Lago Atitlan - the view of Lake Atitlan with its three volcanoes framing the setting sun has been passed by word of mouth for so long now that it has long been the numero uno tourist stop in Guatemala. Fortunately this has done little to affect the beauty of the place that is to be my surrogate home for Christmas 2000. Take a walk away from the main tourist towns around the lake and you're immersed in a culture that sees little of the tourist industry. I got myself a bicycle and having been ferried past the worst roads, started to ride (where possible) around the perimeter of Lago Atitlan. I stop at one of the smaller villages for refreshment and find myself being served by 2 girls of 5 and 7 years. When I open my bag to get money, they hide behind doors to avoid being photographed

Guatemala
Stepping into Guatemala is truely like stepping into a different world. Literally as soon as you duck under the barrier that is the border, your senses are assaulted by the colours of their traditional clothes, the smell of bustling market stalls, the sounds of children and chickens, and the tug of people sheparding you towards their businesses. Looking back to Mexico shows that country to be different to this one. Its funny but as soon as you cross the border, the people look different: Guatemaltecans are lighter in skin tone than Mexicans, the faces are different (although the indigena of Chiapas do look and are really the same people as the indigena of Guatemala), the difference is quite distinct between country to country and is a phenomenon to be repeated at each border I come to in Central America.
My destination is Lago Atitlan which has been regarded for decades as a paradise in the Guatemalan Highlands. Later on in my journey, I would talk to a fifty-year old french woman who first visited Lago Atitlan 20 years ago, "it was full of tourists then...". Actually the road there is a wonder itself as it winds its unpaved way, partway down the mountain range that I´ve been climbing since Mexico City. An old man on the bus next to me is fascinated by the maps in my guide book. He asks to borrow it and spends a good half hour looking at the arrangement of towns he knows and recognising the curves of lines that represent roads.

San Christobal de las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico - This town is high in the mouintains of sourthern Mexico, about 2000m up which means its cold at night and scorchio by day. My travelling partner, Veronique and I decide to explore some of the indigenous villages in the area. We hitch a lift on a local minibus and arrive in Chamula where the people have a Mayan dialect as their first language - so only the young who are taught spanish at school are communicable with.
There´s a large gathering of people so we investigate and find that it´s a funeral of a man, complete with intricately carved matt black coffin. The people move in a procession to the burial ground which is around the ruins of the old church, now surround by orange mounds of raised earth. As we follow, keeping a respectful distance from the actual burial party, we hear the sound of many women wailing - these are not part of the funeral per se but instead other women mourning their dead. They are knelt in front of their appropriate graves, each with a flame and some offerings of food and wailing. Loudly. The sight is arresting, the green and red of their traditional dress against the orange earth, and the sound. I don´t think I´ve ever heard wailing before.
"And there shall be much wailing and gnashing of teeth..."

In town, we stumble on more ceromony: long, soft pine needles have been laid in a path around and inside the town´s main church. A statue of the virgin Mary is being paraded in clouds of incense, and is accompanied by a band of harps, accordians and maracas. A line of women are behind, doing a dance - wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, stamp, and then again. Inside the church, the walls are lined with glass cases each containing a saint. In front of each, and down the middle of the church, is a double line of candles and praying devotees, of course on their knees, in front of those. Quite some sight, religion and ritual.
The procession enters to the flash of lightning and clap of thunder as a hail storm starts. There we are, inside this building, filled with the faithful as hail stones work their way through the roof of the church and down the back of our necks. Shivers alright.

Eglesia Santa Domingo, Oaxaca - on entering this church, I was immediately struck by an incredibley intricate ornate roof, painted in bright colours and in parts, gold leaf. When you stop craning your neck in wonder at the ceiling, you suddenly notice that the far wall of the church is actually one huge golden altar, as ornate as the roof - wow - people really take their religion seriously here. I took the liberal approach to photography in hand and knelt infront of a statue of a saint to capture its image when an old woman tapped me on the shoulder and inquired which saint this was (her eyesight not being what it was) and I had to look at the plaque before answering her. When she knew who the statue dipicted, then she knelt and crossed herself. It seemed very much that she was testing me, seeing if I knew the significane of these beautiful statues...

Later outside another church, I caught a huge outdoor service going on, complete with appropriately robed priest speaking through a loudspeaker. There was a huge crowd listening to, from what I could gather from the locals, a pre-christmas communion taking place. Outside the walls of the place was an even bigger crowd, here for the bustling market complete with fairground rides. It reminded me of a bit in the bible where Jesus tears down market stalls as they detract from the holy goings on inside the temple. I wonder what he would make of this...

Ingenious lot the mexicans: Whereas in England when there´s a hill next to a road that likes to chuck rocks at traffic, a wire mesh is used. In Mexico, they have an alternative solution. Simply climb up to the top of the antisocial hill and pour huge amounts of cement down said hill until it is totally covered. Hey presto - no more rock chucking.

Spent a few days in Oaxaca (pronounced wahaka, not oxo cube as I first thought) - a lovely colonial town which reminded me a lot of Trinidad and similarly has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Therefore there are many cobbled streets lined with pastel coloured houses that fire up as the sun goes down. The whole place is very chilled, especialy after Mexico City (did I mention the kicking techno-trance cavern/club?) and has drawn the likes of John Lennon and DH Lawrence in the past. Yet in the evenings, there´s always a party going on. I had the privilage of watching a live performance by a superb Alfredo - with his tightly curled mullet, greased for extra shine - he could do no wrong.

Came to the first natural wonder on the road south, El Canyon Sumidero. Picture mountains slashed open to create a canyon more than 1000m deep. The sides are covered in vegetation wherever nature has had its way and at the bottom is a river. In a small boat on that river is me! The whole area is relatively undisturbed by man and so is home to much wildlife in the form of herons, eagrets, crocodiles, monkeys and more birds. Needless to say the boat trip through is awesome.

The Pan American Highway

Unsurprisingly for a land, which due to the generosity of certain tectonic plates, is endowed with seismic activity, the roads through Central America navigate a lot of hills and valleys. This brings about microclimates that can change driving conditions from one extreme to another in a very short space of time.
One such valley system is found on the road to Oaxaca in southern Mexico and it forces the road to wind down and then up again. Not so long ago I found myself in a bus enjoying the view when suddenly there appeared a wall of fog which the driver happily sped into. Now there was a sheer drop on one side of the road, visibility was occasionally almost 10m and several vehicles didn´t have any lights. The most riveting parts were when we overtook other cars - I started to consider why these other cars were driving so slowly but quickly dismissed my foolish 1st world brain and replaced my faith in the driver.


Back to 1936 and 21 countries have convened in Bueos Aires to formally seal the agreement for the "Carretera Panamericana" which is to stretch from Fairbanks, Alaska to Ushuia at the southern tip of Argentina, resulting in the world´s largest recognised road of 15000 miles.
Through Alaska, Canada and USA, the road is only there in an official sense. Even as it passes Loredo, Texas and crosses the Rio Grande into Mexico, its barely recognised as such by those who use it. After it passes Mexico City, where I join it, the highway starts to gain a sense of identity and by the time it reaches the Guatemalan border, the Panamericana has developed into the main artery of Central America, coursing with its transport of people and goods. It serves this role though Guatemala to El Salvador, quickly nips through Honduras before traversing the length of Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. In Panama, close to the notoriously lethal border with Columbia, the highway pauses due to the hugely dense, swampy jungle that is the Darien - it ends at a scruffy football pitch and funnily enough starts again with a near identical football pitch - before continuing down the western flank of South America.

As in the days before mass air transport, when the tradition of travelling included the journey as half the experience, my trip starts in Mexico City, continues down the length of Central America and ends in Panama City at some canal that my dad (being in the shipping industry) rates highly. There ends the journey and commences the second part known better as beach life.

This plans sounds good on paper but god only knows how plausible it will turn out to be...

I've finally managed to get to Mexico City - the journey took somewhat longer than planned - instead of arriving on Thursday evening, I arrived 6am Saturday, UK time!! But at least I wasn't the poor girl who arived at Gatwick to be told her tickets and flight were at Heathrow. As I flew in, I was treated to a night time view of the earth bound constellations of small villages, towns and eventually, the universe of lights that is Mexico City itself. Kool

Miami was hot but Mexico City is hotter. I've just been wandering a market that has no end - after a couple of hours I gave up and ended up doing a huge circuit - never coming close to any sign of anything but yet more market stalls. However this gave me plenty of opportunity to stuff my face with the huge assortment of tacos, fresh fruit, tamales, funny things with no name that taste good, fresh pistachio's, fresh cashews, etc etc that were on offer. Although I had to draw the line at tripe or towel stew. And what better way to digest than to put it down on electronic paper and enjoy it all over again. Mmm the freshly pressed watermelon + other large orange melon juice - lovely...

This will be a little experiment (you know how I love those) to see if I manage to keep this up and secondly to see if anyone can stand reading it. Take off is 14th December 2000. Wait and see...