Viva Mexico!

March 30, 2008
I was in Mexican prison today... and made it out in time for the 10:45 bus back to Belize City...and that was before we crossed the border with contraband and lacking tourist cards!
read on to find out how.....

So, late Thursday night I was thinking that this weekend was probably going to be another low-key weekend in San Ignacio getting schoolwork done and maybe taking a day-trip to somewhere worthwhile, while really still hoping to do some real traveling and getting a change of scenery. I'd hung out locally for three weekends in a row, including Easter weekend when many went out to Guatemala, and was hoping for a weekend trip and a chance to get away from being in a big group. So, when I was asked, "Hey Shaun, wanna go to Mexico tomorrow?" I didn't think much about it before saying something along the lines of "Hell yea, I'm in....where're we goin'?". And so our Mexican odyssey began.

That night I, and friend Claire, put our faith in our comrade Phil Fandel and my roommate, Josh Stewart, to get the details for our trip to Chetumal, Mexico. The four of us had breakfast Friday morning and headed to the special bus station across the Hawksworthe Bridge to catch a bus that could take us across the border. Since it seemed to be just the four of us at the station when the bus was scheduled to arrive, we figured that it would be quite a spacious ride...and could not have been more mistaken. The bus finally rolled in, fifteen minutes late...and full of people. We were crammed into a relatively small, decidedly uncomfortable bus, and told that the ride would only take about 4 hours to get to Chetumal. Nearly five hours later, we had just reached the border of Belize and Mexico, where we payed our departure tax in Belize, got back into the bus, drove across the Rio Hondo and got out of the bus again in Mexico. With no instruction whatsoever we started walking across the border, were looked up-and-down by the border crossing agent and waved through. For not the first time in our lives we realized just one of the benefits of being white, passed through security without a second glance, and were in Mexico. No passports were shown, no questions asked. After a few minutes of wandering at the Maxican border we got back onto the little bus and again moved towards Chetumal. 20 minutes later we made it to the ADO bus terminal and could not be happier to be on our own feet again.

We figure out when we can get a ride back to Belize and walked out of the terminal into the blaring, 3:00 sun of Mexico.
"So Phil, where're we headed. What's the name of this place" I asked
"Uhm, I don't really remember the name, I think it's just the 'Hostel Chetumal'"
"Alright, what's the address?"
"Well, it didn't really have an address."
"Alright" I said with a smile, "you got a map?"
"Yea, I'm prepared...you know"
I asked, chuckling.."is this one traced out of a book like the one for that Maya Culture exam?!"
"haha, no..... I freehanded this bad boy"
I thought he was joking, so I laughed right up until, out of the fanny pack he was wearing beneath his pants, Phil pulled out a piece of lined, notebook paper labeled 'Secret Map', and unfolded it. He was true to his word, he had indeed freehanded a map of maybe 10 blocks, with about five street names, two landmarks and a star symbol where we were supposed to end up.
He looked at it for a moment, looked up, looked at the map again, look up at the street in front of us.
"So, Phil, there a compass on that thing?" I asked.
"Geez Shaun," he retorts with a smile and semi-shrug "don't you know Secret Maps don't have a compass, or scale, or title?!"
My GIS mapping professors would be mortified.

So we more or less aimlessly walking the streets of Chetumal, asking various people for directions, among other random questions about things to do or see, and about an hour later, after eating fantastic pastries from a local bakery, found where we were supposed to be staying, the whole while cracking jokes and laughing harder than I have perhaps all semester.

Standing in front of the black, metal door, with a dog barking behind, we were about to walk away and try to find another place to stay. With a little, dwindling faith, Phil rang the doorbell and we waited to be let in. What we found on the other side of the entrance to Hostel Chetumal was completely misrepresented by its entrance. The Hostess (who's name we didn't find out the entire time we were there, regretfully) was beyond pleasant, the premises was clean, spacious and well equipped with dishes and appliances, and the dog was a joy. We learned that his name was Kevin Costner, due to being such a handsome fellow and he was more than happy with the attention he received from four kids who hadn't seen a well kept dog in some time.

After settling in, making our beds in the dorm style room we had to ourselves, we chatted a bit with our Hostess and met the other individual staying at the hostel. He was a Japanese man by the name of Toshi, who spoke no Spanish and very little English and was traveling alone. We were told that he was trying to get to Belize within the next few days, but the hostess could not communicate with him whatsoever. So Phil gave it his best shot and introduced Toshi to freetranslation.com, through which they communicated for a while before we decided to explore a bit more of the city and find an ATM to get some pesos.

It didn't take much wandering to realize two things; one, that no one in this town was very good at giving directions, and two, that there wasn't a whole lot going on in this sprawling city. It was definitely not a tourist center and we elicited honks and even cheers from cars and the back of pickup trucks (When I say 'we' in this instance, I might really be talking about blond-haired Claire). After finding the cajero, and thanks to a delightful exchange rate, we took out a few $500 bills 'like it ain't no thang'.

Next goal was to find some food, since we were nearly delirious for having not eaten since breakfast. The closest restaurant happened to be right next door to our home for the weekend. A nice looking sports bar, we thought it would be nice to chill out and sample some Mexican beer after a long day of travel. It turned out that this was a high end, Certified Angus Beef establishment. And thanks to a peso to dollar ratio of just over 10:1, we were able to order, for likely the first and last time, a meal with '$180' next to it on the menu without it being much of a splurge. With a steak and a beer settling nicely into each of our near-empty stomachs, it was off to the supermarket. Our sides were aching at this point thanks to omnipresent laughter, this was certainly a humorous bunch and we were all relieved to escape for a few moments the building pressures that were present back in San Ignacio.

Settled on the decision to have an early night back at the hostel planning for the next day's activities, we made it back to the supermarket to pick up a few items. Along with a few rations and essentials, we also picked up a hole bunch of limes and, since we were in Mexico after all, grabbed a nearly obligatory bottle of Tequila.
Back at the hostel we juiced up some limes and cracked the tequi'.

Since Toshi was still sitting, intriguingly like a Samurai, in front of his computer as he had been when we first arrived, we decided he could probably use a break. With a raised bottle, a raised eyebrow, and a point in his direction, we asked our Japanese cohabitant if he too would like to enjoy Mexico's finest. There was a moment of calculation followed by a smile and we poured one for Toshi. So began an evening of rather animated card games along with communicatory charades. Before long Toshi was laughing with the rest of us, perhaps all the more so for not understanding at least 2/3 of what was going on. He did seem to grow more and more experimental with his English skills as the bottle grew lighter and we learned about his 'Around the World' ticket and checked out his itinerary that was taking him to nearly every continent. Planning to work his way down into South America before flying to South Africa, traveling northwards and stopping in Europe our friend will return to Japan after a year of travel! Since he seemed intrigued by the tequila we also asked what he usually drank back at home, to which he thoughtfully responded '...No'. By the time we were ready to call it a night, the four of us went back into the kitchen to clean up. After about 5 minutes our now rosy-cheeked friend walked in with a permanent grin from ear to ear and declared "I am sleepy.... Bed for me." before weaving his way up the stairs. It was quite a decidedly humorous evening filled with internationally homegrown entertainment.










After a good night's sleep we rose for a humble breakfast of toast, bananas and corn flakes and grabbed a guidebook from the shelf. After some deliberation we decided to head north to a little town called Calderitas that looked like a nice beach spot. We hailed a taxi and asked in Spanish what it would cost to get there. He said he would charge 30pesos, and we decided it would be worth three bucks a piece to get out there so we piled in. Practicing out Spanish, we chatted with the driver and it was quickly apparent that he was rather proud of his place of residence and made sure to point out things of interest. Our impromptu tour guide took the time to rephrase and explain things we didn't understand and even suggested a few other places to visit nearby. Phil asked him what was the 'mas bonita' or most beautiful place around and was presented with a few brochures and maps from the glove compartment. Our driver spoke highly of a place a bit farther known as Bacalar, but we were still set on Calderitas at present. Upon our arrival at the 'downtown' strip, we were driven the entire length, shown several good places to swim and eat and then taken all the way back to the first beach site. Very pleased with our cab ride, we each began to pull out three 10peso coins a piece until the driver began shaking his head. "No, no...treinte por todos" thirty for everyone! We were amazed at the low price and the driver's honesty and insisted on a 10peso tip. Everyone happy, he drove off again only to turn around after just getting out of sight and driving back towards us. Rolling down the window he said to us in Spanish "Just to let you know, the prices are always in total for taxis around here. Only at the airport to they tell you the price per person." He probably saved us from being ripped off.

The beachfront at Calderitas was nice. We walked around for a bit and stopped at a restaurant for some lunch and after being there a while were solicited with numerous souvenirs and clothing articles. As Claire was looking at a few nicely stitched blouses, Phil and I caught a glance at some fantastically ridiculous shirts. In a mood for a little humorous embarrassment and with a couple of cracks about needing to fit in with the locals (who would actually never wear anything like these shirts) we decided to go for it. With chuckles coming from the tables nearby, we put on our recent acquisitions in which we stayed for the rest of the day. My new ensemble was especially ludicrous as my sandals had recently disintegrated and I was consequently confined to a pair of workboots worn without socks to go along with my bathing suit. It was quite the sight I am sure, and with dramatic sunglasses, Phil and I milked it for all it was worth!

Once having explored what we deemed the better part of Calderitas we decided to grab another taxi to the rumored beauty of Bacalar. Again we managed to find a rather social cab driver with whom we chatted the entire 30 minute ride. We learned all about his history as an illegal immigrant working in the US and escapades between the Mexican and Belizean borders. We struck a chord with him as well it seems and he eagerly drove us around the area and made several stops at things that he thought we should see. We all got out of the car at Cenote Azul, a beautiful swimming hole overlooking the 'Seven Colors Lagoon' before again heading towards our final destination. It seemed every time Josh or Phil lifted their cameras to get a drive-by shot, the driver would come to a stop, back up and make sure that they got just the shot they were looking for; What Service!

When we finally arrived at Bacalar, it was a bustling scene of Mexican tourists enjoying a Saturday party at the beach. The water was absolutely beautiful! There were bands of differing blues stretching across the fresh water body and enhanced by the intense sunlight. As we gulped it all in we were approached by a fellow with a walkie-talkie radio around his neck who asked if we spoke Spanish. Before I could finish saying that I spoke a little, but slowly, he began spewing out stuccatto Spanish in rapid succession. He was advertising a tour around the lagoon and once he finished his spiel he kindly stepped back to give us a few moments to confer. While we would normally have declined we decided that the 80pesos per person was not a bad deal to be able to see more of this place. So, having just arrived, we quickly piled into a boat and waited a few minutes while our new Guide gathered rapidly gathered more takers. The fellow turned out to be quite the personality and we quickly became his favorites as Claire and I joked with him in Spanish and laughed at his cracks and mannerisms.

Cruising around the lagoon was spectacular. The pictures hardly do justice to the beauty and colors in the water. The chance to jump in and out of the boat a few times and enjoy a swim were fantastic and totally worth the trip. The area had apparently been a gold hot spot during the Spanish conquest and was the victim of numerous pirates. So a fort was constructed just up the hill that overlooked the lagoon. Oddly enough there wasn't a sand bottom but more of a fine, light colored silt that your feet just barely sunk into. With the sun shining and our spirits high we all agreed that the trip was entirely worthwhile! Once the tour was over we wanted to get away from the hubbub going on at the beachfront and noticed a particularly long and particularly empty pier that was just on the other side of a downed barbwire fence. We crossed the obsolete barrier and traveled to the end of the pier to soak up some afternoon sun...and take a 'family picture' (Josh loves the group shot)

Our Vitamin D levels up, and our presence gaining attention from the nearby, crowded beach we decided to try to make our way back home.We headed up the hill towards what our cab driver had said was the town center, where we could catch a bus. Since we didn't know where exactly we were going we wandered around in the usual manner, getting eyed by all the locals and proving to be a scene not usually seen. Some sweet murals provided an opportunity for some posed photos...
and once we got near the fort, Phil decided he just needed to check out inside of it. We had heard it was a museum, and as Claire, Josh and I examined the situation to figure out if we needed tickets Phil walked right through the stone threshold. As the recently noticed ticket booth began to bustle like an anthill and uniformed people quickly pursued we warned Phil about the coming onslaught. "Phil! get outta there. authorities!"
He stuck his head out a turret and yelled "I made it! I was in the fort!" before rushing out and probably avoiding a severe, Spanish tongue lashing. After that we determined that the delirium had set in and we should probably get back to Chetumal and get some food. Finally finding another taxi we made the trip back and nearly got lost. The driver had no idea where we were going or exactly where the streets we named were, so we had to drive around the city for a bit before we recognized where we were (again, 'we' means Claire).
Back in our neighborhood we engaged in a vain search for another restaurant before settling on a small pizza joint. It was far better pizza then we had found anywhere in Belize, a pleasant surprise in fact.

Just before we had left for our adventures Toshi had left the hostel on his way towards Belize. We had done the best we could to instruct him on places to visit and said that if he was ever in San Ignacio he should seek us out. While we were adventuring during the day an English girl named Yvonne had checked in. She too was heading towards Belize the next day. After dinner and Claire's rant about there not being any good beer in Belize she was up for a Mexican beer run and a last hurrah before being subjected to Belikin, Belize's beer monopoly.

We completed our mission and made it back to the hostel. Chatting with Yvonne over a few cold ones, we learned that she was quite the intrepid traveler. Having just graduated 'Uni' and getting her teaching certificate, Yvonne had already traveled for six months in India and another trip of four months in southeast Asia. She was going from LA to Costa Rica in four months...for a change of scenery. I was eager to inquire about all the particulars of her various trips and when I asked about what she spent was very encouraged...
"Well, I was in India for six months and spent about $3,000. But that was because we stayed in nicer places, and I don't really like Indian food so I spent a lot more to get Western food there. Southeast Asia cost between three and four thousand with a lot of travel, and this trip is running a bit over budget at four thousand for what's going to be about five months." Good things to know, and very promising :)

Before going to bed that night, Josh finally mustered the courage to ask our Hostess where we could buy one of the beautiful hammocks she had on the patio. They were made of thousands of tiny, woven threads of various colors, very comfortable and enormous! We had seen a lot of hammocks by this point and the ones hanging on the patio in this hostel topped them all. She told Josh, and Phil, in Spanish that she was often asked about them and that it would be her pleasure to take us to where she bought them after breakfast tomorrow and that we would be back in time to catch the 10:45 bus back to Belize City. Very pleased and looking forward to tomorrow's acquisition, we called it a night and got some rest before our day of travel home.

The next morning came and after breakfast the four of us piled into the white Peugeot and were off to buy hammocks. Since we were planning on heading out after the hammock purchase, Phil and I thought it would be rather funny to cross the border and eventually arrive back in San Ignacio in our ridiculous outfits, so we had put our new shirts back on and were looking the part of excessive tourists. We drove quite a ways, chatting with the hostel owner and soaking in the sites of Chetumal, each expecting a market to be our final destination. After about 15 minutes, our Hostess randomly points through the windshield at a large building along the 'highway' and says "That's the jail". It seemed odd that this would be the first thing along the journey that she thought worthy of mention and Phil even cracked a mumbled joke about hoping this isn't where she was taking us. She slowed the car and tugged the wheel right, parking along the side of the rode across the street from the prison. The four students were looking around for some sort of market and there was nothing but trees. We all got out of the car, put our bags in the trunk and locked it up. Across the street was a line of people waiting outside the barbwire fence.
"It's visiting day" our Hostess told us just before chatting with one of the guards through the fence and before we knew it we were pushing passed and walking around a crowd of people waiting to be screened before seeing their incarcerated loved ones. All the while, Phil and I are wearing these ludicrous shirts, needless to say, there were more than a few stares. Once inside the barbwire fence and passed the razor wire secondary barrier, we were lead into the actual prison building. Passing armed guards single file, we walked into a smaller room near what appeared to be the prison showers, all the while still trying to comprehend how this happened without our knowing ahead of time. Two men came out of nowhere with a slew of flamboyantly colored hammocks and laid them out on the table. Stretching one out to full size I guessed the area covered by the woven portion alone was about 4'x7', double stranded. I can hardly fathom how long it would take to make such a thing, but I'm guessing about 25 to life as we were assured they were all hand woven. The haggling began between our Hostess and the vendors in Spanish so fast I could hardly catch more than a word of phrase here and there. In the end she talked them down from 1,000pesos to 600, Phil and Josh picked their hammocks and we walked back out through the line of expressionless faces and penetrating eyes. The whole experience was a bit unreal.

We collected ourselves on the ride back to the hostel and bid our farewells with many thanks. A final pet for Kevin Costner and we were whisked away by taxi to the bus station. We figured out the ticket situation and had a moment to take a final group shot while waiting for the bus with Yvonne.
While sitting at the ADO bus company station, we were looking forward to riding back in a nicer bus than what was usually found in Belize. The large, tinted windows and air conditioning would have been a nice change of pace from the US school buses which were the common mode of public transport across the border. After we had been waiting about ten minutes, a revamped, Blue Bird school bus pulls into the station as if it's a Sesame Street segment of 'One of these things is not like the other'.
"That's the one, that's our bus" Josh and I both seem to say in unison. Sure enough, the 2x4 wood placard propped between the dashboard and windshield has BELIZE painted across its face. We all climb in and begin our journey home. After explaining the border officer at the Mexican border that no, we weren't given tourist cards at the border and that we just needed to get back home for class in Belize we were finally told to just pay the exit fee and get back on the bus. Then it was a flash of the student visa in Belize and we each easily walked by the customs agents, bottles of tequila (hard to come by in Belize and heavily taxed), undeclared in our backpacks. Five hours of bus riding later, we were back in good ol' San Ignacio, smiles beaming from a great trip.