los aventuras con picante carnita: 2009

Thursday, March 5, 2009

My kind of happy hour, "Happy Hour until everybody happy!"

I'd still be stuck if it wasnt for these cats, they followed me and pulled me out of the mud for 1/4 mile.

The road less travelled, actually only travelled by me and a few guys on horses, high in the mountains of honduras

Boat ride #2, crossing the bay of honduras, guess how we got picante in the boat...

picante carnita likes tubing tambien

Tubular tubing the cockscomb jungle, beliz

Be vwewy vewy quiet Im hunting wabbits...and jagwires, and boas, and twocans.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Picante Carnita is chillin like Dillon in La Ceiba while I am yackin over the side of the dive boat in the Bay Islands of Honduras. Sorry for the long delay, but sometimes one must let the story develop. Currently 5600 miles from Redondo Beach and deciding whether i will leave the bike in Costa Rica or Mexico for my return in the Fall. Pictures from the last 4 weeks coming Friday afternoon for you JD and momacita (I learned after telling everyone when i wanted a photo for my momacita 3 weeks ago that momacita is something akin to what you yell at the smoking hot, kinda dirty woman you see walking down the street in tight fitting clothes, now I know why they would all laugh when I said it).

LA MOSQUITIA

Tttdddddttttttddddd….thack, thack, thack, ttttddddttttdddd ….the hum of the 15 horsepower motor pushes us up the brown, turbid Rio Platano, A light rain descends down pat, pat, pat, patting my t-shirt. Simultaneously the hot, sizzling sun shines heavy on my already blistered lips.. I’m horizontal, stretching out amongst the 2 liter cokes, cookies, containers of gasoline, and whatever else was on the Las Marias shopping list for Ricardo, the owner of this dugout canoe. My head is comfortably nestled into a 50 lb bag of flour and I’m lost in the moment. Not awake, not asleep, a little tingly, that place where your mind and body are a bit disconnected, you think about moving an arm or a leg but they feel heavy. Where when you smile it moves through your whole self and overcomes you and makes you giddy. A pair of parrots fly overhead. I dangle my hand in the water below instinctively to feel the coolness of it. The virgin rainforest surrounds us like a blanket, home to all that is within(this is the 2nd largest carbon sink in the world). In the distance is Pico Dama looming over the village of Las Marias, my destination. I wonder what I will find when I get there???

All men dream but not equally;
Some men dream in the dark recesses of their mind;
And wake to find that it was vanity;
But the dreamers of the day are dangerous men;
For they act out their dreams with open eyes.
(SIR LAWRENCE OF THE FABLED ARABIA)

I remember when I was younger, maybe 18, and my friend Tricia, a friend from kindergarten to the present, said to me …“Vern you are a dreamer you will always be a dreamer.” I recall it as if it was yesterday Her intent was that there was something wrong with it and that it would somehow hinder my potential. From that point on (and I was glowing in my deliberation) I chose to create and follow my own course-not a future expected of me, not a prospect filled with expectations created by and defined by someone or something else, but dreamed of entirely (and there are always more dreams to fulfill) with all intent of possibility. My path.

I started this trip with a goal-redefine who I am, what I want , where I am going, and how to make it all work by leaving my ego behind yet finding a balance in selfless and selfishness (I thank Gretchen for that).. My mother will tell you that I am running away from something (she’s an Okie though and they are a rather apathetic bunch, its the country music); I disagree I am running toward not away.

Some paths we are sent down without are choosing , we call it many things-fate, gods will, “it was meant to be”, and there is pain and joy on these paths but there is always an eventual divergence at the end, and we get to choose again. Luckily when you travel, and when you talk to everyone you meet as I do, your choice at the end of the path starts to become clearer as you are enlightened by the wisdom of others.

Meet Connie. Connie is 80 something and was born in Indonesia. She has been married twice (the second one she wrote to sight unseen), has lived in Holland, America, Indonesia, and now lives in a house with only two walls in Belize. Connie tells a story better than I do (and I can spin a yarn) and still has enough sex appeal in her 80+ year old spirit for me to think, god if this woman was just a little younger…. That spirit mesmerized me. I guarantee you Connie continues to dream with open eyes.

Meet Palacio. Palacio lives and takes care of his whole family-that being 8 brothers/sisters and all their children. They are all Rastafarians and they are all veryyyyyyyy chilled out (you can probably guess why). Palacio is always trying to do better for that great big family and it is a long uphill struggle but I guarantee you Palacio will continue to dream for his family with his eyes open, this is his choice.

Meet Pete. Pete was born and raised in a Garifuna village, in a straw hut, on a Caribbean beach in northern Honduras. Pete dreamed of seeing the world, somehow. For 30 years he traveled on cruise ships first as a prep cook and then as a master chef. He now lives in that same village he was born in and has a restaurant, very not luxurious (this picture is the kitchen and the dining area (4 tables)). Pete certainly did not dream in vain (and by the way his pork chop especial , holy smokes mmmmm.)

And finally meet Don Luis. Don Luis is a Mosquitia Indian and he lives deep in the Rio Platano Biosphere in Las Marias, eastern Honduras. One would think Don Luis would be limited in his prospects, but he has maps of every country in the world and can tell you one or more facts about each. In the realm of wisdom I would rank him as the equal to a Buddhist monk I met a few years ago in Sikkim, India. I could sit for hours and listen to Don Luis tell stories of his youth growing up along the banks of the Platano amongst jaguars, toucans, boas, and all those other dreamy animals we read about in our dreamy books. Don Luis, a dreamer of the day. You better believe it.

I’m not sure when it happened, when that choice of direction took hold of me again. I can narrow it down to my time in La Mosquitia. Maybe it was when I was swimming with the kids in the river reflecting on a moment when I was younger and life was a void waiting to be filled; maybe it was reading my book to candlelight and losing concentration every few sentences by the field of fireflies performing their twilight dance; maybe it was the front teeth missing smile of one of my guides poling (yes I said poling) me UP the Platano that toothless smile flashing at me every time we went through a section I felt was literally impossible to perform; maybe it was drinking cafe negro with and listening too Don Luis tell stories of a time that was and in my opinion a time that still is in the La Mosquitia. I don’t know. But it happened there. A choice was made.

Tricia your right I am a dreamer and I always will be a dreamer. And again I am a dangerous man, for I will continue to act out my dreams with open eyes. My path.

HOW TO GET TO LA MOSQUITIA:

1. RIDE YOUR MOTORCYCLE TO HONDURAS.
2. GIVE YOUR BIKE A BREAK AND PAY 400 LEMPIRAS (20$) TO RIDE IN THE BACK OF A SHORT BED FOUR WHEEL DRIVE WITH 14 OTHER PEOPLE (YES 14, THERE WERE 7 MORE IN THE CAB, 21 TOTAL) AND ALL OF THEIR THINGS (THIS IS THE 3RD WORLD, THINGS INCLUDE PROPANE BOTTLES, FURNITURE, GROCERIES, GAS, ETC…) FOR ABOUT 130 MILES THAT INCLUDES ABOUT 60 MILES ON DIRT, AND 60 MILES ON THE BEACH ACTUALLY DRIVING IN THE SURF HALF THE TIME,
TWO TIDAL LAGOON CROSSINGS ON RAFTS BUILT OF SHIT WOOD HELD ALFLOAT BY BARRELS, ONE 4 FOOT DEEP TIDAL LAGOON CROSSING IN THE TRUCK (WHICH THE BEST PLACE TO CROSS WAS FOUND BY OUR DEPTH FINDER AKA GUY THAT STRIPS DOWN AND WALKS ACROSS LOOKING FOR THE SHALLOWEST SPOT, THIS SPOT CAME TO HIS CHEST) AND THE WHOLE TIME DRIVING EXPONENTIALLY FASTER THAN WHAT I WOULD RATE AS INSANELY FAST (IM TALKING MAYBE 70 MPH ON THE BEACH PORTION) WHILE THE GUYS DRIVING KEEP YELLING YEEEEEEEEE, WOOOOOOOOOO, YAAAAAARRRRR!!!! I GOTTA SAY IT WAS THE MOST FUN I HAVE HAD IN YEARS

3. PAY 200 LEMPIRAS (10 $) TO TAKE A MOTORIZED DUGOUT CANOE THROUGH IBIS LAGOON TO RAISTA ON THE COAST
4. WHILE IN ABOVE SAID TRUCK TELL ALL 14 PEOPLE THAT YOU NEED A BOAT TO LAS MARIAS IN THE BIOSPHERE CAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO PAY THE 4000 LEMPS THAT THE NORMAL TOURISTS PAY (THERE WERE ONLY 8 OTHER PEOPLE IN THE MONTH OF FEBRUARY)
5. GUY SHOWS UP IN THE MORNING, YELLS AT YOU FROM BELOW AND SAYS ARE YOU THE GUY THAT NEEDS TO GO TO LAS MARIAS? SIII!!! ENDS UP BEING THE ONCE A WEEK GROCERY RUN GUY FOR LAS MARIAS AND YOU GET TO STOP AND DELIVER GOODIES TO ALL THE DIFFERENT PEOPLE LIVING ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER, ARRIVE TO LAS MARIAS IN THE DARK AND

3. PAY 200 LEMPIRAS (10 $) TO TAKE A MOTORIZED DUGOUT CANOE THROUGH ??? LAGOON TO RAISTA ON THE COAST
4. WHILE IN ABOVE SAID TRUCK TELL ALL 14 PEOPLE THAT YOU NEED A BOAT TO LAS MARIAS IN THE BIOSPHERE CAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO PAY THE 4000 LEMPS THAT THE NORMAL TOURISTS PAY (THERE WERE ONLY 8 OTHER PEOPLE IN THE MONTH OF FEBRUARY)
5. GUY SHOWS UP IN THE MORNING, YELLS AT YOU FROM BELOW AND SAYS ARE YOU THE GUY THAT NEEDS TO GO TO LAS MARIAS? SIII!!! ENDS UP BEING THE ONCE A WEEK GROCERY RUN GUY FOR LAS MARIAS AND YOU GET TO STOP AND DELIVER GOODIES TO ALL THE DIFFERENT PEOPLE LIVING ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER, ARRIVE TO LAS MARIAS IN THE DARK AND MEET THE MAN, MYTH, LEGEND DON LUIS

HOW TO GET BACK TO RAISTA

1. PAY TWO KIDS GOING BACK TO SCHOOL IN BRUS LAGOON , ONE 8 AND ONE 11 TO PADDLE YOU BACK DOWN THE RIVER (LEAVE AT 4, ARRIVE IN JERUSALEM AT 2).

2. HIKE 4 MILES ON THE BEACH BACK TO RAISTA

FOR A BETTER TRIP MAKE SURE TO LOSE YOUR RAIN JACKET SO YOU CAN GET REALLY WET WHEN IT RAINS AND YOUR HEADLAMP SO YOU CANT SEE SHITE AFTER THE SUN GOES DOWN, THIS WILL MAKE FOR A BETTER EXPERIENCE AS YOU WILL NOW FEEL LIKE ONE OF THE LOCALS (THERE IS OBVIOUSLY NO ELECTRICITY IN THE JUNGLE)

OK JD there is your story , I hope that will hold you over for a while.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

By the way it was a jaguar.

Currently in Flores, Guatemala - 4134 miles. In serious need of a new back tire and new back brakes. Arrived via boat on the banks of the Usamacinta River-Picante Carnita is illegal as there was nowhere to import her into the country, this could be a big deal when I head to Belize tomorrow. Wish her luck!

To all the ladies - rush out and buy Pauline Croze ooh la la muy romantico.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap--- tap---tap---tap-------tap------tap--------tap---------tap-----------------tap-------------------------tap----------ta………, the rain, drumming my tent most of the night with concerto vigor, starts to subside . Its morning. Without the rain distracting, I begin to discern the sounds of the Lacandon jungle surrounding me. Close, steps from my tent, the clear waters of Lago Miramar caressingly lap against the shore; farther, the birds chatter amongst each other, each with their own distinct stories to tell ; farther still, the howler monkeys do just that - they howl (if I didn’t know better I would assume they were forming a posse to come and tear into my two remaining snickers). I peek out my tent and see the sun cresting the horizon pushing itself up into a sky dotted with dark cumulus clouds, and on the edge of the lake I can see the silhouette of a Maya and his dugout canoe leisurely, without haste moving in my direction. Then, everything stops………..the stillness stirs an innate, primeval fear within….. and somewhere deep inside the forest of ceibas, zapote, twisting vines, scorpions, and all that is “the jungle” I hear a deep guttural, LOUD “RRRUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRR”. I have no idea what it is but I feel that fear take over my whole being. If this thing wants my snickers it can have it.

So I have left the coastal waters behind and entered into the land of the Maya, Chiapas. I have been here twice before, but arriving this time was much different. My arrival was physically and possibly (who knows) mentally analgesic. I moved from the steamy lowlands of civilization below and passed through a dense mist making my way up into the highlands. Within the mist, moving through their lives, were Maya indios (Indians) and to be rather straightforward it was dreamlike, and maybe I did think I was in some sort of dream. Maybe…this mist was a place to leave all that minutiae that we have touched on before, that complexity of élan, and move onto a place where simplicity takes over. It was refreshing. And then the dream was over and I arrived in San Cristobal de Las Casas but I felt somewhat cleaner in the soul. Weird.

Ocosingo, Chiapas to Emiliano Zapata (Lago Miramar)

I read about a lake while in San Cristobal that seemed a place where I could really get away from the crowds. A place that to get to you had to fly-there was a road but nobody ever goes down it because it is in Spanish muy horible and to top it off it passes through the strongholds of the Zapatista movement. Perfect! I get a late start because picante carnita needed a little loving (aka new brakes and some tinkering with her battery ((the heat of Michoacán evaporated all the distilled water)) and I ride through the rain for 2 hours to the town of Ocosingo, “Disculpe, cual direcion a Lago Miramar?”, “Lake Miramar, are you serious, you cant go there, the road is horrible at the best of times and it has rained for 3 days, no you cannot go!”. “Its not a problem my motorcycle is strong, which direction is it?”. I ask maybe 5 or 6 people how far it is and where is the road to make sure I am going the right way and under their breath they would say, the gringo is crazy, he will not make it to Lago Miramar, what about the Zapatistas (geez, you’d think I was planning a trip to the moon). Finally I’m on the road and I gotta say this was probably one of the better aventuras pequenas I have had to date. 140 kilometers of mud, rain, jungle (I felt like I was riding through a exotic bird store at times), mountain ranges, two crashes, rivers, stream crossings, and did I mention mud (lodo, lodo, lodo, freakin mucho lodo!). And of course picante carnita was the most popular of the two of us on this trip-I passed through maybe 5 towns (including La Liberdad, el centro de los Zapatistas) and when the children would see the bike they would come running out of their casas screaming “UN MOTO, UN MOTO, UN MOTO, MIRA, MIRA, UN MOTO”. If I stopped within 2 minutes the whole town surrounded me, the whole town! Obviously not so many gringos had passed this way before. The route there took 6 hours. When I left Ocosingo they said 8 hours and then in every town that I stopped in they would actually add more time “how far to lago Miramar, “for you 8 hours”, next town 2 hours later, “how far to the lake”, “the lake? For you 9 hours” , next town 45 minutes later “How far to the lake”, “Oh far, maybe 10 hours”. I arrived in the dark to Emiliano Zapata where I slept with two tarantulas, one scorpion, and a lot of noisy beetles and the next day I hiked to the below lago Miramar through mucho, mucho, lodo! Hoowaaaa! I was only the 3rd person at the lake in the month of January and according to my guide the first ever to arrive on a motorcycle. Alright JD and Jen your turn.

I apologize for not finishing the last story a week ago from Michoacán. I floated in the water on that beach, read my book, perused my brain, evicted the minutiae for 2 ½ hours which is how long it took to receive my delicious fish. Upon the arrival of the delicious fish the large, abuelita apologized for the tardiness of my lunch but she had an excuse. This was not a restaurant, but only her house and she thought I looked hungry so she fed me. She charged me 40 pesos, I gave her a 100 peso bill, wherein for change I was given 5 cervezas for the road (she didn’t have any change). Only in Mexico do you receive your change in beer at a restaurant that is not a restaurant on a hidden beach of transcendence. God I love Mexico!