a fairy tale. One peak is very active with smoke often pouring out of the crater, while the other is covered in lush jungle with a swimmable lagoon at the top. After a short night of partying with some out of control Tazmanians I did a little makeshift camping around the coast, climbed to the lagoon, and spent some time on the beach watching futbol and relaxing. To save money and increase the excitement I have been avoiding guides on my travels and doing as many adventures on my own as possible, and Ometepe was perfect for the independent explorer. The island offered some excellent wildlife viewing, and was a nice segway into my short visit to Costa Rica.

A 10 hour boat ride across the lake brought me into Costa Rica where I had my first encounter with the criminal element. It seems that the entire country of Costa Rica has been conspiring to empty my bank account with $20 lunches and $8 bottles of water. Luckily I have been able to survive through camping and purifying my own water. However, even the atrocious prices cannot detract from the immense beauty and amazing wildlife of the Osa Peninsula. This peninsula in southwestern Costa Rica has a huge amount of biodiversity, and a few nights in the jungle offers some incredible encounters. I setup my hammock in the Corcovado national park and was immediately greeted by a flock of Scarlet Macaws. Another day on the trail provided 3 species of monkeys, anteaters, eagles, parrots and numerous other flora and fauna.

Now I am heading into Panama to prepare for my journey to Colombia. I am hoping to catch a yacht over to Cartagena, which I have heard is a 4-5 day voyage. This gives me about another 10 days before I should arrive in Panama City and I'm not sure where this time will be spent. But with any luck my next update will be from Colombia, and the soliloquy will become a duet.

Honduras in a Hurry

My original plan in Honduras was to head over to the remote La Moskitia region and visit some indigenous villages, but after looking at my calendar I realized I probably didn't have time to explore it properly. My back up plan led me to the popular Bay Islands in Honduras. I took a temporary break from my penny pinching ways and caught a ferry out to Utila to see what all the hype was about. The island was very clean and nice, but far too overrun with tourist establishments for my tastes. I attempted to go scuba diving, but a storm came and the trip was cancelled at the last minute, leaving nothing to do but drink cheap rum and watch world cup games. After a few days on the island I decided to return to the mainland and keep moving.

My next stop was the serene Lago de Yojoa in northern Honduras. At first I shot straight over to a little microbrewey run by a fellow Oregonian, but was discouraged to find out he was actually a beligerent drunk who just wanted to ramble on about US politics, so I quickly moved to a more low key location right on the lake. I spent a couple days canoeing and birdwatching in the nearby cloudforest, then hit the road again.

After stopping for a few days in the small town of San Marcos de Colon, I crossed into Nicaragua. Near Lago de Yojoa I had been doing a fair amount of hitchhiking to get from place to place, and once I entered Nicaragua I decided to try and thumb a ride and avoid the public transportation. The first trucker I asked offered me a ride and carried me all the way down to Managua, about 4 hours south. Since then I have been hitchhiking whenever possible, and have had a lot of fun riding in trucks full of pigs, 18 wheelers, or even sitting on racks of Pepsi 3 liters.

Now I am in Granada where I have been exploring the nearby volcanoes. The first one I visited was Volcan Masaya, which emits a constant cloud of steaming sulfuric fumes from one crater, and has a nice lush forest in the other crater. I also visited the Lago de Apoyo, a large lake in the middle of a crater where you can swim or just lounge in hammocks by the shore. My current plan is to continue the volcano tour with a few days in Leon and maybe a week or so on the island of Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua.

One recurring topic throughout my central american travels has been the new Arizona immigration law. The locals I meet along the way continually bring this up, and I have spent a good deal of time trying to explain to them how it got passed, and how it doesn't represent the feelings of most Americans. I can say from firsthand experience that the law is adding another large scar to the US' already questionable reputation abroad. While some lawmakers may try and argue that the law will remove illegal immigrants and return jobs to the US, it is most definitely angering the latin american world, which has always been immeasurably important to US prosperity. When you add in the obvious racism it seems clear that the law does not belong in the books, and will only serve to hurt our relationship with latinos abroad, and at home.

The Canoe Trip

After leaving MayaPedal I decided to head on over to the Carribean coast for some tropical weather and jungle exploration. The whole country had just been beaten down by a number of natural disasters, and it seemed like a good idea to move away from volcanoes and fault lines.

After a short stay in Guatemala City I arrived at the Rio Dulce river. A boat ride took me through the canyon to the seaside village of Livingston, a mix of hispanic and Garifuna culture (descendents of slaves from St Vincent, relocated to the coast due to consistent, and often successful, rebellion). During the boat ride I quickly realized that the best place to be in this area was not the tourist centers of the town of Rio Dulce or Livingston, but between the two on the river itself.

The locals along the river all use simple dug-out canoes to get around, and I decided this was the best way for me to explore as well. With a few days of haggling with the locals I was able to secure an overpriced and completely broken canoe. Another two days and I had an overpriced and poorly repaired canoe, complete with a watertight bucket and improvised storage compartment.

The journey took me from Livingston back up to Rio Dulce in 5 days. I was a bit nervous to begin because I had brought all my camping equipment and camera, and the canoe was riding rather low in the water. I had drawn a little map for myself, but had a lot of difficulty getting straight information from the locals. The first day I rowed up to one of two hotels in between the two towns. The first one is called Finca Tatin and had all the amenities: rope swing, foosball table, and really cool grotto area I was able to park the canoe. Unfortunately they wouldnt let me cook my own food, in an effort to force me to buy an expensive dinner, so I had to canoe off and cook at other places along the river to save money. This turned out to be a real blessing as I met a few very friendly locals who let me hang out and cook at their places. The third night I went over to the Hotelito Perdido, located on another little tributary, Rio Lampara. This was a small bungalow style hotel with really laid back owners who had no problem with my penny pinching habits.

Outside of these two hotels there is nothing but small mayan settlements, so I would spend most of my time that I wasnt activelly travelling or sleeping rowing slowly down the rivers, surrounded by dense jungle and little mayan shacks. In this area everyone uses canoes, so the river banks are full of little tunnels and shortcuts you can paddle through. On these slow paddles I was able to see a lot of wildlife as well, such as toucans, otters, lineated woodpeckers, hummingbirds, and a myriad of other birds I couldnt identify. It also brought me to a waterfall, a hot springs, and a cave along the river.

After three nights I decided to continue the journey. I still had about 15 miles to Rio Dulce, and this section included the 10 mile long El Golfete region, which is wider and gets some significant waves. I came to the conclusion that it would be better to not try and cross this section, just spending a night up in a small village in the Biotopo Chocon Machacas (a nature preserve) and then returning back to Livingston, but sometimes things dont work out quite according to the plan.


After paddling for about 4 hours I realized I had passed the river that led to the Biotopo by a couple of miles, and I could already see the waves picking up as a storm approached from the south. My canoe began to take on a bit of water with each wave, and I realized I was in the most remote section of the journey, with no houses for several miles in each direction. I weighed my options and decided it would be better to try and camp out on the riverbank, and start again in the calm morning waters, than to try and row back, risking a potentially dangerous capsize. The jungle around the river is very dense, and there is little actual land, mostly just intertwined root systems. After a bit of seaching a found a small plot between two trees and set up my hammock. There were thunderstorms all around me, but barely a rain drop fell on my hammock. I was feeling pretty good about the situation until about 1am when I heard water right underneath me. I realized the river level had been increasing, and if it raised another 2 inches my piece of land would be submerged. I prepared my things for an emegency evacuation, but decided to hold out and see if the river would recede. I marked the water level with my machete, and after about an hour I could see that it was starting to back off. I then slept for about 2 hours, woke up as soon as possible at 430am, and started rowing for Rio Dulce. 7 hours later I arrived with a sore butt and blistered hands, but also a big smile and a nice tan.



The canoe trip was an amazing experience and really the best way to experience the river. I learned a few things I would do differently, but I can easily see another paddle journey in my future.

Now I think it is finally time to get out of Guatemala. Today I hope to head down into Honduras and start moving south. I have to be in Cartagena, Colombia by August 11th to meet up with Viviana and then the actual South America adventure begins.

Leaving MayaPedal

   Well my time at MayaPedal is complete now. I spent a total of 4 weeks here and had an excellent time just slowing life down and enjoying the local culture. I just finished my bicipicadora yesterday and it seems to be working pretty nicely. I am already going through withdrawls about leaving this amazing workshop that has treated me so well.

   My original plan was to head straight over and hike the Pacaya Volcano right outside of Antigua, but it seems to have erupted yesterday, covering Guatemala City in inches of ash, leveling some small villages, and killing a few people as well. So I guess that plan's out. My next plan is to head towards the jungle. I may try and catch a boat south from Livingston, on the Carribean side, or I may just travel along the Carribean coast, wildlife watching and communing with nature. It's been raining a lot lately so hopefully that will let up a bit, but I'm not holding my breath.
   I started a mailing list called Alexs Blog Notification. If you want to get email updates whenever I post to my blog you can join this mailing list. That way you don't have to check randomly since I don't update it much. Go to this address to sign up:

http://groups.google.com/group/alexs-blog-notifications
(You can also just email me and I will add you to the list if this mailing list is confusing.)
Since I didn't have much to write this week I decided to add a little story about a controversial local religious figure I have been learning about. I dont usually write stories, but I tried to make it interesting, and it is all true... Hasta luego...


Maximón

   San Andrés Itzapa is a small town not unlike many other small Guatemalan Highland towns, but there is one thing here that cannot be found anywhere else, and that is Maximón.
   Maximón (Mah-shee-mohn) is an ancient Mayan god of the underworld said to represent male sexual power. While most other towns have stopped worshipping him, or turned him into a tourist ploy, here in San Andrés Itzapa he is hardly forgotten. It is said that Maximón first appeared many centuries ago not far from here. Legend has it that while the Mayan farmers were out dilligently tilling their fields, Maximon would be visiting their homes merrily plowing their wives.
   His original name was Mam (kaqchiquel for Great Grandfather) but when the conquistadors came they changed it to San Simón and dressed him up like Wyatt Earp so they could continue worshipping him in secret. Now he is known familiarly as Maximón. As opposed to mundane prayers (as Jesus prefers) or cookies and milk (as Santa prefers), Maximón has a taste for cheap liquor and cigarettes, and he receives enough to keep his head spinning all year.
   Last Sunday I paid a visit to the Church of San Simón to see what it was all about. From the outside it looks like any other mid-sized church, but inside it has a sleezy atmosphere usually only found in the finest institutionalized churches. There is a long line of expectant worshippers on the left side that leads to the seated statue of Maximón, complete with a flashing neon 'Bienvenidos' bar sign above his head. The aisles are consumed by tables with various colored candles representing the patrons desires (Red = Love, Black = Death, Blue = Marriage Counseling) and burning cigarettes. While waiting for their moment at the altar the churchgoers prepare themselves accordingly, sucking down cigarettes and chugging pints of booze like the holy ghost was a prize at the bottom of the bottle. I also saw one man being showered by alcohol from his friends mouth, while another acquaintance beat him with a plant frond.
   While the church may sound like a big party of bubbly devotees, and it may be the closest thing to a bar in town, it is most definitely not taken lightly here. Animal sacrifices take place on a regular basis on the main altar and if the church is wronged, it may even take justice into it's own tobacco stained hands. Around two years ago a man was caught stealing a loud-speaker from the church and while fleeing the ensuing mob he actually ran to the police station for protection. The angry (and most likely inebriated) mass accumulated outside saying they wanted to lynch him for stealing the holy Pioneer 3-way. The cops tried to turn them away but the posse persisted, setting fire to the police station and recapturing the unfortunate thief. They dragged him to the center of the town square and proceeded to lynch him in plain sight. Needless to say, the church is now free to blast mariachi music to it's devotees without fear.
   All these things are not immediately apparent when looking at the smiling faces in San Andrés Itzapa, but rest assured they still reside in it's thinned out blood, giving new meaning to the phrase 'communicating with spirits.'

MayaPedaling in Place

I did not realize it had been three weeks since I posted anything. I will try to bring the blog up to speed here.

I left off at Lago Atitlan, where I spent a week visiting the different little villages around the lake. After a day in Panajachel, which is nice but really has nothing unique besides a nice location, I went over to San Marcos. San Marcos is a small hippie village with winding paths that reminded me of the Oregon Country Fair at first glance. I spent a few days here swimming in the crystal clear water and hopelessly trying to catch the ratty little fish that meander about, but then got tired of hearing about magnetic healing and yoga every day, so I went over to San Pedro, a slightly larger town with a larger local population. San Pedro was beautiful and laid back, but the ATMs there were not quite as nice, so I had to live on about $5 a day, which turned out to be kind of fun. I found a pretty awesome hike up one of the volcanic ridges called the Nariz del Indio (Indian Nose) as well.

During my time at Lago Atítlan I had been asking around about San Andrés Itzapa, where I was to do my volunteer work for a month, but couldn´t find a single person who had heard of it despite the fact that it is only about 20 miles away from the lake. This actually increased my excitement because perhaps I would finally be able to leave the tourist track, as nearly every other tourist I have met so far has lied about doing. Finally I found out how to get there from various bus drivers and headed up the hill. As it turns out San Andrés Itzapa is a small community in the hills above the lake (out of view unfortunately) with absolutely no tourism besides the other workers at MayaPedal and one other guy who filters water.

Working at MayaPedal has been a nice change from the constant traveling. I get pretty much unlimited freedom to play around with all sorts of machinery like welders, angle grinders, drill presses, and power saws, so the days go quickly. So far I have been redesigning and reconstructing a bicipicadora, which is a bike powered compost mulcher. This has been teaching me all sorts of new spanish words, such as flywheel (volante), pedal (pedal) and cable (cable).

The accommodations at MayaPedal are slightly below my standards. There are some filthy mattress´ on the floor and a few barely functioning appliances. One cool thing though is that almost every piece of furniture is built from old bike parts. There is not much to do here after work, so I spend a lot of time reading and cooking. Luckily Antigua is close by, so on the weekends I can bike over and spend the night without inhaling mold and listening to dogs barking from rooftops.

I am really enjoying being immersed in the Guatemalan culture. And although this line may be cliché, the people here are unbelievably friendly. For example, I went to the post office the other day to send some letters and as I was leaving the guy behind the counter yelled at me to come back. It turns out you can´t send a letter without sharing a few cups of homemade alcohol with the employees, so I happily abided. I enjoyed the stuff so much I made a batch when I got home, and it just finished fermenting today. It is called Fresco de Súchiles, and made from pineapple, jocotes, corn, and a bunch of spices. I made a lot of it so I think tomorrow we will be having a Fiesta de Súchiles as well.

My plan is to remain here for another two weeks, then head back to the tourist route to catch some more sights.

Adios.