Sand, Angels, Tough Decisions

The past week has been of one of much reflection, prayer, decisions, and movement. Two days into my bike ride out of the city of Oaxaca and towards the coast, I began to climb the coastal mountain range that separates the city from the coast. It was on one of these climbs, up a very steep mountain, on a brutally hot day, that my will finally gave out. Dropping off the bike, I began to walk up the peak, only to find myself looking for a ride. I found a cheap ride in a collective van the rest of the 165km or so the ocean pretty easily. That afternoon, I dug my toes into the sand and jumped into the refreshing yet warm waters of the Pacific Ocean at Puerto Escondido. These actions and the scenery felt all too familiar, and I felt that I was at home. That night, I watched the sun set over the powerful barreling waves that hit the beach at Zicatela as I made camp on the sandy shore. In the morning, after a hot coffee with real grain using my new filter, watching the surf, I packed up and decided to move on, trying to escape the touristy stretch of beach I had found myself in. I made it barely five miles before returning.
I had lost the will to continue on my bike. Only several days short of a three month long bike ride, I was tired of living on the move. I was physically exhausted and mentally drained. I spent the day back in Puerto Escondido looking for any sign that would point me south to continue my journey, or back north on a return trip to the States. The only thing that hit me that morning was a mango, which fell from a tree and almost landed on my head. The pulpy fruit is now in season, and picking it up off the ground and enjoyed its lush meat. That afternoon, I was walking/riding toward a southern point on the beach far removed from the bars, restaurants, stores, and clubs, when someone called out to me, mistaking me for an Argentinian. Had it not been for the fact that I had been staying with an Argentinian girl the past two weeks in Oaxaca, I might not have looked. But, as circumstances have been such and the stars have been aligned for me in this way, I was intrigued by the sudden shout of 'Argentino' from the street below, and turned to converse with a man from Argentina carrying a surfboard under his arm and a guitar on his back. Adrian, maybe in his younger thirties and originally from Argentina himself, had been living in Puerto Escondido for three years. Having seen me early that morning, he was intrigued to find out what I was doing with such a heavy load on my bicycle. After telling him of my current situation, he told of some friends he had where I might be able to camp for the night and relax; a place where I could think some more about my current situation and the decisions with which I was faced.
Adrian's friends ended up being an older couple originally from the Bay Area, that had made their home in Seattle and spend their winters in Pto. Escondido, at the little house they had built on their daughter and son-in-law's property. They received me warmly into their small, open-air home. Under the palm thatch roof of their kitchen/dining room/living room, I ate the delicious meals they made for me, drank fresh homemade lime and pineapple juice, cooled off from the hot sun under the shade, relaxed on an Ecuadorean hammock, and talked with these new friends. That night, Adrian and a friend returned, and we all played guitar around the table. The couple, Peter and Grace, offered me a spot on the dirt on the side of the house to set up my camp for the night. It was a hot and eventful night, having to deal with an ant infestation into my food bag just before dawn. Although it was not fun cleaning this up in the pre dawn hours, it did wake me up in time for a sunrise hike up the hill behind their house to a spot where I could look over the entire beach community. It was on this walk that I made a tough decision.
I decided that Part 1 of my journey, the bike ride, was over, but that this was not going to end my trip entirely. I would still continue down to Guatemala, but now by bus, in order to continue my education of the social conflicts that exist there and see if there is a way for me to help. This extra night that my angels in Pto. Escondido provided for me gave me the neccessary time to clarify in my mind the distinction between the end of part 1 and the beginning of part 2. Many times, the mind tells the body that it can not go on, when in reality the body can proceed steadily through difficult times. Thus for me, this was the tough part: to acknowledge that I was not giving into a weak mindset, but that I was trully spiritually and physically exhausted of my bike ride. Also, it was difficult to determine that I did not need to prove anything to myself, of to anyone else, by continuing the ride to Guatemala. My decision had been made.
The next morning, Peter took me out with his spare surfboard to the point for an enjoyable several hours in the surf. Although I caught none and got thrashed by the quickly closing and powerful waves, I lavished the time spent sitting on the board on the blue sea, watching the schools of sardines swim beneath me and nip all around me at the air, with the seagulls and pelicans diving in droves from every direction to get at them. It was a beautiful ocean ecosystem I was glad to be a part of for the moment. After a wonderful lunch prepared by Grace, and some more reflection and prayer with them, I was prepared to make my leave from this gorgeous paradise, and bought my bus ticket to San Cristobal de las Casas, a small colonial town in the southern Mexican state of Chiapas. I spent a day here, enjoying a traditional bull fight (very gory) and an indigenous symphonic performance in the central plaza that night. The next morning I boarded the bus for the border.
At the border I had to get my passport stamped for my exit from Mexico, and then had to bike 4km into Guatemala to the town of Mesilla, where I had to visit the Guatemalan customs. They gave me some trouble because my passport had not been stamped upon my exit from the country during my last visit. This is because I had left from an airport, and they do not stamp your passport. After checking in their computer system though, and after about thirty minutes of slow Central American bureaucracy, they finally let me through. After changing my pesos and some dollars into Quetzals, I caught a four hour bus ride through the northwestern mountains of Guatemala to Cuatro Caminos. From there, I rode the last 15km or so to the city of Queztaltenango on my bicycle.
It it here, in the second largest city of Guatemala, that I plan to set up camp for a little while, trying to learn as much as I can about the city and the country. ..