Last Leg Home

Prologue

In July I bought a new BMW F800 GS Adventure, my last motorcycle. Over the next few days, Diane and I put on the initial break-in mileage and the bike had its first service, prior to our returning to Guatemala. We were going to ride the bike back to Guatemala in October.


Come October our friend Josh Ascher rode with us for the first thousand miles into Tennesee as we tweaked our packing skills and gear distribution. Instead of camping, like the old days, it was moteling it. In Johnson City, Tennessee, we parted ways, Josh back to Albany, while Diane and I continued our ride. Our only goal was to meet our son Tristan for Day of the Dead in Oaxaca on October 30th We had plenty of time and most days were less than 300 miles. New Orleans, Monterrey, Real de Catorce, Guanajuato, ultimately to arrive in Oaxaca to the hotel that was reserved months ago. We spent a week in Oaxaca, then put Tristan in a taxi for the airport at 4 AM and left a few hours later hoping to make it back to Antigua in two days. It looked doable on the map, but road conditions and the like can make traveling difficult in Latin America. and mileages are deceiving.

To Tapachula:

We left Oaxaca through morning traffic and out along the Autopista to Mexico 190. As we learned on our tour of Monte Alban, Oaxaca was settled because it was surrounded by the Sierra Madre Norte and the Sierra Madre Sur. As we were making our way out of town, I commented to Diane that I regretted wearing only my Aerostitch jacket, as the thermometer on the dash read 50.4 degrees. With the heated grips on high, we turned on to Mex190. We had not anticipated that Google Maps had sent us through one of the top motorcycle roads in the world. Curve after curve after curve...it went on for almost sixty miles. At one point Diane asked if I selected the road on purpose, inferring that I knew that we would be on a great motorcycle road. Nope, it was Google's route. We rode this road for hours and enjoyed some great views. As we got further into the ride, I started to look for a gas station and the generally attached Oxxo, for coffee. For fifty miles I looked, none were to be found. The road eventually straightened out and we found both gas and coffee, and the temperature had climbed. We turned onto the Autopista and headed south in earnest. On this toll road as the others, I was often passed by guys going 100 mph, we were slugging along at 75-80.

The toll road ran through the Venosta area, a wind farm with hundreds of windmills. They were mesmerizing. However, the wind was ridiculous, equal to or windier than the interstate roads out in the Dakotas. (Little science lesson here: the Venosta area is the area in Mexico that is the narrowest point between the Gulf and the Pacific Ocean, the temperature differential of the waters cause the steady high winds. Sociological lesson: some people think the Natives got screwed in the deal.)   However stable the F800 is,  and it is very stable, the wind was enough to slow me down and see the windmills. During this stretch of road, the temperature climbed to 99.7 degrees, almost 50 degrees of temperature shift in a half a day. Diane had long ago abandoned her sweater.

Outside the Venosta area you could cruise along at 75 or 80, so we were making good time and Tapachula was looking very doable. That was until we saw a long line of cars and trucks. We moved over into the empty oncoming traffic lane and rode a few miles until we saw a gas station and store. We stopped at the gas station for water and to use the facility and I walked over to the shade and talked with some other local motorcycle riders. Apparently, the local populace had a beef with the government and they blockaded the road in order to be heard.(Evidently, this is a common practice as we had been stopped at a toll booth the week before by a group of protesters who were asking for the toll money because they were ignored by the gov't after the big earthquake). The motorcyclists told me that motorcycles could go through the blockade. We left the parking lot and immediately drove out into and through the lines of stopped vehicles. The blockade wasn't as far away as we had thought. When we arrived at the blockade we lifted a rope to ride under it and one of the men of the blockade moved aside a large tire for my larger than average motorcycle. We were off again down a now empty highway making good time. "Tapachula, here we come."

We met up with Mexico 200, the main route to the border. It was still hot, and we were thankful when it dropped below 95. Diane and I chatted about staying in this little beach hotel in Playa Linda, just outside of Tapachula, and eating seafood on the beach. Then we saw the line of trucks. We worked our way up. People told us that other motorcyclists (read people on 125 cc motorcycles)  had gone to the front and returned. Motorcycles were not getting through. Not to be deterred we continued our way up, having people move their cars to provide me with enough space. I was dripping with sweat. Finally, we reached the point where a skateboard couldn't get through. We were not making it to Playa Linda. I turned the bike around and wove my way back to the town of Pijijipan about two hours north of our original goal. Some locals pointed us to a surprisingly nice hotel for twenty-five dollars a night. It had hot water, WiFi and good air conditioning. We were happy. I asked the hotel owner what time they re-manned the blockade. He said he thought at 6am and suggested we leave at 5am. We went to bed early in anticipation of an early start. On a positive note, we did manage to get our seafood dinner at a local restaurant, but somehow it just wasn't the same.



To Antigua:

We were up early and ready to go. We headed out into the darkness for the first time on the trip. The foglights helped light up the roadway, but the 16 wheeler hurtling down the road in front of me was pretty good protection from any errant animals. We rode on through the blockaded area and down towards our previous destination, Tapachula, the Mexico-Guatemala border. We watched the dawn's early light as we rode in the delightful temperatures of the low to mid-seventies. We opted for the Talisman border as our crossing point. At eight on the dot, we pulled into the Mexican border station to stamp ourselves out of the country and then into Guatemala. The border to Antigua was a five to six-hour trip away. We could get home in the early afternoon.

Well, the shift changed at eight o'clock and luckily for us, the bank to cancel the TVIP (Temporary Vehicle Import Permit or El Permiso temporado) opened at eight too. However, shift change at Migracion did not proceed in a quick and orderly manner. Eventually, they sent out the one woman to do the work. She was fairly efficient and I got to the bank to cancel out the TVIP. There were a few other guys waiting and we got to be line friends. They were all driving cars back from the US to resell in Guatemala. I got all my papers done and then she told me to move my motorcycle from one end of customs back to the parking lot I had originally parked in, and where I had been told to move my motorcycle to the other side... Ahhh, Latin America. I moved it back to the parking lot where the bank girl was taking photos of everyone's number identification plates. It
seemed as if she needed to get the entire number on one photograph. Between the plaque being mounted on a tube, and there being a bunch of wires and tubes passing in front, it took at least forty photos until she either got what she wanted or just gave up. It was after nine now and the temperature was rising. We went back inside to get the refund processed and Diane and I were finally off to the Guatemala side.

Now the whole time at the border, since the Mexico side,  we had been pestered by this one ayudoro, a helper, who seemed to latch onto me. I told him in every way possible, that no, I did not want his help. I got our passport stamped and the migration officer had me fill out the regular immigration form, as he said I would need it to process the TVIP  for the bike. I asked him if I needed photocopies of anything, (they love photocopies of everything in Central America) and he said no. The ayudoro was pointing me over to the photocopy shop. "No thanks, don't want your help, don't need any photocopies." I went to the Aduana, customs, and gave the lady all of my paperwork. She asked if my title was an original or a copy. It was an original. She was worried because it looked strange to her so she asked if I had the registration. I did and that seemed to give her the relief that she needed. She told me to go get the motorcycle. Immigration and Aduanas are about two blocks apart in this shady border town. I rode up and parked. She looked at the bike and saw it was a motorcycle, and then gave me a bill for 160 quetzales, for the permiso, about twenty dollars. I needed to pay at the bank in the adjoining building. Finally, the ayudoro perked up, he saw his chance and asked if I wanted to change some dollars into quetzales. "Nope, I have plenty of quetzales," and that was the last I saw of him. His last effort had been for naught. I paid my money, got my papers, had the agent affix my TVIP and off we went. It was now 10am and the temperature was climbing up into the 90s.  Our goal: to be home before dark.

Forty-five minutes later we encountered a long line of trucks. We rode up to the front to discover a manifestation (protest) against Guatemala's current president,  Jimmy Morales. He was the candidate who ran on the motto, "Neither a crook nor thief." Well, it seems like that might not have been really true. Jimmy is a well-qualified president, having served as a tv clown prior to the highest office in the country. Need I say more?

I got to the front of the blockade and the crowd swelled towards us, respectfully, on the other side of the rope. The last time I came up against this I played English speaking tourist. This time we went back and forth in Spanish. I played the old man card, I played the tourist card, I offered a bribe, which thankfully they were not duplicitous enough to take. Though they wavered they would not yield. They said they were lifting the blockade at 3 PM, which would get us back to Antigua well after dark, a poor option on this potholed route. We went back towards the border to regroup and look for an alternative route. We stopped at a local cafe, had some cold drinks and asked about alternate routes The guy installing the CCTV gave me three routes, all of which seemed a bit convoluted, all of which were beautiful, all of which went through the jungle, all of which had no services. He also said the blockade was supposed to be lifted at 2 PM.  His recommendation was that we wait it out. We found a local swimming pool where we could while away the hours until the blockade was lifted. It was a local experience that ended with the owner's family taking pictures of the young daughter sitting on the motorcycle with the exotic foreigners. We left the pool at 1:30 figuring that we could slowly make it to the blockade just before 2 so we could get out in front of the trucks. The blockade was well gone when we arrived and we were off on the potholed, tope (speed bumps) filled National Route CA2, one of the main corridors down Central America. We passed truck after truck and avoided the potholes, well most of them anyway. We reached the traffic jam known as the town of Coetepeque. It seemed like their blockade involved many more trucks and they were not yet dispersed down the road. I passed two miles of trucks and finally got past the remnants of the blockade. More horrible CA2. I came upon a police car and rode behind it hitting speeds of 80, our vehicles weaving in and out of traffic.  Finally, after Mazetenango, where there are parts of a rehabilitated four-lane road, we pulled over, finished the water and got ready for the final stretch, hoping to avoid the ever looming darkness. We reached the last road that climbed into Antigua and the GPS said we had almost an hour to go. We headed up and continued our passing ways until we reached home at 5:50, still daylight, but just barely.

The total trip was a bit over 4700 miles with zero days of rain and fifteen days of zero miles. The temperature range was from around 46 to 99.7 degrees Fahrenheit. The last two days, were by far the most difficult after almost a month on the road.

COHEN CLAN in CUBA

It started as a Facebook post, Tristan asked if anyone was interested in going to Cuba. I responded that both his mother and I would be interested. Apparently none of his friends were interested, so we decided to go in November. First Tristan would come down and view his Guatemalan holdings, then we’d drive to Cancun, fly to Cuba, and drive back. The trip to Mexico was uneventful. Except for the fact that Fidel had died. We wondered what the effect would be on our trip Would people be weeping in the streets? Was this an opportunity to cause chaos? Time would tell.

We were not under pressure and we stopped and spent a night in Tulum, Mexico, then went to the ruins in Coba. They were a bit different than the other ruins that we have seen in Central America.

They also have the earliest evidence of quidditch, as you can see by the ring attached to the structure.

Tristan climbed to the top, trying to forget that his fortieth birthday was coming up.

After that, we went to spend the night with our friends from Colombia, the Conklin Family. They have their own school in Playa del Carmen.

The next morning it was off to the airport in Cancun for our one hour flight to Havana. We parked the car in the airport parking lot and booked in. Finding breakfast at the airport was a bit of a challenge, but far from what we would discover in Cuba.

Customs was quite straight forward, and Diane and Tristan were stamped into Cuba, which I believe is a violation of US Law as you still need to declare why you are going to Cuba. I had a trainee who just stamped the tourist card. Our previously booked taxi failed to appear but after changing money (subject to a 10% dollar penalty) we found a friendly cab company that helped us find the AirBnB apartment that had been rented. The fixed cost of the taxi was $25. We soon learned that tourist oriented services in Cuba for the most part, were priced to increase the flow of dollars into the economy.

The first thing you notice about Cuba is the old cars. Yes they look great. They are a source of pride to the country and are ridiculously priced. Any car is ridiculously priced no matter the age. However, the highways are not crowded and I cannot think of one time when we actually hit a semblance of traffic. We traveled in many of these antique cars as they are now legally allowed to be taxis. (Everything has some sort of government control) Apparently, since Raul took over, things have become more liberal. You can actually work for yourself as seen in the many Paladars (privately owned restaurants) that we ate in.

Everything you hear about the quantity of old cars in Cuba is true. Not just in Havana, but in all of the places that we went. They are a national treasure. Here is a little gallery of a few that we saw: So here is a bit of vintage car porn for those that are interested.

In all of the cars that we rode in, I always asked the same question, is the motor original? Every motor had been replaced with a Japanese motor, they were unusually proud if it was a Toyota. They also had a mismatched transmission,perhaps a Toyota engine with Nissan transmission. Somehow it all worked.

We were close enough to walk easily into Old Havana and we did. We stopped at a vintage bar, just off the main drag and found the first effect of Castro's death. No liquor. Needless to say the Cohen family had a panic attack. Fortunately the alcohol ban turned out to be more or less, emphasis on less, true. We walked the streets of Havana Viejo and Tristan bought some cigars from one of the shadiest locations I have seen, It was a building that was occupied, but crumbling. It soon became apparent that crumbling buildings were not  unusual.

(Turned out the cigars were not a rip off, at least if they were real Cohibas.) We went to eat at one of the recommended Paladars and were sent off to a different place that was not fully booked. The food was fine.

I got up early the next day and went to scout a breakfast location. Yeah, no restaurants nearby. The streets were active at seven in the morning, but as I walked around I found there were but a few things you could buy. I had a couple of shots of Cuban coffee, about twenty cents here in a more local neighborhood. Then I ordered five ham and cheese sandwiches to return to the apt for breakfast. This was the first of our many, many ham or ham-like sandwiches. And these were pretty poor. Big puffy bread with a slice of ham, more like cheap, fat infused bologna, and something that resembled cheese. I did find some fried something or another, we called them croquettes,  that got much better reviews.

As we left the apt, we stopped so Diane could be treated to a couple of shots of Cuban coffee. We spent the next day wandering Havana Viejo. Another Castro induced disadvantage, the museums and National areas were closed. Damn you Fidel.

The other thing that was incredible, was the number of sidecars. Most were Jawa 350’s with the velerox/jawa sidecars. There were also MZ’s and Urals, but the city looked like a Velerox Rally. Unlike Guatemala, most of the motorcycles only took the proper number of passengers and everyone had on a helmet, of sorts. Most were fitting protection for bird droppings and little else.

The next day we are off to some weird area that Diane had heard about. We negotiated for a taxi, an old black bomb, that took us through to what I call crazy town, home to Estudio Jose Fuster, a Cuban artist influenced by the works of Gaudi. As you can see from the pictures, I have named it correctly. It was a small artist community that was quite interesting. After we looked around, we waited as Diane successfully negotiated for a painting.

We decided to go the cemetery next. The black bomb dropped us off and we made arrangements for a different taxi the next day, as we did not think that the black bomb would make it to Cienfuegos. As we entered the cemetery and paid admission, we were told that we were better off staying on the two main roads because that was where the rich people were buried. As you can see, they were right and the rich have invested quite a bit into death.

We decided to walk back to el Ciudad Viejo. It was a longer walk then we had anticipated but we did manage to see some interesting things on the way back in.

George Jetson Proto Vehicle

This turned out to be our longest day walking, having walked about 13 miles by the time we returned for the night. Dinner was at another Lonely Planet recommendation, the food was fine but they had some interesting cocktails that Tristan could not resist.

Adult beverages were available at different places at different times. Even the same place sold drinks one day and not the next. Somehow we managed.

The next day we were off Cienfuegos, a seaside community. Our different car awaited  us as we left our Havana accommodation. As you can see the car looked pretty good from the outside

. The inside was a bit worn though. Fortunately with cars so expensive, there was little traffic on the highway to Cienfuegos.

Somehow bombing down the highway at speeds up to 80 mph in a car that was over 60 years old without seat-belts was a bit disconcerting. Apparently in Cuba you can replace any part on a car, except for the components of the suspension, virtually every car we rode in needed shock absorbers.  We got safely to Cienfuegos and found a Casa Particular. This began our series of breakfasts at Casa Particulars. No matter the town, and we stayed in different ones all over Cuba, hundreds of kilometers apart, the breakfasts were essentially the same. The same three fruits, pineapple, banana, and papaya plus eggs, bread, juice and the ubiquitous ham, and sometimes some sort of cheese. It is meals where the owners of the casa particulars make their money. Apparently, between licenses, fees and the like, the government takes about 75% price of your stay.

Cienfuegos was different from Havana, a lot less decrepit. It sits inside of a huge bay where the only entrance is the mouth of the river that discharges into the ocean. There is an old Spanish fort that guarded the entrance. The town of Cienfuegos, like most of Cuba, is clean. Even in the decrepit parts of Havana, it was generally clean and you never felt unsafe. The Cuban people were friendly but you did not feel as welcome as you do in Guatemala. Also, there were not a huge number of pregnant or nursing mothers. Here in Guatemala they are apparent. The number of people that spoke English was also very noticeable all through our trip.

We walked around the area that we were staying and went into this old estate home, now a restaurant. We climbed up to the roof for the view and had a beer. Apparently the mourning for Castro falls quite short here in Cienfuegos. It was really nice old building and the views were great.

We headed into Cienfuegos. The town was sparkling clean, had a few interesting buildings, a so so museum and a street of vendors. Oh did I mention, it was hot. We walked around Cienfuegos and looked into some stores that actually had some goods. Rum was cheap, cigarettes were cheap, other things were cost prohibitive. The buildings around the central square were nice too.

We taxied back in an old Lada and decided that we’d go for the sunset cruise from the Marina that was close to our Casa Particular. Tristan and I had walked over to buy tickets early, as the woman in Cienfuegos said they are sometimes sold out. We were told to return fifteen minutes before the start of the cruise. We walked back later that afternoon and bought our tickets. There was a tour group of Frenchies and us. The boat had a large deck area with tables and chairs and a bartender. The boat left promptly and we cruised the harbor seeing some really great old buildings

But the most interesting part was chatting with our bartender. He was an engineer that was trained in Moscow and was in the military until he repaid his debt, no different than the US when the service provides you with education. But he stopped being an engineer because being a bartender paid better because he made tips.  He was willing to talk to us about Cuba and how things were. It was the same story over and over again The pay was minimal, you had enough food to eat, if you liked rice and beans the medical care was good and free as was education. Most of the people thought things under Castro were better than before Castro, but there was still a substantial portion of the population that was under-served. Instead of the 80% pre-Castro, it was more like 30% now. Basically most people had a little bit of the nothing that is available. We left him a good tip as we disembarked. The one thing we were aware of in Cuba was the people really needed and appreciated tips. Though, at times, it seemed that things were set up to take your tourist dollars, those working in the service industry were really dependent on tips.

 We arranged for a car to take us to Matanzas the next day. No old old car this time, but a Spanish version of a Volkswagen.  The trip to Matanzas was thankfully uneventful. Upon arrival we had a walk around the Cuban City of Bridges. We were told to go see the best bridge in Matanzas, here it is. You can be the judge.

The next day we were off to see some caves and do some snorkeling. None of us really feel the need to hang out at the beach, but the reef was supposed to be good. Our main reason for coming to this town was the music culture. But thanks to Fidel, that was not happening. The cave tour was fine, they had a 3D TV that was really good. But what we saw on the preliminary TV tour was not quite the same what we saw in the cave. Our driver had gone off but said he would be back. When we exited the caves he was nowhere to be seen. Shortly thereafter he arrived to our relief. We were then off to the reef. The driver had recently purchased this ten year old Kia Sportage for the unbelievable amount of forty thousand dollars. He also had a large house and was very proud of his 20 something year old wife, he was in his late 40's or more. He told us that having that car made everyone think he was rich. Essentially he did not work, but when he felt the need for cash he became a taxi driver. His wife was studying to be a lawyer, a profession that was well paid at $100 per month.

As we approached the snorkeling location, we saw that the water looked a tad rough. Diane was hesitant, but this was a one shot deal, so off we went. Probably not our best of ideas and after we made it out to the second reef, we had had enough and came back in. The snorkeling was okay, and probably would have been a bit better without the rough water.

After snorkelng Mai Tai

We spent some time wandering around town and ended up seeing if we could book tickets on the bus to Vinales. There was one bus the next day that actually went to Vinales at a reasonable time. But there was to be no booking of a bus because the computer system was down. The woman wrote our names down and we hoped that it would work out. We returned to our Casa Particular and decided to go to another Palador for dinner. It was a bit away, so we took a taxi out to the middle of nowhere. But there was the restaurant the top floor of someone's house. The place was well decorated, but they told us they usually only take people with reservations. It was sixish and the place was not filled. They accepted us but told us we had to be out by eight thirty. The food looked great, as you can see from the pictures.

The quality of the food was fine. It looked better than it tasted, but hey this is Cuba and our standards are not quite the same. So good looking okay food was fine by us. The next day we were taking the bus to, hopefully, Vinales. Up early, into another Lada taxi, and to the bus station The woman remembered me from the day before and told me to sit down and wait. When we were within fifteen or so minutes of the scheduled departure, I walked to the window and watched as she texted or played games on her phone. Finally, she gave me three tickets and told me we would have to get a bus to Vinales in Havana. Okay, whatever, we would make it work. Big comfortable bus, with a bathroom that you could not use. We stopped on the way to Havana at one of the rest stops/gas stations on the highway. Here the driver told me we could go on this bus to Vinales, we just had to pay in Havana. We waited for the collective bus passengers to relieve themselves and saw one of the telltale signs of the developing world. Animals for labor and transportation.

In Havana I paid the driver the money for our onward journey and the bus filled completely. Again one rest stop, for 40 minutes for lunch. We were intrigued by the offerings in the gift shop. Rum, cigarettes cigars, crackers, and for whatever reason, mayonnaise and diapers. Apparently that must be the gift item that the appreciative guest brings. The big bus meandered down a river road and we entered Vinales. As the bus stopped, it was mobbed by people pushing their casa particular. Seemed like almost every house was a casa particular. We saw a sign with our name on it, and followed our hostess the few blocks to the house.

Vinales is the adventure center of Cuba. There is soon to be legal rock climbing, horseback riding, biking and hiking. The area, like most of Cuba, sports Karst Topography. That is weathered and eroded limestone that can give you some pretty interesting landscapes and caves.

Through our hosts at the casa particular we paid for a car and driver for the day. The car originally belonged to his father and he inherited it. Today was his 70th birthday and car was slightly younger.

We toured the hot spots of Vinales, including the prehistoric mural, which Tristan climbed to the top of.

Our first stop was the Indian Cave, where Tristan finally got the underground river cruise he had missed when we visited Mammoth Caves back in the eighties.

The most interesting part was chatting with a Cuban tour guide who spoke good English. He was pretty open and straightforward and seemed to have his facts under control. It was interesting to learn that Cuba’s greatest export was its well trained professionals such as doctors and engineers. The Cuban government was happy to let them leave if they had signed contracts to work in another country. It is a good deal for Cuba as they have a surplus of such professionals and those who leave send money back to Cuba.

The food in Vinales was as average as any other place in Cuba. One place did have some delicious daiquiris, but that is a different story. On our last night in Vinales we decided to eat at our Casa Particular. Probably one of the best meals of the trip. We went for the lobster, really langostinos, for ten dollars a head. We got a good plate of seafood and plenty of other dishes to go with it. The next morning it was back to Havana for the night and then our flight back to Cancun.

Our taxi driver helped us find a Casa Particular in Havana, another apartment. It was probably the worst accommodation of the trip. The owners had put in a loft bedroom and as you can see from the photo below, it was not a proper height for most Americans. We spent the day with Tristan buying up artwork for his house. For our final dinner we found a brewery on the waterfront and had a good enough dinner. The microbrews were not fantastic, but better than most of the local beers.  We had arranged for a taxi for the ride to airport and hoped that in the morning it would be there.

Our final chariot to the airport

Now many of you read the blog on the Ride from Hell, if you have not, this is where it should be inserted.  http://cohenchronicles.blogspot.com/2016/12/drive-from-hell.html