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Speed Is Security
When entering a country there is always a myriad
of emotions that one feels. Excitement, nervousness, anticipation, accomplishment
are just a few of the possibilities. On the day that my friend Brian and I decided
to leave the comforts of English-speaking Belize,
where we had been for some time and venture into Guatemala,
the feeling was no different.
We
had been in the town of San Ignacio, Belize for a while where the pace was slow and everyone
was laid back. In fact, walk into any bar and aside from a possible squat toilet,
you may have thought you were in a bar in Any Town, USA. Brian and I had decided the night before to begin
to make our way into Guatemala, with the target destination being the small island-town of Flores, which was located on a huge lake in the northern part of the country. The
game plan was to get up early and catch a bus to the border and then from there, catch another bus from the border to Flores. It seemed easy enough.
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| Brian Overloking Temple IV at Tikal |
I
cant quite recall the actual reason, but due to circumstances that escape me, we ended up grabbing a taxi to the border. It was no big deal and in hindsight was probably the quicker and almost as economical
way to get there. In the end I think it cost each of us $2-$3 US dollars. In the back seat of the burned out 80s classic, we relaxed on the plush velour seats
and caught our last glimpses of the rolling green hills of the western edge of Belize as they passed by.
Within 15 minutes we came down a hill where we saw the border crossing. The
driver pulled up into the makeshift parking lot. We paid our fair and hopped
out into the sea of Spanish speaking currency-traders.
I
use the term currency trader very loosely, but men were all over the place with blocks of quetzales, trying to give you a
deal before you could figure out what the rate was. We made our way through the
sea of people to the crossing gate where we stood on line.
Online we watched as one person after another endured
the questioning and scrutiny of the guard. I bided my time by actually reading
all of the entry requirements and restrictions. Much to my surprise, it was illegal
to bring in your own supply of toilet paper into the country. I wasnt aware that
there was a need for regulation of TP in Guatemala. Maybe they were a big producer of the stuff
and didnt want anyone infringing on their market. Whatever the case I had my
roll of Charmin stuffed deep into my pack and I wasnt about to give up the soft stuff at the gate. After about forty-five minutes of winding our way through lines and checkpoints, we were officially admitted
into Guatemala.
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| Brian at Tikal, Guatemala |
After some quick digging, we realized that
we had a slight problem with our plan. Apparently, the source of our information
on bus schedules was way off, 3 hours to be exact. Now, it should just be noted
that It wasnt as if we were crossing the border between Pennsylvania and New Jersey. There was no Roy Rogers, no welcome center and no service station with all of the snacks needed to get any traveler
to the next stop. About the only thing at this crossing was a dirt road that
wound its way by a few tin shacks whose exterior was littered with garbage.
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| Tommy in Flores, Guatemala |
No
big deal, there we at least twenty five men itching to take us to our destination two hours away. One gentleman came up to us and offered us a ride for 350 quetzales.
Brian and I laughed and said 200 quezales. The man was firm in his price
and was not willing to negotiate. We thanked him for his time and move along
to the next guy. This man was willing to take us for 250 quezales. Again we held firm at 200. As we walked away, the second guy
agreed to our price and we were on our way. Funny enough a third guy interrupted
our walk to the car as offered to take us for 350. So they dont have the whole
system worked out quite yet.
Within
minutes we were tearing down a long dirt road that was surrounded by jungle on both sides.
This was the infamous no mans land that all guide books spoke of. In no
mans land banditos had been know to come out of the jungle bearing guns and demanding valuables. In many cases drivers were actually in on the robbery. But
when traveling you have to have a certain degree of faith in your fellow man and hope for the best, and thats what Brian and
I did.
Both
of us however decided that we should probably try to split our stashes of cash into various places. After all, if we were robbed, maybe we could hold on to enough cash to get us to safety. We sat in the back seat and both of us began putting a few bills in our socks, a few in our packs and wherever
else we thought inconspicuous.
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| Tommy at Tikal, Guatemala |
The
drive in no mans land was one of changing speeds. If the road looked smooth,
the pedal was to the metal. When the road got rocky, our driver took it easy
on his already burned out shocks. Then, the unthinkable happened. Our driver began to slow down and pulled over to the side of the road.
My heart began pounding. This was it. I was sure he had a piece nestled
under his seat, or worse yet all of his friends streaming out of the jungle were packing heat!
I looked at Brian and he had the same blank stare that I imagine I had. I
quickly glanced to my right to see if there were any banditos trickling out of the jungle.
Brian was frozen stiff. The car slowly rolled to almost a complete stop
before our driver looked back with a devilish smile and said.
Pot
hole.
It
was probably a good 5-10 minutes later before my heartbeat resumed a normal pace. About
that time we made it to an asphalt road. For the next hour and a half, Brian
and I used our limited Spanish vocabulary and somehow communicated with our driver who had a very limited English vocabulary. We talked cervesas, chicas and burritos mostly.
Quite frankly, as long a we were driving fast I didnt care what we talked about.
To me, speed was security!
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