Category: Wanderings

Whatever the mysterious happenstances between the finite and the infinite that daily shape the course of lives may never be fully known. Some times the least expected and statistically most improbable can happen when we wonder the pathless woods that are seldom traveled. Such was the case yesterday while meandering through enchanted Muir Woods, home of the 2000 year old ancient redwoods that tower well in excess of 100 meters. As I wandered through the majestic woods following the lay of the hills, up from the opposite way emerged the familiar face of a friend with whom I had lost touch with to time. Not so odd, one might think, except that the last time I saw her was in these very same woods three years prior. Given the geographical distance it seemed most improbable. Given that chance had brought us back to a joyful encounter, I told her that we should ponder the meaning of this strange encounter.

We then exchange contact information and parted again.  After a while further hiking through the misty forest, I remembered the moment three years past when she quoted, out of the blue I recited:

Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state;

Indeed, for now such was the pacified mind of one content to wend the paths untrodden and untried. The delight of these too came to pass, and the failing light hastened us along. However, on the way back to San Francisco, on a whim, we veered up the northern outlook over the bay to enjoy the last view of sunset. In a word, sublime.

How does one know a mountain? One can point to a mountain and say “such is a mountain”, which is tantamount to knowing a mountain from the view of a mountain. There is, however, alternatively knowledge of the nature of a mountain by climbing and know by viewing from the mountain. Such glory is all that is divine (not in the Christian sense) and earthly open to the new vista of perception. The climb up to the top of Yosemite Falls – one of the tallest waterfalls in the world – was strenuous to say the least, but well worth the while. It truly is one of the marvels of nature… particularly in mid-autumn when the oak and ash are glowing saffron in the evening sun.

Every path may have its own reward, but still, I can say that some are a bit better than others. I had started on the trail late, and by the time I reached the top, it was well nigh dusk. There were only a sprinkle of people left who had made the climb earlier. Once they all left, I spent the remaining time enjoying the sunset with three others I’d ascended with. In the end I can report that it’s other-worldly to feel the spray of the falls blown back in your face in the evening sun, with the rainbow fading with the dying light. After a bit of rest, we hiked back down in pitch darkness.

For those long pent in to the bustle of urbanity, there is always a desire to escape into nature. California has some of the most unique natural beauty in North America. Having little to occupy my time, I set about with a few friends and drove up to Mono Lake, passing by the snow-capped Sierra Mountains and desert landscapes along the way. There is a certain inescapable allure of sparsely populated areas where human influence is kept at margin, where the sublime quietude of nature is left unto itself – undisturbed. One example being a lone, yellow gingko tree that we spotted in a field, glowing in full autumnal splendor in front of the adjacent snow-capped Sierra mountains – just one speck of brilliant yellow contrasting the white mountains behind it.

We made it to Mono Lake by early afternoon to see one of the most surreal natural wonders. Mono Lake, is one of, if not the oldest lake in North America. As salinity is more than twice that of the ocean, no fish can survive here. The surrounding landscape is largely barren, but the its unique ecology does host numerous species of migratory fowl.  Simply, this massive lake is a strange site to behold with its amorphous calcite tufas protruding from the surface.

Its a pity we couldn’t stay to camp there, as I can imagine its remote location would afford an incredible view of the night sky, possibly even more spectacular if the water surface is calm enough to reflect all the stars.

Never thought I could fly, but this is sufficient proof maybe? Today was a slightly overcast day, but still with the weather being near-perfect, I wandered Brooklyn with my friend afoot for the entire day. It’s one of the small wonders to passively observe the subtle happenings of life: a young woman walking her dog, lovers lounging on the grass gazing over the distant skyline, two elderly gentlemen in mid conversation gesturing with their hands, children chasing pigeons, etc. In retrospect, I can imagine what other people must have been thinking observing my friend and me – here were two full-grown adults frolicking like children running along the grass, then meditating, and then doing performance-art jumps without a care in the world.  Maybe this really is flying, or as close to it as earthly possible?

To all beginnings, a necessary ending. Some times they are planned, but most times events and occasions resolve to their own course in due passing. But with every ending also affords new possible beginnings. Who knows where the road will unexpectedly lead next; as it were, for the brief time I was in Belize – and as harsh as it was to see reality and poverty there (despite the high prices) – I enjoyed it without biases or judgment all the same.

Pleasant surprises abound in life. The unexpected and natural beauty that jut from the mundane trappings are those we hold dear most. Today was a prime example of such, as on a lark, I staid one more day in Flores, Guatemala, only to encounter one of the most beautiful moments of this trip. Words are rendered inept in all such encounters; so, suffice to say that I meandered the town of Santa Elena outside of Flores today looking for a bank, and got lost briefly in the ugly surroundings. When I finally returned, I opted to walk the 3 km distance, pass the shack building store fronts, tuk-tuks, and traffic… slowly working my way towards the bridge that led to Flores. In an instance, I stopped in my tracks when I spotted the perfect spot to idle for 2 hours. In life such moments will be few, one can’t be blamed for losing all sense of purpose when granted such splendor before the eyes…

A must-see list on any itinerary to Guatemala is, of course, Tikal – the remains Mayan civilization at its apogee. Hidden almost complete in jungle, the pyramids of Tikal peek over the canopies to loom imposing over the tropical landscape. The howl of monkeys and calls of myriad species of birds echo off the ancient walls of Tikal like voices calling from an extinguished past (interestingly, the etymology of ‘Tikal’ means “place of voices”) – a reminder of a time long lost. The footfalls of visitors, likewise, echo off the walls to intermix with the sounds of the jungle,vas if the ancient Mayans were attempting to convey the legacy of their culture. I remained for for a few hours wandering the park and ascending a few of the temple pyramids… each time remaining in long silence trying to picture what it must have been like in this metropolis during the peak of Mayan culture. And though the site altogether is not as stunning as Angkor, nonetheless, it holds a beauty all its own that is incomparable.

The beauty of the road less traveled is always the unexpected beauty that takes one astray. As this journey draws to a conclusion, the intended quick stop to the ancient ruins of Tikal lead to the unexpected town of Flores – an islet located in the middle of a lake. The easy quiet and uber small-town feel compelled me to linger yet another day, if only just to swing on a hammock overlooking the placid lake at sunset.

After spending the morning at Chichicastenango a couple of days ago, I boarded a tourist shuttle to Panajachel on the east rim of Lake Atitlan. This is undoubted one of the true wonders of Guatemala with three volcanoes jutting a few thousand meters high each above the majestic lakescape. The only detraction is that, since the rainy season has started, much of the afternoon from 2 pm onwards is drenched in tropical thundrestorms, rendering sunsets non-existant. This aside, the landscape is very dramatic, changing from moment to moment as the clouds envelope the hills.

I have spent the last two days exploring a few of the towns dotting the lakeshore, principally Panajachel, Sand Pedro, Jaibalito, and beautiful San Marcos. Despite the active tourists crow, the tranquility here is about as pure as it comes: imagine Mayan children frolicking by the lakeshore’s crystal waters lapping the sands, the local fishermen out tending to their nets, the chatter of the tiny markets, the winds that sweeps easy over the water surface, etc. Because of the natural beauty and culture here, there is again a strange mix of locals and tourists. It’s sad in a way to report that, though the tourist come for the local culture, by their very presence they corrupt the culture. Additionally, due the severe economic disparity, many foreigners have opted to stay by the lake and have purchased or built homes here. A property that would cost $2.5 million else where can be had for $75,000 here. But, one must admit the sad reality of how much the locals have to toil only to have their natural resources slowly plundered by the wealthy. What’s more, the poverty here is not hard to see as children and the elderly (some even 80 years plus) having to work, wondering the streets all day in heat and rain to earn barely enough. Just today, a little boy with amputated hands from the forearm came begging for change. It’s inhuman not to react with sympathy.

Still, such is the wonder to wander far and see human society in flux. And beneath it all, nature ever remains surround our trifling presence, ever inspiring awe and threatening destruction.

About 50% of Guatemala´s population are Mayan, making it the last territorial stronghold of this ancient people since the Spanish conquest. However, beyong the surface, there seems present an undercurrent of deep inequality and pain of the people. Despite the almost forced conversion to Roman Catholicism, the majority of Mayans hold to their ancient believes and rituals, often incorporating them with Catholic rituals.

Chichicastenango´s central Mayan market seems to be a strange almagamation of this hybrid cultures of sorts. The people here are predominantly 100% of Mayan blood — yet, precisely because it is a last bastion of Mayan heritage, the market draws a lot of tourists from the world over. As a result, a strange implicit social contract seems to have emerged: The locals have a love/destain view of the tourist, yet most tourist find a fascination in traditional Mayan culture – almost a livign relic in some ways. To what degree each group is fully aware of this social contract is uncertain. But this much is true, there is not real understanding betweent the two groups; as the Mayans see tourist as a money bag mostly and will tolerate them insomuch as such, but almost every Mayan will not allow their photos to be taken (exactly why I am not sure). In like manner, the tourist´s transaction with the locals are almost strictly materialistic in that they will buy all the traditional textiles and wares made from cheap labor extracted fromt he locals. Yet, because of this strange social contract… an entire sub-economy exists in these Mayan towns.

This aside, the Mayan market is a spectacle for the eyes and really is something that needs to be appreciated up close. The fascinating faces of the locals have a rich history to te; and one can easily see the hardship and sadness hidden behind every smile.

After the market, I hopped on a bus bound for famed lake Atitlan… will report later.

To say that one can easily fall in love with Antigua is an understatement. Situated amid three volcanoes in the highlands of Guatemala, it is the ideal location to explore the entire region. Indeed, there is much to love about this town: from the market place, to the cobble stone streets, to the numerous crumbled churches, to the traditional Mayan dress – this place certainly has character despite of throngs of foreign tourist that flock to it like Mecca. Still, it retains enough cultural identity to make it truly endearing.

Today, after deliberating in the morning my remaining itinerary, I opted to hike Volcan Pacaya… an active volcano spewing molten lava. At 8,400 feet high, it’s a moderate 1.5 hour hike from the last outpost town. The scenery is breath-taking as soon as you pierce the clouds line. Thence, remainder of the trek up traverse volcanic rocks until finally reaching the lava flows.

There have been constant activity since a huge eruption in 1965. Prior to that, Pacaya has erupted 23 since the Spanish conquest. Unexpectedly in 2006, the continued increase in activity formed flows of lava “rivers”. Word got out and huge tour groups have been going there since. Still, it is quite dangerous as the ground near the lava flow is not solid by any measure. Serious injures have occurred – even today, one of the men felled twice and badly skinned his knee and arm. Dangers aside, it’s quite an experience to approaching lava. The heat is utterly unbearable qua Dante’s inferno.

Time to rest up and prepare for Chichicastenango tomorrow…it’s Mayan market day.

Yesterday, at the crack of early light, I left my company from Santa Ana, El Salvador for the border of San Cristobal; where, if all went well, I would have transferred buses and be in Antigua, Guatemala by 2pm. Well, all didn’t go as planned. By now, even the most patient of souls would have been tried by the tedious traffic delays and inefficient transport – but again, it’s just reminder that one shouldn’t visit 3rd world countries expecting world-class efficiency. Life is slow, and the locals like it that way. In the end, after two serious traffic jams due to road construction and raging thunderstorm, after costing me $23 dollars in buses and taxi fair (really think I got ripped off for the first time in Central America), I made it to Antigua at 6 in the evening!

The first impressions of Guatemala was an utter surprise. Driving through Guatemala City, I was struck by how modern the metropolis is, with high-rises looming everywhere. The thick clouds and raging thunderstorm added a tinge of mystical feel to a city surrounded by verdant hills. It was not the best time to appreciate as half the streets I passed was under half a foot of water. Still, it didn’t seem third world at all.

Antigua, however, is a different gem altogether. By the time I arrived on the chicken bus to the central market area, the sun had already set leaving the sky a dark shade of azure. Wandering at dusk to find my bearings, I was immediately struck by the colonial appeal of this town – no wonder all the tourist flock here. The steady drizzle of rain cast a veil over the town that scattering the lights of all on-coming traffic, much like an impressionist painting. Everywhere, school children formally attired with ties and sweaters marched through the side walks in groups prating with smiles. The cobble-stone streets all lay damped from the days rains and resounded with a staccato sound with every passing vehicle.

After checking in, I wandered the streets in the night as the herds of people thinned to a quiet. By 8:30 pm, not much stirred on the streets or in the park, save for occasional lovers huddled on a bench in the misty drizzle, softly cast by the spot-lit church adjacent to the central park, chatted the night away in soft romance.

After staying an extra day in El Zonte, I headed for Santa Ana early this morning. Again, the transit proved very frustrating due to the requisite bus transfers. At one of the transition town of Santa Ticla, I heard four rounds of gun shots as the bus pulled into the central market area – unusual of course, but it serves as a reminder that the country as a whole still sees a lot of violence; in fact, there is a heavy presence of semi-automatic firearms here, carried by the national police and private security personnel.

After arriving in Santa Ana, we decided to ride along Ruta de la Flores to go tothe weekend food festival in Juayua, some 25 km away – a trivial distance really, but again it took 2 hours to get there and a bus change. We didn’t reach the town until 3:30 pm and by then, the festival was already winding down. With a population of about 10,000, Juayua is another small town dotting the landscape. However, on weekends the ever popular festival attracts all sorts of locals from the surrounding towns along with a handful of tourists.

The center of town rises the famed church with the famed “Black Christ”. Adjacent to it is a lovely, small park replete with an old fountain in the middle. Life shuffles along here in merriment on the weekends as people sample all the indigenous food (from fried frogs to skillet rabbits) as the artisan crowd ply their bracelets and craft wares. The musicians serve up loud tunes all along the food stalls, singing at the top of their lungs all the old favorites, it seems. Children accost will accost you at every corner trying to sell anything from candy to local textiles.

It’s unfortunate that we didn’t have more time to enjoy the affair after arriving late in the afternoon. By 4:30 pm, the last bus bound for the transfer town of Sunate had already departed, leaving us stranded it seemed. However, after talking to some of the local artisans in the park, we were informed that one of the flower trucks would leave in half an hour – we could pay fifty cents to hitch a ride on the back Sunate to catch the bus. Thus I have chalked up another wild adventure of bouncing on the back of an old converted truck with 8 El Salvadorians, weaving through the misty hills flanked by volcanoes as the rain poured down at dusk.

Left Suchitoto en route to the black-sand beach town of El Zonte, El Salvador at midmorning. It’s a mixed blessing most times when traveling, one has to learn to take the good as well as the more unsettling elements. The unfamiliar and rough environments hones one’s alertness, such that, despite the surface calm one must project, one should always have full awareness of one’s surroundings. On today’s particular bus ride, the good and the unsettling showed. Half way through the ride, a local sat down next to me – tall and tanned russet by the years in the sun, he projected quiet confidence. Speaking fluent English, we engaged in an interesting conversation ranging from economics, social order, politics, environmentalism, philosophy, to travels. He brimmed proud of his culture, but is one of the lucky few El Salvadorians to have had a chance to travel a bit of the world. He confessed that he lives part-time in California and that he farms marijuana to finance his livelihood. At the same time on the bust, seated a couple seats in front, a young kid was sniffing glue and smoking out of a make-shift crack pipe (to which the bus attendant eventually alerted a police officer at one of the stops to remove him from the bus). The interesting part was listening to the marijuana farmer castigate the kid for sniffing glue and smoking crack; it seems that that which is considered approbate or condemnable is subject to matters of gradation. I do empathize with the kid who probably started sniffing glue just to stave off hunger pangs; but, unfortunately, it’s far too easy to lose one’s way.

El Zonte is not so much even a town but merely a group of huts and cabanas erected on a stretch of beach between two cliffs. Nothing much happens here except the steady trickle of surfers coming from the world over to ride the waves; although, some party-goers venture to the adjacent town. Like all towns in these parts, roads are non-existent save for a few dirt paths. Everything shuts down by eight in the evening. The nights are balmy and lonesome with the waves lapping the shoreline accompanied by a steady drone of crickets chirping, punctuated by the occasional baying of hounds in the distance. Tonight, the half moon hangs attending my thoughts, peering intermittently from the clouds as palm fronds sway soughing in the sea breezes, lulling me to easy sleep.

To say El Salvador is a tiny country is an understatement – it´s only about 150 km wide – yet, transportation is utterly inefficient here as no bus runs any long distances. Today, I ventured into even more remote regions off the tourist trail by going into Suchitoto near lake Suchitlan. What should have been a 45 minute drive took 5 hours and 3 bus changes.

This small town nestled by the lakeside has a real rustic feel to it, with most buildings plastered with white walls and orange tile roofs. The streets roll with the terrain covered in cobblestones. The sleepy town feel is only punctuated by occasional locals walking down the streets (the men often carry a machette and women often balancing heavy baskets on the heads) or, when passing the side of a grade school, small children chanting after their teacher in unison.

This region had long been inhabited by indigenous peoples, and relics of their civilization are easily uncovered. After eating an expensive lunch ($5, more than twice the average here), we took a long stroll down the hill heading towards the lake, along the way passing all forms of farm animals and barefeet children at play running through the accumulated trash. It´s easy to enjoy the natural beauty from the commanding hillside overlooking the lake, yet life does seem hard here for the locals also, especially with the economic downturn. Everyone is just trying to eek out a livelihood here as with the rest of humanity.

Upon reaching the lake, we met some local descendants from the indigenous peoples: kids playing by the shore, men fishing, women tending to vending stalls. One gentleman showed us relics of millstones he had uncovered. We talked him into renting us a row boat for a few hours for $4 and floated out onto the serene lake under the searing sun as the cattle roamed the shoreline and children swam by the moorlines to escape the heat.

By evening, the scorching heat turned suddenly into a raging thunderstorm lasting 4 hours. With the rainy season is just starting, the laundry I had washed and hung earlier was completely drenched. Life is slow here and adapting to the local way of life, one doesn´t mind doing things twice.

Rough travel and long bus rides have taken a toll on this weary traveller wandering afar. By now my skin has been kissed golden by the tropical sun and my limbs have seen the battered scars of countless insect assaults. Yet, some how it´s all worth it to see a glimpse of the extraordinary ordinary of simple life in trying enviroments. The surprise is always recognizing the triumph and resilience of the human spirit inspite of all that might be hurled our way.

Such like last evening, after having spent the entire day traversing from Leon, Nicaragua through Hondoras, then crossing the El Salvadorian border, changing busses twice just to get to San Miguel, and finally a taxi ride up the hills to an unspoiled town of Alegria. The altitude here is about 1,500 meters – after being exposed to weeks to the fiery sun, it´s good respite to have a hint of temperate weather. Again, in these parts the towns are not much to speak of, but the people, as with everywhere else, make all the difference. They know you´re passing through only, but it´s still a blessing to greet them as they greet you; and for a moment, enjoy the humbling experience with unaffected smiles and forget the troubles of the world. Most everyone in these parts will go out of their way to help you. And despite what the travel guides might caution, thus far I´ve seen not the least iota of trouble.

As with all the passing fancies of life, I´m not sure how long I´ll linger here, but locals speak of a legendary mermaid in the laguna thirty minutes from here, formed from an extinct volcano.