The Peninsula 1

Hidden somewhere within the cobblestone gridwork of streets that crisscross through the heart of old Campeche, the capital city of the Mexican state of the same name, there can be found a quirky little guesthouse called "Hostel del Pirata" - Pirate's Hostel. From the street, it doesn't look any different from the rest of Campeche's uniform pastel-colored concrete facades, but its dingy interior is elaborately decorated with all manner of bucanneer paraphernalia - statues of salty seamen leering from out their one good eye, smirking skulls, cannons, maps, as well as rusty old cutlasses and rifles all mounted on plaques - memories of the city's turbulent history.

Since its founding in 1504 by Spanish conquistadores directly atop a Pre-Columbian Mayan settlement, Campeche was subject to repeated attack by marauding pirates from all over the world - including a good many famous ones - until, in 1668, it was eventually forced to begin constructing a vast series of fortress walls encircling the entire heart of the city. Although the years have taken their toll, many of the original fortifications remain, and have been preserved by the Mexican government, a fact which, along with the impressively preserved colonial architecture of the city, earned it the status of a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1999. Whatever else, it's certainly a pleasant place to wander around, as I discovered today, the waterfront promenade all outfitted with old canons and statues. But I am getting ahead of myself here - let me back up a little.

So, after a few days of humming and hawing in San Cristobal about whether or not I ought to travel up into the Mexican peninsular states of Campeche, Yucatan, and Quintana Roo, I eventually decided to go for it, and snagged a bus down out of the cool central mountains of Chiapas, and into the sweltering air of its northern jungle. I was none to keen on dwelling there long - I had coastal life on my mind - but I had heard too much about the ancient Mayan ruins of Palenque to skip it.

It was a long and bumpy ride on an overcast day, and I was pretty bagged by the time we rolled in. I didn't have much of a plan, and so was quite happy to tag along with a motley gang of travellers whose noses were almost too deep in their guidebooks to notice me. They seemed to have some idea where they were going however, which was more than I could say. We shared a ride into the jungle, and quickly found that there was no shortage of accomodation to be had. I settled on a scummy little place with cheap dormitory rates and lots of little kids running around barefoot in the soft loam of the jungle floor, one of whom showed me to my room and took my money.


Evening was coming on and there was no power in the rooms so I stowed my things and made for the modest open air restaurant/lounge area where two obese Mexican women were whipping up cheese-stuffed chilly and shitty coffee. I sat writing for a time until a pair of travelers came by and sat down at an adjacent table with a gaggle of Mexican children at their heels and pulled out a deck of cards. The former were doing their best to teach the latter how to play something they called Ocho Loco - Crazy 8s - in desperately poor Spanish - mostly pointing and head-shaking, really. Now my Spanish is far from impressive, to be sure, but it was more than these folks had to work with, and it wasn't long before I had joined the game, and was doing most of the teaching.

The two travellers - a young woman from Israel, and a young man from northern Alberta, of all places - were pleasant company and we three had every kid in the place crowding around and alughing in no time. They were quick learners and were soon winning rounds as often as any of us. (We would repeat this round of games again for as long as I stayed there, much to the joy of the younger players.)

After supper we three retired to a nearby jungle bar kind of place where there was some live music, but I was spent and didn't last long. Back in my candle-lit dorm-room, I splashed a little water on my face (and my feet incidentally - the sink was not outfitted with any plumbing, and so the tap-water, after passing through my fingers then fell unhindered onto the bathroom floor soliciting a surprised laugh from me, I'll tell you) and crawled between the not-quite-moist sheets of my little bed and waited for sleep.

I don't remember it coming, but it must have for I do rememeber waking up, and probably will never forget it, to be honest. At first, I had no idea what had rousted me, until it came again - a great deep whooshing roar that my still half-asleep mind could only imagine to be the fiery breath of some huge dragon. Gaining a little more of myself, I strained my ears hoping it would come once more... and again, loud as an air-raid siren, this great fiery wave of a roar, punctuated this time by a kind of gruff primal barking sound. I would have sworn the hounds of hell were just outside my shoddy wooden door. Over and over it came in steady rhythmic waves, for what felt to me like hours, and I lay there dozed and bewildered, turning in my sweaty sheets. I don't know how I ever returned to sleep, but the next thing I remember was waking to the green rays of the sun through foliage, a little wet, but well-rested.

I later learned that the creatures responsible for this incredible sound were none other than the howler monkeys native to the jungles of Latin America. I had had no idea that I was entering monkey country, and having never heard it before, was quite unequipped to identify this otherworldly sound. A little online research later I was not shocked to learn that howler monkeys are widely considered to be one of the loudest animals on earth - and unanimously the loudest land animal (according to the Guiness Book of World Records no less). Although relatively small - adults range from about 50-100cm tall - their cries can be heard clearly from over three miles away! Now imagine having a gang of these suckers singing you to sleep from the canopy overhead. It was something else, I can tell you.

That morning I had planned to visit the ruins of Palenque, and after a quick breakfast, caught a ride into the national parklands, and ultimately to the site. While not as big as some other well-known Mayan sites, Palenque is far larger than any site I had ever visited, and archaeologists are nowhere near having explored it completely. As maps around the site demonstrate, vast stretches of the once grand Mayan city-state still lie buried in the dense jungle that swallowed it whole after its abandonment sometime in the 8th century.


But despite having lain dormant so long, the site still exhibits an imposing character, with its huge terraced buildings, and impressive central palacio, not to mention some of the finest existing sculpture left behind by the Maya. I had allotted the entire day to its exploration, and spent many hours wandering across sizable plazas, through what must have once been bustling neighborhoods, and exploring hidden jungle temples all wrapped in the veiny roots of trees nearly as ancient as the buildings they squeezed. The huge buttressed trunks of the trees yielded shady nooks large enough for a man to squat down in, and I confess to having done so several times, to sit for a moment or two in the music of the jungle.


Winding paths and dizzyingly steep staircases led visitors to various locations on the site through dense swaths of jungle, past beautiful waterfalls and across hanging wooden bridges. Although there were quite a few tour groups being paraded through the main plazas, and overtop the larger more impressive structures, they didn't seem to be as interested in the more remote corners of the site, which meant that I essentially had the run of the place for the better part of my visit. Unfortunately, my camera quit before I did, but I did manage to capture some of the beauty and majesty of the site. I hereby recommend it to anyone planning a trip out this way, if not for the ruins then for the monkeys.

Since having left San Cristobal, I had been in contact with a fellow from Ciudad del Carmen, a little fishing village cum oil-town on the Gulf of Mexico with whom I had hoped to couchsurf for a few days after having seen the ruins. My third day in Palenque I got word from him, and feeling as though I had had my fill of the jungle life for now - there would be plenty of time for that in Central and South America - I wasted no time in packing up and making for the coast.

The trip was broken into two parts of roughly equal length: Palenque to Villahermosa, and Villahermosa to Carmen. I caught my first bus around noon, and rolled into Villahermosa around 3PM or so. I bought my ticket and called my surfer - Jose Manuel his name - from a payphone to set up a meeting time. I would be in around 7:30, I told him. Great, we'll meet at 8 at the station. Fine, see you then.

So I sat for a few tacos to wait for my bus and make some chit chat with the taco lady. When its nearly time to go, I wander over and find to my dismay that my bus has already left - right on time, shockingly. There is another bus loading for Carmen - same bus company - but it is not my bus. I return to the ticket counter, and explain myself. The woman tells me that because I have missed my 1st class bus, I must wait for another 1st class bus - there should be one along in a few hours - and that my ticket is not good for the 2nd class bus presently leaving for Carmen, even though the latter is some twenty pesos (about two dollars) cheaper. If I want to take the bus leaving now, I'll have to pay another fare.

Now, I had already made plans to meet with Jose Manuel at 8, a time about which he was adamant, having planned an engagement shortly thereafter, so I could not afford to be late. A little frustrated at paying a double fare, I nevertheless climbed aboard the 2nd class bus, now backing out of the station, but when I tried to pay the driver, he told me there was no room, the bus was full. I charged past him in search of a seat, and found that there was in fact one left, but it was a doozy - obviously the least desirable seat on the bus - and I watched as all the other passengers averted their eyes while I, the lone foreigner, sized it up.

It was a window seat, right in the back behind the rear wheel-well (the bumpiest area) on the inside of a sizable Mexican women whom I had to literally climb over top of when she refused to rise. I scarcely had room to wedge in my buns beside this lady who, despite my apologetic giggles as I tried to do so, refused to meet my gaze. Once in place, I realized that the dark curtains which usually block out the punishing Mexican sun were missing on this particular set of seats, and so we two sat baking for the better part of the trip, the exposed skin of our forearms united in a slimy embrace. At least I was going to be on time, I thought, smiling to myself.

Jose Manuel was also right on time. A pleasant young man of nearly thirty years, he picked me up in his brand new Toyota, and after stopping to collect a friend of his with whom he had plans for the evening, we three drove to his impressive two-story house on the beach, where he dropped me off. Like most young professionals in Carmen - nicknamed The Pearl of the Gulf - Jose works in oil. For years, Carmen was a modest fishing village until, sometime in the 70s, oil depostis were discovered off its coast, the cultivation of which quickly usurped fishing as the city's dominant industry, and it is a powerful one.

Over the course of the past few years, Jose has single-handedly built this two-story home, in which he lives alone for the moment, and purchased himself a brand new BMW motorcyle for those days when he doesn't feel like driving his truck to work. But these comforts are the fruit of much labour, I can tell you - he worked the entire weekend I was there, dashing home for a short break in the afternoon for lunch, and then returning to work again until the evening.

But despite his taxing schedule, it was a pleasure to stay with him, and we shared many laughs as we tended the wobbly ganja plants he was coaxing out of some too-big pots full of dusty Mexican soil, or did our best to conjure up some "soup of squids" which actually turned out to be quite delicious. While he worked, I filled my days by lolling around Carmen's quaint but pleasant downtown sea-wall, watching old men fish with hand-lines, and fending off all the eager shoe-shine boys eyeing up my dusty boots.

One afternoon, having had my fill of town, I decided to have a dip in the Gulf - my first dip on the Atlantic side this trip. The water was opaque but refreshing, and the sun was warm cutting unhindered through blue skies. After bobbing around for a time, I was suddenly stricken with the odd desire to run, and took off up the shell-strewn beach chasing little gangs of tiny beach-birds who, refusing stubbornly to fly away, would instead run at full pace before me like a herd of miniature sheep. I laughed and ran on down beach for some time, stopping here and there to swim. It was a beautiful afternoon.


That evening I took Jose out for supper and he dropped me at the station where I caught a late bus into Campeche from whence I now write you, tucked away in the belly of the Pirate's Hostel. Having arrived quite late last night, I simply made for my hostel and turned in, but as I noted above, had a fine day today wandering the city, reading, and generally farting around in the sun.

It has been a slow few weeks as far as exciting travel stories go, and I have been reveling in having very little to do, and decidedly accomodating weather to do it in. At times I almost feel a little guilty for my laidback lifestyle - especially alongside such go-getters as Jose Manuel - but I usually just take a nap or have a coffee or something and it goes away.

Plans at the moment have me remaining here in Campeche for another few days before continuing along the Gulf to Merida, in Yucatan state, and then dashing across into Cancun where I will be met by Jasmine, my high-flying host from San Miguel, and luxuriating in the crystal waters of the Carribean. I will do my best to post at least once more before leaving Mexico for Belize, Guatemala, and points south.

Warmest wishes from sunny Campeche!