Mexican Border Crossing
Travel Location: El-Naranjo,Guatemala
Our border crossing back in to Guatemala was less than pleasant. What was to be a more adventurous journey, cheaper and more scenic, was a journey in to the heart of darkness – more tortuous, more expensive and aside from the occasional glimpse of natural wilderness, more unattractive. Of course, my opinion of the route taken is some what tainted by an incident that loomed large for an excruciating half hour or more.
Our route from Palenque, Chiapas, Mexico, involved taking a bus from Palenque east to the small town of Tenosique de Pino Saunez; another bus to the border town of El Martillo; then making our way through a stretch of road stalls, in no mans land, to some riverboats, one of which would take us down river to the Guatemalan immigration town of El Naranjo.
‘Superman’ was super fast when it came to speaking Spanish.
At the boarder town of El Martillo we arrived to find market stalls that went on for seemingly more than a kilometre. While Tuk Tuks stood in waiting they would not take heed of our pleading to be couriered down the kilometre stretch to the riverboats. This was at first hard to comprehend. Our usual experience of boarders, airports and bus stations, as is no surprise, is akin to that of a breadcrumb flung into air populated by starving pigeons. It soon became apparent as to why our conditional bread was undesirable. The road was like an ants glaciated mountain range, full of craters and sharp peaks, thus only the terrain of 4WDs, none of which were available.
So we walked.
I have a philosophy that applies to physical pain that must be endured to achieve a certain end. It states that one should seek to achieve that end as quickly as possible. My girlfriend Amy is small and is more partial to the take it slow approach. As a result of this we agreed that I could go ahead and wait for her at certain points along the trail.
My first stop was a pirated music and DVD stall. I offloaded my backpack, guitar and daypack on the side of the road and took my daypack, with my computer, ‘creative’ speaker, camera, rechargeable batteries and battery recharger, and left it to the side of the shop entrance while perusing the wares. Amy soon arrived and directed my attention to a haberdashery store on the other side of the road. With a runny nose the purchasing of a handkerchief was high on the agenda, I crossed the road and enquired to find that no handkerchiefs were available. Turning, I found Amy talking with some guys in a 4WD pickup about a lift to the river. They wanted to charge an exorbitant amount so we bargained them down from opposite ends of the car. Once we had reached a suitable amount we started loading up and were away.
The journey to the river involved, after passing the market stalls, a descent in to a landscape that made me think of the Serengeti plains. The road was worse than before and flanked by grassy planes thinly populated with trees, very much alike in appearance to that of acacias.
We arrived at the river and a beach of docked long boats, serviced by a tienda (shop) of corrugated iron. As I purchased some lemon tortrix chips after depositing my backpack and guitar in the boat Amy asked where the daypack was.
Yes, where was the day pack?
I became a little unbalanced at this point.
The loss of my computer was not something I could deal with as a prospect. I went into a state of intense shock, returned to the 4WD and stated that I would pay the driver anything for a return drive to the pirated DVD store. He was more than willing to oblige.
We arrived to find, surprise, that the shop had been closed. What had been a pirated DVD scaffolding shack/shop was now a sheet of black plastic.
With the assistance of Mr 4WD I started questioning the proprietors of the neighbouring shops. I soon discovered that the man with a convenient closing time went by the name of ‘Superman’. Not so convinced of this self-attributed status I continued my hot pursuit. The investigative talents of the driver proved far more successful and I soon found my self being guided, by another storeowner, up a mountainside past pigpens and squawking chickens.
Superman lived in a run down shack. He hid his surprise at my arrival well, invited me inside and closed the door, closing off my mountain guide from any kind of inclusion in the proceedings. I found the contents of my bag spewing out of said bag and on to the floor. My computer was open and on. I proceeded to pack it up.
With bag in hand, I thanked him and went to leave. He stopped me and started on some narration about a trip to Guatemala City for which he required cash.
Now ‘Superman’ was super fast when it came to speaking Spanish.
Despite having achieved a working Spanish by this time this guy seemed to possess a special talent of side stepping all possible points of lingual recognition.
He seemed to be stating that as the computer was important to me I should compensate him for giving it back. I tried to communicate that he had in fact closed his shop upon discovering my computer and that he was returning my bag because circumstances required it, not due to any philanthropy on his part.
I began to get a little concerned that any attempt to leave in defiance of his desires would be met with a violent act. I was concerned that that farmer’s tool, ubiquitous in Mexico and Guatemala, the machete, was only an arms length away. Of course, the fact that he was not a farmer didn’t really occur to me.
I offered him a 100Q note (US$20). He scoffed and showed me a wad of notes that would have to amount to something like 10,000Q. To me the fact that he would not accept 100Q because he had 10,000Q did not hold water. All sympathy for his financial plight as a poor man shifted. It was time to leave. I gave him $20US and 200Q, didn’t take no for an answer and left with my health.
The 4WD returned me to the river and the boat in which my girlfriend was waiting. The boat sped up river, flanked on both sides by lush jungle, and we were soon in El Naranjo, Guatemala.
