Antigua, Guatemala
An exerpt from a letter to my friend Jonathon who I stayed with in Antigua, Guatemala, on my way back, hitchhiking from Tijuana to Leon, the point where I stopped walking, to continue walking again (Note: I am walking, only walking, from LA to Brazil. I do not take rides, buses, etc. That said, I allow myself to take rides, as long as I return to the original location where I stopped walking to continue walking again. This has given me substantial flexibility and has allowed me to hitchhike 1000s of miles throughout Mexico and Honduras, as well as to have hitchhiked from Leon, Nicaragua…ending up in Seattle for Christmas to see my children, and then to hitchhike back from Tijuana to Leon to continue walking again. To date [June 29, 2010] I have walked nearly 5000 miles, and I have hitchhiked somewhere around 9000 miles through North and Central America).
Dear Jonathon,
Hitchhiking has been fantastic, though there were a few bumps on the road…hahar. Caught a ride first from American girls in jeans who took me just to the next town in the back of their Izuzu, I cant rememeber the name. Next from a very old indigeous pair, in the back of a rusty red Toyota where I stood all the way to the base of the volcano, wind in my hair, smelling the dew in the breeze, kids point and laugh…I love that and miss that we cannot do it in the States. Somewhere down the road, I jumped off the back, thanked them for the ride, heard their squeely wheels turn whereupon I looked down at the tires to see the tread barely cling to the tire. The wheels on the truck go lump lump lump…
Then a lorry to Escuintla, and another truck all the way into El Salvador. I could have had a ride all the way to San Salvador where I had a friend in wait, but I decided to take the coastal route instead. That may have been a ´mistake´.
There was very very little traffic along the El Salvador coast. A teenager struck conversation, asking what I was doing there in this town where young kids bath in the river naked with trash. Finally, for the sake of time, I took a bus for .45 usd, which broke down in the middle of nowhere. I walked where no cars pass for a good hour. With smoke in the air, the sun sets red, farmers burning and making their fields ready for the rain.
The beaches in El Salvador are beautiful, though the hills on the Pacific are still very dry. I walked into the night and a police patrol car picked me up, and drove me to their post, where they stopped another car on a feeder road, and asked them to give me a ride to La Libertad.
I felt like going on, but there was simply was no traffic at night, so I decided to set up my hammock in front of the police station. I was stringing it up and I kid you not, someone walked by and stole my backpack, and the prayers, and everything except my hammock that I had in my hand! All this, in front of the policestation, in front of police officers standing around talking by their trucks, I didnt see the person come or go.
I feel blessed that I still have a few of wonderful prayers in my pocket, the ones I have received most recently, a man who believes he has been cursed by a witch in Chiapas, by his best friend and his unfaithful girlfriend 25 years ago. His friend died immediately after the ceremony and he himself felt quite ill. He has visisted several shaman, priests, pastors and other bruheiros to have curse removed. Another prayer from a trucker, another from a young girl from Germany with a terrible skin condition that makes her itch all of the time, who has never prayed before and did not know how to begin. All of this I will explain in more detail soon.
Without a map, I was turned around the next day and still have no clue about my route, only that I somehow made it to San Miguel, a wonderful place by the way, really hot too, that was saved by the Virgin centuries ago who stopped a lava flow just before it reached the town.
There is a church there today that commemorates the spot, on the edge of town, that now marks the beginning of the colonial center, that has become a place of pilgrimage and revalry for los Salvadoreños, decending en masse (one in 5 El Salvadorians go) every Decemeber for the largest ´Carnival´I have ever seen. Streets are packed block after block after block in every direction. The pious go to church, the fallen go with Bacchus . The next day is a day is holiday and rest, perhaps at the beach nearby.
On the way to San Miguel, I rode a bus to get there, that was taken over by a succession of preachers tranfixing passengers, captive for the ride. I didn´t understand it all, but I was gripped by a repititious phrase…”it is not your promise to God…it is God´s promise to you, it is NOT your promise to God it is GOD´s promise to YOU!” A verse from Paul, an explaination, and again “the promise is not yours, it is Gods! It is not your promise to keep.”
All sweaty, the sermon was interupted when we were pulled over by the police and all the men, were asked to line up outside the bus. Our hands on the bus, spread your legs wide boys! and we are ceremoniously searched for weapons, drugs, who knows, the preacher, his bible, and all.
A ride from S.Miguel to Santa Rosa and a bus pùlls over fast, still rolling says “Vamos!” and we are off to the border. I had no problems there, pàid $3, continued on to Honduras. I caught a ride with an older Aussie couple in an RV from Australia. They were pissed…
A honduran official, Miguel, who spoke only Spanish (the aussies only spoke English), unknowingly took licks from the woman who had every bad thing to say about a country she had been inside for only 5 minutes. Soon I would see her side. She offered me a mango juice squeeze box and we told our stories. I am sweating all over their nice couch. I reassure Miguel that they are upset by the experience and that it has nothing to do with him.
They have registered a LLC. in Montana, registered the RV in the company´s name and then gave themselves permission to drive it south. They have had nothing but problems ever since.
The Honduran police generally tries to get as much money as they can from travelers, with no fewer than 7 police stops over a 120 mile or so stretch to the Nicaraguan border. Since no one stops for this short stretch in Honduras, driving south to Costa Rica, every stop becomes a…um…toll, but must tourists dont see it like this.
I made it to the Nicaraguan border, just 50 miles or so from Leon, where I was getting very excited to begin the project again, when the border officials there denied my entry and passage as my passport expires in August and their visas last for 6 months, 2 months longer than my valid passport.
After much wranglin, they flat out refused my entry, and I left, back to Tegucigalpa, depressed. I caught a ride in the back with a truck load of armed security gaurds, one feel asleep with his shotgun, his legs open, limp, now fall on my arm and chest. They dropped me off on the road to the capital where prostitutes strut, and where accross the street I slept inside a police station, hammock strapped to the rebar polls of a dirty cement cell, discarded newspapers, used toilet paper and such.
The police feed me chicken, beans, eggs, and we had a great conversation about faith, the project, and what keeps us on the road, what road, the direction it travels, the wonderful things to see there, and how to get back on the road when we get off.
The next morning, I got a stick up my === and decided to try at the border again, this time at a different location , but I miscommunicated with the trucker who picked me up and I returned to the same crossing. Oh well…I will give it a try, I thought, and prayed, but it didnt work, and the guy who denied my entry was there, outside this time, even long before the office, waiting at the edge dusty bridge built by Japan after Hurricane Andrew, waved me over, and says “no way.”
I left happy that I had tried and stuck my thumb back out to the capital where a cargo truck and then a pick up truck ride later, I ended up smack dab in front of the embassy.
The pick up truck driver had a masters degree in structural and soil engineering, owned a company that built low and middle income housing, was trying to get larger, multi-story projects, would not work for the government, has a son and daughter born in the states, now study at the university of Mississippi, and have vowed not to return. He says my project was very interesting, that I am walking through hell, but my pèrspective calls it heaven with great joy.
The embassy officials here have been fantastic, incredible really, they let me in after business hours and arranged for me to have a new passport, which won’t arrive for a week, and for perhaps the first time in 18 months, I have nothing to do, nowhere to go.
All this in just a week. You can see why I no longer bother to write. Much love to you my brother and friend, looking forward to continuing the conversation soon!
Con Amor!
Caminante