November 1, 2002: Border crossing into Guatamala - Antigua

Odometer: 14,395

Border Crossing:

We were warned. Well in advance I might add. We are travelling with the Footprint series of travel companion books that tells you everything you need to know within well defined parameters of what the authors think that is. So, when we read about the two possible border crossings available in our proximity to Tapachula, we thought it might be easier to deal with Hidalgo, but Talisman was only a couple of kilometers away.

I think we should have gone to Hidalgo.

But, all of that is well behind us now. After nearly two very frustrating hours we finally got into Guatamala with the appropriate paperwork to drive.

The Footprint guides are actually pretty good. Other sources of information were found on the internet and by talking with other people that have crossed into Guatamala. They don't, however, really set the correct tone of the situation.

As we were riding down the hill towards the Mexican crossing, many young boys attempted and succeeded in diverting us off of the main road onto a side one. They are known as Tramitadores, and their way of making a living is to insist, until you want to slit your own wrists, that they can get you to all the right places the first time.

I ditched them and was hoping Hugh would follow. He didn't and the result was that now, like pesky gnats, we both had a bunch of these little entrepenuars harassing us.

To further confuse the issue, there are a bunch of older guys in black pants and white shirts, all sporting an official looking issue badge from some Mexican authority wanting, insisting that we by Quetzales with whatever Pesos we have leftover and any US Dollars we might like to admit to.

Now it's not only confusing, but it is getting frustrating as well as we haven't even been into the Mexican immigration office (where is that office again?) and we are saying, "get away. leave me alone. go away". All the while the tramitidores and the two-tones are imploring us to buy NOW as we won't have the chance in Guatamala once passed the Mexican immigration. Yeah...sure.

Problem is, is they were right :-( Since this was our first third world crossing, Hugh and I were loathe to leave our bikes un-attended while the officialdom was carried out. The tramitadores we finally chose pretty much stopped all the harrassment we were getting from the rest and from the two-tones. However, it was obvious that our protective stance was putting a big crimp the these boys' lifestyle.

Apparently, they'd just prefer that we hand them the titles of our bikes along with passports right on over. Oh yeah, make sure you have copies of everything too. NO chance little man. I don't give a rats-ass if it takes five hours (yes, I did), there's no way I'm letting my passport and title out of sight.

After the checkout of Mexico, after the fruitfly (0r somat) spraying of the bikes and after the paperwork to drive in Guatamala (1.25 hours in hot sunlight), we finally and with heavy sighs conceded to hand over our official identifying papers. We got them back with a Buena suerte (good luck) after enduring nearly two hot, frustrating hours

In the end, Hugh and I agreed that we really didn't need the tramitadores and if we use them again down the road, it'd probably be best to hire some kid to watch the bikes and just run around with the little brats. Cottage industry apparently designed to frustrate tourism by driving. As for the two-tones, it turned out at the very last little check point that we did in fact need some Quetzales and niether Hugh nor I had any Pesos left. So we ended up taking a hit on the exchange with US Dollars. Whatever, get me out of here!

Side notes about the Talisman border:

It is a sprawl. There is commerce obscuring all the important offices you need to go to that, within a half kilometer, disappears completely. There are a bunch of little begger boys (lbb's). My advice is to either endure and simply ignore them, or hire them to watch something. Gainfull employment stymies any further attempt at begging. If that sounds cruel, well you are more naive than I am.

One lbb hounded me and hounded me relentlessly until I gave him 5 Pesos. "Quiero comidar...pesos? Pesos? PESOS?". Here, get away from me! And not 1 MINUTE later he was back, "Esta para mi familia...pesos?....". Grrrr.

I caught the lbb red-handed in one of the Guatamalan immigration offices showing his buddy all the money he was able to scrounge so far that morning. By the look of it, I could have paid my exit visa and entry paperwork costs and still had enough to eat. Little so and such. He realized I was onto him then and gave me a little knowing smirk which prompted me to start following him asking, "pesos...pesos...PESOS?"

The route to Antigua is actually pretty straigtforward and only about 140 miles from the border. We took a wrong turn and put on closer to 220 miles! Where we should have been watching for signs that directed us onto CA-1 towards Guatamala, we simply watched the signs that directed us toward Guatamala which for some reason or another take you south onto CA-2. We didn't realize this until about 45 miles passed the turn off and the signs pointing to Hidalgo, the other more serene border crossing....grrrrr.

Whatever. It was an honest mistake as the signs clearly lead us this way, again for whatever purpose. Anyway, the misdirection led to one of the first honest to goodness fiascos that frequently occur in these here parts.

Hugh and I were tooling along on the very nicely paved and maintained highway when we suddenly came upon a traffic jam. This jam was definitely and obviously a bit stagnant as people were out of their cars and trucks milling about. My first inclination was based on all the road skills we've gained thus far and so, I started up the oncoming traffic lane at a safe pace. Screw this if I'm going to sit in some stinking traffic jam waiting for...who knows how long and for what reason!

Hugh eventually followed me and then passed me as I had pulled into traffic to allow an oncoming car pass. From there on it was just a matter of moving off to the far LEFT shoulder to allow oncoming cars to pass. I began to reason that, even with all the pedestrians walking away from the source of the jam, even with the sudden little vending industry that just popped up, even with truckers slung in hammocks under their trucks to nap, I was going to the source of the problem and riding through it. Don't care!

About SIX miles down the road I got pulled over by a cop. Hugh was nowhere in sight. The cop told me there was no way to pass as there had been a mudslide across the road. I asked him if he had seen my Amigo and he said yes, which pretty much put aside any argument from him that I should stay put. If Hugh went, I'm going and so I did.

Another mile down the road and I was pulled over again by both immigration and the police. They wanted me to park it right there and again I asked about Hugh. THey told me he passed and then I said I wanted to pass as well. Then, Walter, an english speaking immigration official said he wanted my "llave" for one of the other cops motorbikes. ??? Llave is key. Why would he want my key. There's no way it's gonna fit a Honda 125, and even if it did, it wouldn't start it.

He insisted I get off my bike to see and so I thought, fine. Let's see what the hell is going on here. We walked over amid about 12 officials all standing around this little beater and he pointed to the sparkplug. Ahhhh! He wants a tool! "llave" is the same word for key as it is for tools!! (I found this out 4 days later in my spanish class!).

Hey, no problemo, I got what you need. I yanked my tools out and allowed him the honor of dislodging the greasiest, blackest and most distressed sparkplug I've ever seen. Walter kept asking me to stay to see if the bike would start. Keep in mind, all the while there is a group of crowding around officialdom (no doubt more curious about the helpful gringo then the junker he's attempting to help with), people by the hundreds (thousands I found later) walking away from the mudslide and just a whole lot of angry motorists who look like they'd been there longer then it takes to cross the border with Mexico at Talisman!

I just knew there was no way that plug was going to work. So, I gave him one of my spares. The threads were right and if fit and fired the bike right up. It was not the right plug though it didn't matter. It would be toast within the next day or two. Walter wanted to know how much to charge the cop for the plug and the work. These people are great, huh? I told him no problem, spend the money at a decent mechanic, and they all bid me "beuno suerte" as I went off looking for Hugh.

I found him at the scened of the slide smoking a cigarette and watching the front-end loaders dig and finish removing enough debris to allow a passing. I pulled up just in time as they were going to let OUR side start (we were on the uphill side). Cool!

We got ready to go, but one of the antsy truckers wouldn't wait for the motos (three of us), so we began to follow him down the slick hill. It was slick too boy. The truck in front of us was sliding on brakes causing Hugh to go down (sliding in mud). I was too worried about the nimrod trucker behind us and thought maybe he'd like to slide into us too. Hugh got his bike up quickly and we found some dry dirt next to the truck and quickly passed him.

At the bottom of the hill was a nice 6" deep muddy flow across the road. F-it, we're going. Slowly and certainly we made our way across about 30 yards of ick and into the relatively clear lanes proper, on our way away from this fiasco. From the slide, it took nearly 8 miles dodging through thousands of people and vehicles that thought they could pass around, effectvely blocking the way out.

You know, during that hurricane we passed through I was so totally wishing I were in a nice warm climate on four wheels. This day, I was SOOOOOO glad we had motorcycles. We dealt with obstacles Mexican style and within .5 hour were back into clear roadways. I feel so sorry for all those people. As it was, we didn't get away from the mess until around 3:30pm, our intended arrival time at Antigua. I know that jam didn't clear until late that evening. Ugh.

Antigua:

As we had taken the incorrect route, southerly as opposed to northerly, the next big town/city was going to be Escuintla. Niether of us had any Quetzales and we both would need gas soon and a hotel. We hadn't eaten a thing all day either.

So in Escuintla, we found some (three different ones) ATM machines to get some funny money. NOt one of them worked for me. Hugh walked away with a cool Q1000 (about $75). I did have enough for a cheap meal and another 2 gallons of gasoline, but I was bumming. I thought for sure my ATM card would work everywhere around here. Not so.

Anyway, our first meal in Guatamala, in all of Central America was.....McDonalds! I haven't had McDonalds food in over two months and, not that I missed it or anything, was surprised and happy to find out that it tastes the same here as it does at home. How pathetic is this.

We decided against staying in Escuintla as it seemed a bit filthy and Antigua was only another 50 miles. We made it to Guatamala and I started searching for an ATM that would work. Nervous, tired, it's raining now and it's around 5pm and we are beginning to lose the daylight. I was all for finding a place in Guatamala City now and making Antigua the next day, but Hugh decided to just go for it and so I followed.

We made it in around 6:30pm after consulting the map a couple of times to be sure of our route. After settling into our Hotel, which by the way the fine gentleman name Hugo, our receptionist, allowed two motorcycles to park under the spiral staircase, we went for a walk and a couple of cervezas. And I found Moola! Two banks that are networked to mine. Ahh, life is better;-)

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