41. Yucatan

I leave Dangriga to go to Tulum, Mexico, where Gary is waiting for me. I start on the bike, and end up hitchhiking after some 40 km, knowing I'll never make it fast enough and suffering under the sun. My first day ends at Belize Zoo, after I get a ride to Belmopan, the capital city, and cycle a bit more. 2 hours hitching there, and I give up to camp at the zoo's lodge. But I don't camp. John, the manager, is also a professional cyclist, and invites me to stay  in a cabin for the same price, because the campsite is full tonight. Cool! He also tells me that the biggest bike race of Belize, in which he usually runs, will be passing by in the morning. After a nice dinner, a nice night and a nice breakfast, he tells me that he has no bill for me. Thanks, John! Really appreciated, especially after hours in the sun failing to get a ride.
Well, after I leave the lodge, I'm thrown back into reality : it is useless to hitch during a bike race. First, racers don't pick hitchhikers (only because they don't have pick-ups). Then the pick-ups that follow are already full of bikes. And last but not least, all vehicles following, forced to be as slow as the race before them, are not really in love with cyclists, at that very moment...
At last, an old pick-up stops. I run to meet the driver and his buddy : a giant red-haired guy and an old rastaman. They can only take me as far as 12 miles from Belize City, which is much better than nothing. They help me throw the bike in the back and I sit down beside a goat that won't live much longer. They drop me, as promised, 12 miles from BC, and I have to politely refuse an invitation to stay at their place and eat "that son of a bitch" with them, because I'm running against the clock.
When I make it to Belize City, through the charming cemetery, I fell like crap. It's not because of the city itself, which is the former capital by the way, although it has a terrible reputation : robberies, mugging, violence, gang wars, murders and even cruise ships. Reality that kind of perspires through a strange atmosphere and cops at every corner. No, the reason is simple : (3 hours waiting  + 1/2 hour in the back of a pick-up + 1 hour riding against the wind) x Belizean sun = heat stroke. I make it to the bus station just in time to throw my bike between 2 rows of seats, grab some water and hop on the bus. Just in time, because the next one will be in some 3 or 4 hours!
I quickly drink all the cold water I bought, but it's too late, and things will get worse and worse from now on.
I arrive in Chetumal, on the Mexican side, after a rather simple border crossing. The customs just let you push a button that randomly decides if you'll be searched or not. Green for me with my dreadlocks, recent multiple border crossings and dirty bike, and red for the little granny and her small handbag beside me. After all, I have nothing illegal and she might be dangerous terrorist, but thank you randomizing machine, because I couldn't lose an hour emptying my panniers. I ask my way to the center and rush.
Being back to Mexico is quite a shock. After the border, I realize what I forgot about this country : how american it can be, and rich, compared to its neighbor Belize. After the 1.8 lane-highways (saying 2 would be exagerating) that cross Belize, the 6 lane-street that passes between my hotel and the bus station, with its Office Depot, Mc Donald's and other Yankee delicacies, is a total change in the landscape! I'm pretty far from Dangriga and its open-air sewers...
After a sleepless night in  Chetumal, pretty much spent in the bathroom making sure I stay dehydrated, I take another bus to Tulum, which I don't miss thanks to the extreme luck that made me discover that while I was busy not sleeping, the timezone lost 1 hour. 4 hours of digestive stress later, I'm on the bike again, rushing on the straight highway to the hostel where Gary is staying. I quickly say hi to everyone and run to the bathroom. Socializing? No, thank you.
One sleepless night later, with a stomach that will accept neither food nor drinks, I'm on the bike again, with Gary, headed North toward Cancun. The road is awful. It's a straight, flat highway, wiped by southbound winds (the wrong way around), along a beautiful coast that you can never see because of all the hotels lined on the shore.
Once in Playa del Carmen, uninteresting tourist spot, Gary visits while I count the tiles in the hotel bathroom... several times.
The next morning, the road is the same with more wind, more traffic, and more hotels. Much better! After a few boring hours, we give up and hitch a ride. So far, I've only done it once, and right now I feel more like dying than lying in the back of a truck in the sun again. Gary is a specialist, and it takes him a minute to find a cooperative crane truck. It's a bit special, but it does the trick, we managed to fit everyone aboard, and get dropped in Cancun.
There, we met Fabien, a French guy Gary met in Thailand on his way around the world. He's temporarily living in Cancun with his Mexican girlfriend Maga. We leave our bikes under his guard and head out the next morning for a bus trip through the Yucatan Peninsula.
 We visit Valladolid, Chichen Itza, merida, Uxmal and Isla Mujeres. It's quite interesting to be backpacking, after almost one year cycling. Especially without camping at all! Cheap hostels, here we come!

Before taking the ferry to Isla Mujeres, we are joined by Ana Sofia, a Mexican girl and formerly Gary's roommate back in France when they were students. She took a plane from Monterrey, up in Northern Mexico, to see him. Together, we discover Cancun and its famous hotel zone (which is called Zona Hotelera, aaaah, I love the poetry involved in beach resort development!) and its unavoidable Coco Bongo Club, just to see what can of entertainment people seek here. Then we go to Isla Mujeres with Ana, Fabien and Maga, where we hardly see the beach because it rains hard into our eyes.
Back on the continent, Gary dismantles his bike to take it into a plane to New York City, last stop before Europe for him, I take the bus back to Chetumal. I struggle a little bit at night in the city center after I find out that the hostel I was counting on didn't exist anymore, but I end up finding a cheap hotel : 110 Pesos room, no window, no venting system, a lethal heat and choking humidity level, and a ceiling fan that only proposes 2 options : -take off to the stratosphere- or -set fire fire to the building-. At least, electric appliances around Central America do have personality, I can't deny that!
I go to the nearest bank the next day, because I need to pay my tourist visa fee, compulsory condition to be allowed to leave the country (or I can force through the military barrage, but I'm not sure my bike is really adapted). It's Saturday morning, I'm the only customer in the bank, I feel lucky, but on Saturday mornings the only thing a bank won't let you do is paying for your tourist visa. I try to talk, but I'm facing Mrs Nosiritsnotpossibleyouhavetocomebackmondayandnotheresnonegociatinggoodbye. Ok, I'll be back Monday, then.
Two days in Chetumal. Nothing to do. Well, right, there's the small Maya Culture Museum, with nice scale models of important archaeological sites such as Tikal, Palenque and Chichen Itza, and an electro-magnetic machine that allows you learn how to count like the Maya did, quite a jigsaw by the way... I must say I get quite some respect for their calendars, astronomy, and other things, but long live the decimal calculation system! The Maya would use a sort of scale with 5 levels, each one bearing a different value, and in which a stick is a multiplication by 5 factor, and a dot is 1. Doing the sum of all levels, you get the final result. It's not clear? It's Maya. With such a system, I guess at least the high society of the time wouldn't fear a farmer could learn maths by mistake, spreading chaos in the hierarchy... Well, just to stay my attempt in learning their system stopped right there. I unfortunately also abandoned the project of quickly understanding their calendar, which combines a 260-day system with another 356-day system, which are themselves part of different cycles : one of 52 years, one of 13 days, and another one of 20 days. Just that would be enough to give up, right? But remember they use a mathematical representation system that will require you to fill a few pages before knowing how many years is your age, let alone your birthday! Then realize that everything in the calendar (days, months, moons, seasons, whatever) is represented by a complicated pictogram with people and animals and unknown things, then you realize you should never have gotten too close because it hurts your brain. But these guys were able, thanks to that system, to predict astral cycles, eclipses, and other things like when pale guys would arrive on big boats (and did!), and so on... So, respect. I guess they had a good knowledge in painkillers for all the migraines induced!
Other things are very different : some Maya would hang a marble between important kids' eyes to induce cross-eyes. It was cool, at the time, but the fashion disappeared with them. Same thing with forcing kids' cranium to grow in the shape of maize or beans, using wooden frames and tight ropes. Once again, I hope they had good painkillers for the headaches! Just picture trying to get something out of your rotating pictogram calendar with your crossed-eyes and a box squeezing your head! I'm not so surprised, with such tortures among the kings, that they tended to get a bit psycho and found such satisfaction in mass human sacrifices... You must admit that with such kind of people as rulers, the people wouldn't dare to complain too much!
"Build that pyramid like the others or I'll have your skull crushed after we play with your guts!"
The Maya built many pyramids...
After the museum, I walked two days around the city center under a scorching hot sun, just to be sure there was nothing to do, and finally got to the bank Monday morning. The only issue was that everyone had the same idea, so I lost my precious youth in the line that didn't exist two days ago...

I finally manage to comply with the Mexican immigration laws,  and with my stamp and 262 Pesos lighter, I ride straight across the border. Belize, I'm back!

Je quitte Dangriga pour me rendre a Tulum, au Mexique, ou m'attend Gary. Je demarre a velo et finis en stop le premier jour, echouant au zoo du Belize qui dispose d'un lieu d'hebergement en demi-pension. J'ai la chance de tomber sur le manager, John, qui est un cycliste professionnel et se fait un plaisir de m'y inviter, sympa! Il m'informe que je vais assister le lendemain a la plus grande course cycliste du pays.

La conclusion du jour : il ne sert a rien de faire du stop pendant une course cycliste. Premierement, les cyclistes n'ont pas de pick-up. Deuxiemement, les pick-ups qui suivent sont deja pleins de velos. Et troisiemement, les conducteurs qui suivent, coinces derriere la course, ne sont pas, comment dire, amoureux des cyclistes, sur le moment... donc insolation. Car l'attente est longue.

Je me fais quand meme finalement prendre en stop par un geant roux et un rastaman qui transportent une chevre, avec qui je partage le trajet et qui n'a plus longtemps a vivre, et je me fais deposer a 12 miles de Belize City. L'ancienne capitale du Belize, a la tres mauvaise reputation (vols,violence, guerre de gangs, meurtres, bateaux de croisiere, etc.), m'accueille par la charmante traversee de son cimetierre (pour mettre en perspective la situation?), la misere assez evidente, et des policiers a chaque coin de rue. Humm... J'arrive a la gare de bus a 13h, ou j'apprends d'un employe tres decontracte qu'il y a bien un bus pour la frontiere mexicaine... a 13h!. Je saute dedans avec mon velo depouille de ses sacoches et deux bouteilles d'eau achetees en urgence, vite videes mais trop tard, le mal est fait et l'insolation va m'en faire baver!

J'arrive le soir a Chetumal, cote mexicain, apres un passage de frontiere assez facile. La douane mexicaine a un systeme assez simple pour decider de qui va etre fouille (ohe ohe!): chacun son tour, les candidats appuient sur un bouton. Lumiere verte, tu passes, lumiere rouge, par ici Monsieur! Heureusement que c'etait vert pour moi, car je n'aurais pas eu le courage de tout deballer, surtout dans mon etat! C'est quand meme sympa comme systeme, car je passe tranquillement avec mes dreadlocks et mon velo degueulasse alors que la petite mamie qui me precede se fait entierement fouiller ses bagages. Remarquez, je n'ai rien a me reprocher et c'est peut-etre une terroriste, en tout cas merci le petit bouton qui ne fait pas de discrimination!

Le retour au Mexique est assez etonnant. En passant la frontiere, je me rends a nouveau compte combien ce pays est americanise, et a quel point la richesse locale, bien que relative quand meme, contraste avec la pauvrete galopante du Belize voisin. Apres les "autoroutes" belizeenne a 1,8 voies (dire 2 voies serait un peu exagere), la rue a 6 voies qui separe mon hotel de la gare de bus, avec ses Mc Do, Office Depot et autres delicieusetes Yankee finit de me depayser. Je suis bien loin de Dangriga et de ses egouts a ciel ouvert...

Apres une nuit sans dormir a Chetumal, malade comme un chien, je prends le bus pour Tulum (4h de stress digestif), ou je retrouve Gary dans une auberge de jeunesse. Une nuit a ne pas dormir plus tard, l'estomac vide depuis la veille, je reprends le velo avec lui, direction Cancun. La route est horrible : autoroute, tout droit, tout plat, face au vent, sans voir la cote que s'accaparent les hotelsde luxe dissemines tout le long. Arrives a Playa Del Carmen, haut lieu du tourisme sans interet, Gary visite la ville pendant que je me contente de compter les carreaux des toilettes de l'hotel... plusieurs fois. Le lendemain, la route est identique, mais avec plus de vent, plus de trafic, et plus d'hotels. Nous finissons par abandonner et faire du stop. Alors que je suis nouveau dans la demarche, et toujours dans un sale etat, Gary est un pro dans le genre, et nous degote illico un camion-grue. C'est special mais ca marche, il y a de la place pour deux. On se fait deposer a Cancun.

 Nous laissons nos velos chez Fabien, un Francais installe temporairement a Cancun et rencontre par Gary a Bangkok, et visitons la region en bus. Au programme : Valladolid, Chichen Itza, Merida, Uxmal, Isla Mujeres. La balade, quoi! Drole de rythme, sans le velo, et sans camper! Auberges de jeunesse pas cheres, nous voila!

La fin de la petite balade nous fait decouvrir Cancun et sa magnifique zone hoteliere (qui s'appelle Zona Hotelera, aaah les noms qui chantent!) avec l'immanquable Coco Bongo Club, histoire de voir comment la jeunesse doree s'amuse, puis Isla Mujeres, ou l'on voit difficilement la plage car il pleut tres fort dans nos yeux...

Voir le blog de Gary pour un recit un peu plus precis de ce petit retour au Mexique. Bah oui, il y en a qui s'embetent a en ecrire des pages pendant que je suis dans le bus pour le Belize, alors autant en profiter, non?

Donc pendant que Gary demonte son velo pour le mettre dans un avion direction New York puis l'Europe (eh oui, son periple se termine), je prends le bus pour Chetumal. Je galere un peu en velo dans la ville, de nuit, car l'auberge de jeunesse pas chere reperee dans un vieux guide n'existe plus, alors j'explore le centre-ville rue par rue pour trouver la chambre d'hotel la moins chere, et je crois que je l'ai trouvee : 110 Pesos la nuit, pas de fenetre, pas d'aeration, une chaleur et une humidite ecrasantes, et un ventilo au plafond qui menace de faire decoller tout l'hotel si je le tourne a fond, et de prendre feu si je le mets moins fort. Les appareils electriques, dans le coin, ont de la personnalite, il faut le reconnaitre!

Le lendemain matin, je vais a la banque pour payer mon visa de touriste, condition indispensable pour sortir du pays (ou alors il faut passer la frontiere en force, mais en velo je ne le sens pas). On est samedi matin, je suis dans une banque, seul client, parfait, mais je me heurte a Madame Nonmonsieurcenestpaspossibleilfautrevenirlundietnonpasmoyendenegocieraurevoir. Bon, je reviendrai lundi alors.

Deux jours a trainer a Chetumal, ou il n'y a rien a voir. Bon j'exagere, il y a un petit musee de la culture Maya, avec de belles reproductions des constructions de grands sites archeologiques tels que Tikal, Palenque et Chichen Itza, et une espece de boulier electronique qui permet d'apprendre a compter comme les Mayas, au passage une sacree prise de tete! Respect pour les calendriers, l'astronomie, tout ca, mais vive le systeme de calcul decimal. Les Mayas utilisaient un systeme a cinq "etages" dont chacun a une valeur differente, et dans lequel un baton est un facteur multiplicateur par 5, et un point vaut 1. En faisant la somme de tous les etages, on obtient la valeur finale. C'est pas clair? C'est Maya. Avec un systeme pareil, au moins, les nobles de l'epoque ne couraient pas le risque qu'un paysan apprenne les maths par hasard, sur un coup de chance, et commence a mettre le bazar dans la hierarchie... Bref, j'en suis reste la.

A mon grand desarroi, j'ai abandonne egalement l'idee de comprendre rapidement leur calendrier, qui combine un systeme de 260 jours et un de 356, avec des cycles de 52 ans, de 13 jours et de 20 jours, le tout represente par des pictogrammes abscons qui donnent mal a la tete, mais qui permettait de predire les eclipses solaires, les cycles astraux, etc. Respect, donc, quand meme...

Un fait interessant, au passage, est que les Mayas, du moins certains, ne faisons pas d'amalgames, aimaient a pendre une bille entre les yeux des enfants nobles pour induire un strabisme convergent. Ca devait etre la classe, a l'epoque. Ajoute a la deformation du crane en forme de grain de mais ou de haricot rouge par des plaques en bois serrees avec de bonnes cordes, les mecs devaient se payer des migraines monumentales (surtout pour apprendre les maths)! Pas surprenant qu'ils fussent un peu violents sur les bords, les Mayas! Avec des tortures pareilles chez les tetes couronnees, il ne faut pas s'etonner si apres ils sacrifiaient les gens a tour de bras, pour un oui ou pour un non! Enfin il faut admettre qu'avec des rois comme ca, le peuple filait droit! "Tu construis cette pyramide ou on te defonce le crane apres avoir joue un peu avec tes boyaux!"

Beaucoup de pyramides, chez les Mayas...

Apres quelques errances sous le soleil de plomb de Chetumal, ou,  je le repete, il n'y a rien a voir, j'ai pu revenir a la banque le lundi matin, et decouvrir que, bien sur, tout le monde a eu la meme idee que moi, donc queue.

Je sors enfin avec mon sesame et 262 pesos de moins, et je file droit vers la frontiere. Belize, me revoila!