Horsepower: 1

Honduras was a whole lot of mountains rising through misty clouds, random men wandering the streets with machetes and random letters being missed out of Spanish words, making the Spanish spoken all but incomprehensible. Unlike other Spanish speaking countries, Hondurans seemed to actively enjoy both confusing and misunderstanding us. In particular the lady working at the coffee shop in Gracias sticks in my mind. She was capable of serving “cafe con leche” (which she served a bit like a cappuccino but with more milk) or “cafe negro” (black), but ask for coffee with milk separately, or just a little milk and you will get a cold cappuccino. On our final day I took pleasure in the revelation that it wasn't just us she would misunderstand when overhearing some Spanish tourists ordering “white coffee and an espresso”. Her response? “Dos cafes con leche”?!

One aspect of Honduras that differed greatly from Guatemala was the absence of traditional dress. In Honduras about 90% of the population are Ladino, meaning that they're mixed Mayan and Spanish descent. Most people do not speak Mayan languages and Christian worship here does not combine elements of Mayan worship – no multicoloured candles or chicken sacrifice in churches here... Also there seemed to be a much bigger divide between rich and poor. Whilst in Guatemala most people were clearly poor, there didn't seem to be so many people desperately poor as in Honduras. Honduras has more obvious signs of wealth; shopping malls, major chains, air-conditioned buses, but as you cruise through the countryside in these air-conditioned buses you notice families living on tiny plots of land in single-roomed adobe (that's mud) huts that you see in other countries. Honduras has more rich people, but it also has poorer people that Guatemala. In the countryside you also notice that the horse is still a viable mode of local transport. Whilst people may take buses between towns, when they get off the bus it'll be at wherever they parked their horse, complete with wood and leather saddle.

We also visited the ruins at Copan Ruinas. Whilst much smaller than Tikal, these ruins were very interesting as not only did they seem less restored, allowing you a real glimpse of ruined temples rising out of the rainforest, but they also had many impressive carvings and Mayan hieroglyphs remaining. Whilst similar to Tikal, the city was notably different in style and sheer number of carvings surviving. Plus their sacrificial alters were rectangular, not round. Although that probably only really makes a difference if you're the one being sacrificed...

After Honduras we headed into El Salvador, where the guard at the border disappointed us by not stamping our passports as apparently we don't need a stamp. El Salvador itself did not disappoint, heading on our first day to La Palma, the home of naïve art, and a town that looks like it was attacked by a pack of over-zealous 7 year-olds... Even those buildings that are not covered with murals are brightly coloured and decorated, and the people have been friendly, curious and welcoming. It may not be so different to the rest of Central America, but in another way it really is, and I love it for that!

I think they're speaking English...

From Flores we headed North to Belize. Here I found myself getting a 2 day visa whilst everyone else got a 30 day visa and I'd asked for 7 days. As part of this scam I then had to travel to the capital city, Belmopan, (basically a bus station and many administration buildings) to buy a “visa-extension” for US$25, resulting in my beer and ice-cream budget for the duration of Belize being $0. Of course this didn't extend to rum mixed with coconut water from green coconuts we found on the beach. We headed first to Dangriga, a Garifuna settlement towards the south of the country. We found a very friendly hostel and a small town with sandy streets full of barefoot friendly people speaking English in a way we couldn't understand. Fortunately they were also well versed in “English for foreigners”. Food in Belize consisted of fish, fish or fish flavoured chicken. Fine for me, but not so good for my fish-hating friends.

We headed out to Tobacco Caye, a tiny coral island 100m by 40m in the Caribbean in the Belize barrier reef. The entire island is white (slightly coarse) sand, coconut trees, conch shells and brightly painted wooden huts. We snorkeled straight off the beach and I was very excited to see three levels of life and three levels of shoaling fish – right below the surface, in the reef and weed below and the space in between. I also saw eagle rays hunting for crabs under a boat tied at the dock, swimming off with the crabs legs dangling out from either side of their mouths, and a sting ray, although I kept my distance a little more from this one. My friends were apparently not as excited by fish as I was and quickly became bored of the underwater wonderland, instead preferring Cuba Libres to an interactive nature programme. We swung the night away on hammocks on our balcony watching the electric storms over the Caribbean and listening to the waves break on the barrier reef.

We also visited Placencia and again marvelled at the brightly coloured buildings rising out of the white sand (incidentally the white sand here really was quite rough underfoot too) before returning to our cockroach, ant and frog-infested room. The next day I either had a nasty heat-rash or had caught legionnaires disease. Leaving Belize we headed for Honduras in a boat that definitely looked too small to be a legal means of crossing a border, with a whole load of boxes that looked too dodgy to be legally crossing a border... Arriving in Honduras a man met the boat and ran away with everyone's passports. Apparently this is to ensure our attendance at immigration, however it may have worked better if he'd told us where the immigration office was...

Down from the Highlands

After an unexpected detour to Guatemala City, an unmarked cab ride later took us to the bus-stop to Coban. Finally arriving at Coban after dark we headed swiftly to a hostel. After realising there are two 3rd Avenues and turning the map the right way up... There's not really a lot in Coban. A small central square dominated by a strange modern art sculpture that looks like it was created for a film set (namely X-Men), and is now used predominantly by drunks to shelter from the rain and gaze upon confused tourists.

We swiftly moved on from Coban towards our main destination for central Guatemala, Lanquin. This small village is inundated by tourists from all over the world to visit the Lanquin caves and the famous Semuc Champey, where the river predominantly runs under a natural limestone bridge leaving just a small, gentle flow over the top of the bridge in a series of stepped turquoise pools. Unfortunately this has affected the local population in a negative way and nowhere in Guatemala did we find less friendly or unhelpful people. Once we'd managed to get to the pools (after being messed about and driven in the wrong direction by a pick-up driver, jumping in a different, more crowded pick-up and yours truly being stroked by a young Mayan woman) the cool water was a well welcome break. El Peten in Guatemala is hot and humid. You start sweating from the moment you get out of the shower...

The Lanquin caves were also very interesting, visiting at dusk you get to witness the spectacular exit of thousands of bats through a rather small entrance. Of course you don't really get to witness the bats as they move so fast, all you see is a blur and when the lights in the cave go out you have the rather strange sensation of being airbrushed from all angles as the bats flit past. My second experience of the caves was less impressive. One of the girls on our tour lost her wallet and spoke no Spanish. I went along with her to the police to help translate. The police drove us out to the caves where we hiked through the slippery caves again in the dark (there was no power in Lanquin that evening), 2 torches between 4 of us, accompanied by our guide and a man with a very big gun... We never did find her wallet.

After Lanquin we tried to attain Flores without having to back-track 1.5 hours to Coban. Admitting defeat we ended up in Coban again, managed to find a collectivo to Sayaxche, and upon arrival at Sayaxche we finally understood why there were no direct buses to Flores. We crossed the river by lancha, caught another collectivo the other side and made it to Flores before dark. Flores itself is a town on an island in a lake, attached to the mainland and twin town Santa Elena by a narrow spit of land. Our first day in Flores was characterised by a trip to Isla Santa Barbara where a very strange museum (Mayan artifacts and electronics) is run by a very strange man. One can only suppose that men that live on small islands and run museums are expected to be eccentric and therefore we shouldn't have been surprised when he proceeded to pick up a 2,000 year old jade knife and hacked away at the wooden post supporting the roof to show us it was still sharp. From the looks of the post it wasn't the first time he'd done this demonstration... This was followed by playing equally old Mayan clay whistles, playing a conch shell, wiping his spittle off on Chris's t-shirt then insisting that Chris play the conch, clearly taking much amusement from the raspberry sound that emerged. The tour finished with him playing Land of Hope and Glory on a gramophone, using his finger to turn the record. Finally we were introduced to the DJ of Radio Peten, also based on the island, and allowed to return to the mainland rather confused, but without lasting physical or mental damage.

We visited Tikal on an early morning tour. Not early enough to see sunrise as the gates only officially open at 6am, but early enough to share the rainforest ruins with wildlife. We wandered around the temples rising from the forest to the roars of tree lions (apparently it was the howler monkeys making that noise, but I'm still convinced that there is some species of rare lion living in the trees near the ruins...), the flap of butterflies and the buzz of approximately 6 billion mosquitoes. My major successes that day were climbing the ridiculously steep and shaky steps of temple 5, not having to hold a tarantula and not getting a single mosquito bite! A lot of the ruins at Tikal are restored and it can be hard to know what's rebuilt and what's original, but the sheer scale of the city and the height of the temples, combined with the majesty of them rising out of the rainforest gives the whole site an air of mystery and grandeur that I suspect would not have been present had the whole site been cleared of trees like the grand plaza.

Landslides and Chicken Buses

So, I finally found the Zapatistas in Mexico. Bizarrely they were en route to Palenque. We drove through a military checkpoint which had a sign stating that they were searching for drugs, but when I asked the driver what drugs were in the region he said the sign is only for tourists. Really they're searching for arms entering the Zapatista towns further along the road "otherwise why would they only stop people in one direction?". And sure enough, as we progressed down the road we came across many towns with brightly painted Zapatista murals as well as many signs declaring voting allegiances in elections past. And a lot of Mayans living well below the poverty line.

Before arriving in Palenque we visited a few waterfalls, with many brightly coloured butterflies, including some rather enormous electric blue ones. Palenque itself was impressive, and the tour interesting, although rather difficult to follow as it was all conducted in Spanish... However I did learn a lot about the history, how it was abandoned, apparently for no reason, and how the grave of a woman (the red queen) was found in the temple next to the most important central temple. Who this woman was remains a mystery, but made for an interesting story. Fortunately most archaeological and scientific terms are the same in Spanish and English! On the way back the weather came in and parts of the road that I swear were present on the way to Palenque had vanished into the dark abyss below. We finally made it back to San Cristobal at 11pm, only to find the roads more resembled rivers than roads.

The next morning I was up bright and early ready for my shuttle to Quetzaltenango (Xela) in Guatemala. Ever hopeful of arriving at the predicted time of 2-3pm I was looking forward to a smooth trip the likes of which I had on the way to Mexico. All went smoothly until the Mexican border. The border control itself was simple, and for some reason I didn't get charged the entry fee to Guatemala that everyone else did, but the problems began when we couldn't gain the border in the shuttle. So everybody out and we hiked across the border to Guatemalan immigration. Then we sat and waited in the sweltering heat. It became apparent that the shuttle was not coming and eventually our Mexican driver found the reason for the lack of traffic. A landslide an hour up the road. So, back on with the backpacks and we hiked through the border town of Mesilla until we found a chicken bus. Chicken bus to the landslide, or as close as it was possible to get (2-3km away) and then hiking past the cars filling both lanes of the road, honking their horns and the lorry drivers sheltering from the rain drinking coke under their trailers. Finally we gained the landslide, just as they were breaking through clearing it, and hiked around, through a corn field, emerging at the other side to find a shuttle and a very confused and surprised driver (mostly because there were 3 of us who were very insistent that we'd booked shuttles to Xela and not to Pana and therefore really DID want to go to Xela). Finally the driver took us close to Xela and paid for a taxi to the centre for us, having missed all possible connecting shuttles!

Today, having recovered from the hiking in tropical heat and occasional rain, the three of us decided to go visit a nearby town, Zunil, to see San Simon and check out the town in general. All of this sounded like an excellent idea, and we caught the chicken bus without any problems. Of course then the chicken bus stopped in the next town down where a mudslide had filled the whole main street. So for the second time in 2 days we were hiking over a mudslide (although this time it was neither raining nor tropically hot, but we are over 2,000m here, so not the easiest work...). At the other end there were no buses, but we managed to find out from the locals where we could catch a pickup from, and finally made it to see San Cristobal and a cute little Mayan town, surrounded by fields and with a rather torrential river flowing through it, and with that half-constructed feel of so many places in Guatemala. The way back was relatively easy, I know the drill by now, and am a pro at landslide hiking now...

Trabajaba!

Having spent a month learning Spanish I am now capable of conversing in 3 types of past tense, present and a form of "irreal" future tense. I am also capable of explaining the joys of my new favourite word: "Trabajaba". Not only does this word roll off the tongue in a most delightfully amusing way (for native English speakers at least), it also means "worked". Yes, in past tense. Cuando yo trabajaba... When I worked... What a wonderful feeling!

I finally finished Spanish school, after a few fantastic weeks involving riding on the back of pick-ups to the beach with my family, attending a school play and prize-giving where everyone seemed to be called "Gonzalez Gonzalez" and zip-lining like a monkey through rainforest. I am now in Chiapas, Mexico, where I am learning more about the different Mayan groups and how difficult it is to have a proper Spanish conversation when outside of Spanish school. However I have been putting my Spanish to good use talking to an older guy playing guitar in a bar and asking where is good to visit.

The next day I found myself travelling for 25 minutes in a collectivo that smelt of goat and was filled with people wearing furry clothes, and way more children than you would have thought was possible, to a town called San Juan Chamula. In this town there is a catholic church, where the Mayan way of worship is used in front of the catholic saints. This means that many groups of brightly coloured candles (signifying different prayers) are lit on the floor whilst the locals sit on pine needles and leaves that they have spread around. During this ceremony cola is drunk (fizzy drinks purify the spirit) and a chicken is sacrificed. The air is humid with candle wax and the smell of pine needles, the walls lined with glass-encased figures of saints and there are no pews. This is not so much a church that has services as a church building that has been converted into a Mayan site of worship. On the way back we managed to find a collectivo that did not smell of any unexpected animal smell but instead had the radio playing song after song that seemed to involve people "writing letters to you in blood" and "being on the point of ending my beautiful pain", all in the name of love of course - apparently a musical genre unique to Mexico. Thankfully.

Today much of the day was spent trying to track down some information and history on the Zapatistas, who managed to take over San Cristobal de Las Casas in 1994 to protest Mayan rights and were never fully eliminated despite the best efforts of the military. Despite the prevalence of Zapatista artworks and symbols for sale, and the presence of a Zapatista magazine, there is surprisingly little information to be found on this movement in the city where they had the most power. Asking around people will inform you of towns that don't appear on any maps, or offices that are never open, yet the stories of military action against Zapatista insubordination prevail. For the record, cited offences include the heinous crime of building a free school for the children of a village.