26.08 – 28.08.
I take the Highway #54 from Zacatecas to Guadalajara. A dream route through a dream landscape – especially the last kilometers. It’s curvy, uphill, downhill, through a large canyon, which can easily be recognized by the erosion of the landscape. Close to Guadalajara two waterfalls plunge from high up into the depths.
Actually, I wanted to stay only one night in Guadalajara, which is still around 1.500m above sea level. Although the hostel is about 1/2 hour walk from the historic center, it is in a quiet and safe area, and I decided to stay a second night.
Here in Mexico it is still the rainy season. During the day it usually is cloudy or even very sunny. It rains only occasionally and short. Around 3pm to 5pm the clouds start to mass. At night it usually rains a lot and very heavy. But in the morning you hardly can see anything, except from some flooded spaces.
As it is still off-season, there are not many people in the hostels. Often, there are only 2 or 3 guests .. including me. The good thing is, I pay around 9 to 12 EUR for the night in a dorm and get the room for myself.
Until now, the best question at check-in: I step with motorcycle clothing and helmet to the front desk of a hostel and ask if a bed is free for one night. Yes, it is. The employee looked at me from top to bottom. “Are you a pilot or something like that?”
Also a few words about driving. Driving is like hell here.
I am sure that there are traffic rules. But no one seems to take care of them. The one who is faster in a gap, wins. Distance between cars is only inches. Sometimes, when I look in the rearview mirror, it seems to me as if I had a car sitting on the pillion. There are signs with speed limits, e.g. “maximum 60”. But this must be a. I think they show the minimum speed. Sometimes the traffic forces its victims. A few days ago I passed a spot where a cyclist was hit. One of his legs was showing from under the blue cover.
An absolute must in Guadalajara is the “Mercado Libertad”. A large market building with 3 levels at the edges and a large courtyard. A real maze. The aisles are arranged in a grid and barely a meter wide. Hundreds of small stalls can be found in the building and one part consists of snack bars. I walked through a maze of shoes, jewelry, vegetables, meat, electronics …. With luck, you will find a way back out.
From Guadalajara I drive to Morelia. The center of Morelia is very colonial Spanish. I am sure there are a lot of things to see here too. But after a long ride I’m not in the mood for sightseeing and enjoyed chatting with the nice Michelle, who works at the hostel. Beside me there is only one other guest in the hostel, so she has not really much to do.
After seven weeks of traveling I want to see the sea. My next goal is to go to Zihuatanejo. I choose a route through the mountains, where I get through several nice small towns, which I mark on my GPS for a stop on my return trip.
In the center of the villages or small towns you will find a large, usually rectangular, park. Around this square there are the administration buildings, then the historic village and then the rest of the city. In very rare cases, there is a wide road to the center. In general, there are small, narrow, cobbled streets and roads leading to the center. Painfully you have to fight your way through crowded streets and traffic jams until you will be rewarded with a big open space.
29.08. Zihuatanejo
I was already in Zihuatanejo, when suddenly someone spoke to me in German on a red traffic sign. It was the guy in the car behind me, who jumped out and came to my side. “Hello, where are you going?” “To South America.” “Now in the rainy season?” “Oh, it’s not that bad.” Unfortunately, that was all, as the traffic light turned to green.
Zihuatanejo was a real disappointment. The travel book said: “Zihuatanejo has retained the charm of a small fishing village.” But, where please? The neighborhood in which I look for the recommended hotel, is crowded by hotels, restaurants, coffee shops and junk shops of all kinds
As already noted several times, off-season, weekdays and only a handful of tourists. In the heat of the day I walk along the beach, my skin is covered with a layer of sunscreen, sweat and insect repellent. I was annoyed by hundreds of people.
Dammit! I don’t want to eat at every restaurant I pass! I don’t want to buy bracelets or anything else! Even if they cost almost nothing. And I do not want to go fishing!
The only highlight was the basketball court on the central square, where amateur teams were playing each evening.
The waiter at the restaurant, where they properly pulled the money out of my pocket, told me: It can be dangerous in some places in Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador. During the day, there is no need to fear, it is safe. The bad guys work at night and sleep during the day. At night you stay at the hotel. And do not tell so much about you and your journey. Tell you’re traveling by bus and you are only a few days in the country, that they may believe you have little money. Someone may perhaps chat with you friendly and then tell it a bad boy.
Only a short time later, someone starts to chat friendly with me in the central square. I thought of the words of the waiter. Thank you Mr. Waiter, for the paranoia!
The hotel was (almost) quite nice. Almost, because I did not know what kind of animal was shitting tiny black crumbs from the ceiling in the bathroom and cockroaches were running around. Although they were only about 1/2 inches tall and there were only two or three you could see, but they were there. Perhaps it was indeed the cockroaches that were shitting from the ceiling. But for 9 EUR in a double room, on the beach, you accept those things.
The hotel was run by a friendly 74 year old Cuban. I told him that I visited Cuba about three years ago. He said, since he left Cuba as a young man, he has never been there again. One must know, at earlier times, an escape from Cuba meant the loss of all property and also a return was hardly possible.
Now that there are political changes in Cuba, maybe he can visit his home country again.
31.08.
With “Buen Viaje” from the Cuban owner of the hotel Elvira, I left this horrible place called Zihuatanejo. The route MEX 200 leads south about 20 km inland from the coast. The most annoying thing when driving are the “Topes”, the bumpers across the street. Wherever there are a few houses, you have those bumpers, making you brake.
Today I have only an approximate destination, called Playa Ventura, about 400km away.
Since my departure, more than seven weeks ago, today I passed other motorcycle travelers for the first time. A whole bunch of them. They were heading north. It seems it was an organized tour. Everyone was driving one of the larger BMWs. We were greeted with the obligatory biker greeting and gave a thumbs up sign.
It was already late afternoon and I turned towards the sea twice, with the hope to find a hotel. But I ended up on earthy roads and in small very simple villages. Meanwhile, I was tired and did not want to continue, when I finally saw a sign “Playa Ventura Hotels y Restaurantes”. I stopped at the first hotel. There was nothing going on. An elderly woman was lying in a hammock. Names were screamed. “Tiene habitation?” “Si.” “Quanto cuesta?” “250M$, 300M$ con aire. Quiere ver?” “Si.” Well, 200M$ was more than adequate for the basic room, but I did not want to negotiate. “Esa sin aire esta ok” … “El restaurante, esta abierto?” “Si”.
Playa Ventura is just a small village with a few simple hotels and restaurants. The waves crash with a loud roar at the long beach. No junk shops, no one who wants to sell you crap.
After a shower and a short walk, I had a look at the menu. I could not find any of the dishes in my dictionary and ordered anything. It was fish, crispy fried. Since I only got a fork, I supposed that it was finger food. It tasted very good and the price was adequate. No rip off like two days earlier.
In the evening I was sitting on the beach and watched the sunset and the crabs that had their home in holes in the sand. I remained seated motionless for a very long time. They came out of their habitation, the smaller and the larger ones. It seemed to me, as if they were watching me. Was it really so? A small crab that lived in a shell was walking through my feet. Slowly, the other ones got further and further away from their holes. Right in front of my feet, one was transporting sand out of his hole. One of the larger ones was crawling around me for a while and eventually approached me. He started to tweak my feet with his scissors.
This is the place to be!
Thank you for reading, Juergen.