When we arrived in Panajachel it was just over a week since the storm Agatha had blown through. Of course the scars were still very visible. The town water system was not working, meaning that many houses and businesses were without running water for taps and toilets. Many people had lost all their belongings. We talked with one expat who had been out at a friend's during the worst of the storm and returned to find her bedroom had been washed into the torrent, along with the ten feet of riverbank on which it stat. Many communities outside of Pana were hit even worse by flood waters and landslides and reliefe from the Guatemalan government has been painfully slow.

The photo above and the 2 which follow it form a wide view of the river in which mountain run-off emptied into the lake. Above you can see the errosion of the far bank. The pedestrain bridge is also down.

Also, you can't see it, but just out of frame on the left, a mountainside cloapsed across the road that goes to the next village. Behind the landslide is a lot of water and this worries authorities as it is still early in the rainy season. Meaning that with more accumulation over coming months, there will be the risk of a devastating flash flood.


Above, you can see some of the houses and stores that collapsed when the river bank was taken out from under them. The river bed was strewn with huge bolders that were being removed by heavy equipment.


Above, one of the two volcanos at the south side of the lake watches with indifference. It's hard to tell where the riverbed ends and the bank begins.


With the massive amounts of runoff from the rains the turbidity level of the lake has gone way up. But the streams of runoff didn't just bring dirt from the mountain down, they also brought garbage, as you can see above, where some random bits an pieces are floating in the open water.


Above, water taxis moored at one of the other towns on the lake (Santa Cruz) sit beset by masses of trash. The masses of sediment washed down from the mountains and the debris that was swept from streets, homes, and who knows where else is changing the PH level of the lake water and this will increase the frequency of algae blooms that have been happening in recent years. If this continues, not only will the clarity and exotic colour of the lake be forever changed, but the lake's entire ecosystem along with them. Community stakeholders are working to raise awareness around the lake and to stabilize the situation, as for most the lake is the mainstay of local economy.
Jaibalito, a smaller village on the western side of the lake also sustained serious damage. In fact, officially it was supposed to be evacuated, but most residents remained to repair the damage. Many of these villages are full not only of indigenous Guatemalans, but also ex-pats. Above you see some of the ex-pat houses that have had a landslide fall very close by. In the photo men work to clear boulders by hand.


The path to the jetty at Jaibalito. Before Agatha, there was solid ground here, not a river bed!

Old timer carrying a heavy load of brand new baskets.

Humans can be a tenacious animal at any age. In Canada, the US, and parts of Europe we are not accustomed to seeing our elders doing hard labours. But in most of the world, let's face it, people don't have the luxury of a retirement or old age pension or the ability to count on care by your family. The only option is to keep working, so that you can hopefully keep yourself fed.



A bigger load of the same baskets. Notice, the back of the pick-up under the baskets is filled with people. A family, maybe?


There is something wonderful about a market, because there is something for everyone and it is full of bustle. I have to say that if given the choice between walking around an air conditioned mall and navigating the crush of a noisy market day in a village square, I'll always choose the latter. Really, there is no comparison for vibrancy, variety, and DEALS! Above huge buckets hold large bunches of all kinds of beautiful flowers. How much? Less than 50 pesos in some cases.


How do you like them oranges?!


Bulk second hand clothes. There is a distinct lack of new clothes on most people around here. And you know what, I'm starting to realize how much clothing I have that I don't use. Even amongst the clothes that I stowed in my travel bag I have only really pulled out 1/2 of them, the rest are still in my bag. I don't know how I'm going to face my closet when I get home.

Consistently, I really like the displays that are out front of mechanics, muffler shops, and auto supply stores. All kinds of cool shapes and patterns.


A brick works where they mold and bake earthen bricks.


It's hard to get tired of the beauty of a pastoral scene. Tthere is something so aesthetically pleasing about farms and fields and this transcends culture and geography. However, when it comes to assigning a monetary value to the work done and the food produced there, we in North America don't seem to believe it's worth much.



In the last year I have come to understand why they call it the beautiful game. The beauty is that it's so simple: all you need is a ball and a few friends and you are ready. Watch any game with players of any skill level and you will be surprised that it is always full of grace and dexterity. What could be better?


A woman in standard rural Guatemalan garb carries her baby and is trailed by her older child. The colourful and multi-designed material from which such dresses are made is always hand woven.

Plastic sacs full of volcanic ash that line the street. These ones were practical, but there were also lots of flimsy bags that you knew, as soon as anyone tried to pick them up, would surely break. Also, Dan and I wondered where all this stuff went? There didn't seem to be any city or government workers cleaning it up. All clean-up seemed to be undertaken by property owners. But as to where it was taken to be disposed of, who knows?


A blur whizzes past, trailing choking exhaust. Yes it's a public bus in Guatemala City. Sounding. a horn that blares to burst your ears, the bus lets you know that if you want to ride you'd better get ready to jump on, 'cause they don't stop for long. A guy who rides shotgun out of the open door (who you can see is an orange blur), spots would be passengers. He alerts the driver, jumps off as the bus slows (but rarely stops), shunts the passengers in, and then alights back to his position. It's pretty crazy to watch.



In Guatemala City, as in many cities, you see this kind of crime perpetrated against the public. A large open, undeveloped space in the midst of concrete buildings and skyscrapers. Throw a couple benches in here a tree and some flowers and such spaces would serve well as parks, even if one day they will be developed. The cost related to such a green space is marginal and the benefits are huge. Property owners who sit on land like this in the urban jungle and administrators that allow it to happen should give their heads a shake.



Close-up on the graffiti tableau in the space I talk about above. Thankfully, for some people, a fence only serves to highlight a blank canvas.


Where would Dan and I be without cheap street food? We'd be hungry.

Ok, here I go again, trying to upload some photos from over a month ago and the stories that go with them!

It's old news to you, likely, but the second day after our crossing into Guatemala a volcano to the south-west erupted and blessed us with a little more than 1cm of volcanic ash. Above, the morning after, a store worker, begins the process of cleaning up. Within a couple days streets and sidewalks were cluttered with large piles and all sizes of bags contained the ash.

It's not often that you can dump a form of precipitation on a couple Canadian boys and have them not know what's going on. But that's what happened. We came out of an Internet cafe at 6:00 pm and looked at the puddles in the gutter and saw that it was raining. We stepped onto the sidewalk and realized we weren't getting wet, however we do feel something hitting us. Is it hail? Puzzled, we held out our hands and little grains of black sand tumbled down the incline of our fingers into the cup. We run our fingers through our hair and find the fine granules stuck to our scalp as if we'd just done a somersault on a sea-side beach.

We decided that this is a SIGN, we should not get out passports renewed in Guatemala City, but rather make a break for San Jose, Costa Rica. The next morning, Friday, we woke early, brushed the ash from Veronica and hit the road. The air was clear, the sky blue, the sun hot, and the road empty. So we made good time.


Crossing the border into El Salvador was relatively simple, though the wait time was about 2 hours. As we learned crossing into Guatemala, passing boarders in Central America is no problem if you are on foot, however, a vehicle from the North complicates matters significantly. This is mostly because they are trying to protect domestic vendors from foreign importers of secondhand cars. They want to make sure that you are not going to sell your car.

Regardless, with the relatively painless passing into El Salvador under our belts we sped on. El Salvador's countryside was pleasant and lush, as all the areas down here are at this time, with the generous rains that begin to fall at the end of May.

The highway was two lanes and we were moving along well, when for no apparent reason we hit a highway detour that took us up to the old highway which moved through the countryside. A huge line of traffic was in front of us and we inched along with nothing to do but wait. Dan ejected to take Moses out to stretch his legs and I sat in the driver's seat occasionally pushing the gas but more often holding down the break. When stopped I had time to take some photos, like this one above...


And this one.


Finally, we made it to the centre of the delay on the detour - a market in one of the towns the road wound through. Passing that, we rejoined the main highway and made our way into San Salvador.

San Salvador is a place of significance to me because my father's parents lived there for several years in the mid 1950s. Sadly, we were in a rush, so we did not have time to catch up with a dear friend of my grandparents who still lives in San Salvador. However, due to missing a turn we did end up getting a tour of the down town area in rush hour traffic. Stopped in traffic I was able to a take the photo above. I'm guessing "Biggest" is an US restaurant chain, however, isn't such a name leaving it open to false advertising, surely not everything on their menu is the biggest?! Maybe somebody can tell me if biggest is best?


Rush hour in San Salvador is pretty hectic, in no small part due to the transit buses like this one above. Amusingly, many of them have raised front ends and things like a spoiler on the back. The drivers certainly try their best to be race drivers taking advantage of openings in the traffic to advance 40 m ahead, they floor the accelerator causing their mufflers to belch black particulate creosote smoke.



Making our way out of the city and across the countryside, we closed on the El Salvador border with Honduras. At our backs we were being chased by ominous dark clouds. Omens, we surmised in retrospect.

Arriving at the border, our open windows were beset by money changers offering what they assured us were good rates, and helpers who assured us that for a small "tip" they would help grease the wheel and get us access to Honduras. High heat and humidity, mixed with rain showers, growing gloom, and the chaos of this particular boarder crossing all contributed to a very stressful time for Moses, myself, and most of all Dan who had to navigate the scammers who purported to be helping us.

I waited in the van for over an hour, without even seeing Dan and wondered what the hell was going on. When he finally returned looking drained, it was night and we parked the van and bedded down for the night, rather than risk hitting a roadblock of banditos - which we understood to be a real threat. Sweaty and exhausted we fell asleep in spite of the roof which was leaking from all points where the roof rack was bolted. The steady drips came from the steady rain that we later surmised was the periphery of Agatha.

The next day we woke early, thanks to the dripping roof, and made for the Nicaragua border. During the 3 hours of driving, we passed towns full of crumbling infrastructure, sullen and suspicious faces and 3 police road blocks. All of whom managed to extort cash from us for infractions we had made against the Honduras highway code.

The drill is, they take your license and registration and write you a ticket. They hold your license until you pay the ticket at the bank. But since no one wants to go through that hassle, you can ask them if you can pay the "fine" on the spot. (Travel Tip: make laminated colour copies of your license and registration, because cops down here have no idea what an authentic one looks like. That or at least keep an expired copy handy. This way you can just leave it behind.)

Anyway, so you ask to pay on the spot. The cop hems and haws and then feigning grace says, yes and then proceeds to tell you what it costs. Of course, no ticket is written, no record is produced, and therefore no one needs to know that that "fine" is going to end up in one or more pockets of the transitos.

Once we got dinged immediately after pulling out of a gas station because Dan was not wearing his seat belt. Fair enough I suppose, that cost us 20 bucks. Then we got hit twice for the same infraction, not having a fire extinguisher and (not one but) two triangular hazard reflectors to put on the road in case of a breakdown. This was interesting, because the first bribe we paid for this was $10 USD. The second, an hour or so later, was $37USD, which we paid $20 USD, some Quetzales and Pesos.

Now, perhaps we can overlook the fact that nobody told us at the border that such rules were so strictly enforced, or that you could buy the necessary safety items at the border, and even the fact that we were fined twice for the exact same thing without being given a chance to correct our trespass. However, when you are in the midst of paying a "fine" and a local drives by in a pick-up that doesn't even have seat belts, with 6 people standing in the back, and likely no fire extinguisher, you realize that you are just a chump foreigner who they are going to milk for whatever they can.

Sadly, it was these experiences that made us have disdain for Honduras. From what we've heard the government is pretty unstable, a coup having taken place recently and threats of another exist. So, obviously, the government is not in a position to pay attention to issues such as the corruption of highway cops. Sadly, the people who are most hurt by this kind of petty corruption towards tourists, are the people of Honduras.

But stepping back from my indignation I found a new perspective. We feel so hard done by when the "law" is so blatantly flouted in front of our eyes. In Canada people rarely if ever get treated this way, but how often are we being screwed behind our backs in the corporate boardrooms and government offices? Probably all the time! But, as long as it isn't in our face, we don't do a thing about it. Most of us are probably happy to be ignorant of it.

So, let me take this opportunity to thank the good ol' transitos of Honduras. Thank you for having the balls to be so forthright in asking us to bribe you. It's refreshing!

Now, on with the story...

After our encounters with the transitos, we made it to the Nicaragua border. We breathed a sigh of relief and Dan went into the office to start the paperwork. However, when he came out again, his face didn't look pleased. Turns out, that although we'd passed the borders of Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras with a month of validity remaining on our passports, Nicaragua was not going to let us cross.

We couldn't believe it. All this way, for nothing? A boarder official who we'd been talking with told us that he had a friend who might be able to work some magic. As it turned out though, when buddy heard that it had been his boss who denied us, he was afraid (justifiably) that he might be fired. Dan, for his part, was not all fired enthusiastic about the penalties for bribing a border official. So, feeling a bit glum, we turned Veronica around and headed back to where we came from. Back across the gauntlet of Honduras transito roadblocks. Amazingly, maybe because of the pouring rain, we didn't get stopped once!

Above, waiting to be readmitted to Honduras, 1 hour after leaving. Dan goes into the offices and I sit in the van making sure no sticky fingers gain access to the van.


So, we drive. Across Honduras, back into El Salvador and then we make for Guatemala to get our passports renewed there, as originally planned. All this time, a heavy sky hangs over us dumping rain. On the highway coming down from the hills east of San Salvador we are forced onto the other side of the divided highway several times because our lanes are covered by recent land slides.

The roads had a lot of rain on them, and likely, if Veronica wasn't so heavy, we would have been aquaplaning. On the road with us were many tentative drivers, which was strange, 'cause doesn't it rain here every year? Maybe it's like winter in Canada, when the first week or so when there's snow on the road everybody freaks out wondering "Where'd this come from?" before remembering that they do, in fact, know how to drive in snow. Anyway, all these cars around us have their hazard lights on which is dangerous, because it means there is very little chance that they will signal you before they cut you off. Also, another thing about drivers down here (read, all of Central America) is that they don't use headlights, even when it's dark. Not safe, people!

Driving conditions being what they were we made slow progress and arrived about an hour after dark at the El Salvador - Guatemala border in torrential rain. But we are parked under a roof so everything is cool. I chated up one of the El Salvadorian border cops while Dan goes to get the paperwork cleared.

Everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly!

A border official tells me that Dan is waiting for me on the Guatemala side, and that I could drive over there. I get behind the wheel, turn the key, the engine tries to turn over, but doesn't. It sounds like there is almost no juice in the battery. I try again, but no dice. Dan, by this time has made way back over, and thinks that his van will respond better to his knowing hands. But she doesn't, in fact, she dies.

We can't quite figure out why the battery has died, but Dan hypothesizes that it's because some wires connected to the inverter and our reserve batteries were sitting in a puddle by the driver's seat. But no worries, all we need is a jump!

So, we pull the jumper cables out from the back. Of course these are standards for any good Canadian driver's emergency kit, not so much in Central America. As best we can, we explain to the rather large group of border officials and police who are now looking at us with curiosity and bemusement, that we need a jump. Blank looks. We motion with the heavy jumper cables that we need another car to jump. More blank looks.

Just then, the cop who I had been talking to drives by heading out on patrol, I stop him and explain the situation. He looks at us suspiciously, but pulls the police truck around and parks it nose to nose with the van. Poping the hood, he tells us that this is the only truck they have at this border office. As Dan hooked up the cables and I got behind the wheel, we chuckled and told him not to worry. We're Canadians! We've done this a hundred times! Dan even adds that if anything happens he'll buy a new truck.

When the smoke started to flow from the police truck, you can imagine our surprise. For some reason, it didn't work. There was no second attempt. Thankfully, there was no fire, and Dan didn't have to make good on his promise to buy a new truck.

As a last resort, we pulled out the battery charger and hooked it up (above). We had one hour until the border office was to close, and we needed to be gone. When time was up, we said a little prayer and Dan turned the key. She started. Phew!

We pulled over in the parking lot, shoved a couple revoiltas (beans and cheese in tortilla, fried) down our gullets and toasted our luck with a shot of rum, and promptly passed out.


In the morning, we woke and started driving back to Guatemala city. It was during this drive that it started to dawn on us, that perhaps the weather we had been experiencing was not very normal. Above, a huge tree whose roots were loosened by the voluminous amounts of water has fallen across both lanes of the road.


Above, a road that was part of a highway expansion project is washed clean away by a gentle stream who burst its banks to become a raging river.


We stopped in a town on the way that was close to this bridge. We were on another bridge which the highway passed over, along with a few hundred curious locals and passers-by. Someone told us that the night before, the river was flowing over this bridge.

Upon returning to the city from where we had set out only 60 hours before, we started to learn about the damage which had been done by Agatha around the country. Guatemala definitely got the worst of it. We felt, in a weird way, that perhaps our ordeal had saved us from a worse fate.

My most recent blogs would lead you to believe that Dan and I are still in Guatemala. However, I would like to bring everyone into the present with us for a moment because we have reached the southern extent of our journey: the Panama Canal.

So here we are, two scruffy looking chaps checked into a cheep hotel. What now?

It’s all a bit surreal to me. I mean, this city is nothing special really. It’s just another city in another country. And yet, to us to this project it represents a major milestone and the turning point; now we set sail for home!

It took Dan just under 4.5 years to reach this place and now in almost exactly a month we are due to be in southern Alberta – at the end. Shouldn’t I feel some kind of vicarious achievement? Or some kind of transformation? I don’t and it’s kind of anti-climactic.

In Dan’s proposal for the film, the Panama Canal was the end point because it represented a physical division between North and South America. A division created by humans through marvels of engineering and the sacrifice of resources and lives. Perhaps, the Canal represents more of a metaphor than a destination for this project. Maybe this feeling of anti-climax is a reminder that even the most spectacular achievements of humans are not so impressive as those of nature’s design. I mean, looking over the Canal and the massive ships that glide through it is amazing, but it doesn’t stir one like looking out over the Arctic tundra or beholding a smoking volcano. And now when I think about the ruins of Mayan and Aztec construction that we’ve toured, I’m not sure what had more impact on me: their fantastic design or the ease with which nature wipes such creations from view and memory.

Beyond this I think I’m coming to feel a sort of irony as we turn for home which Dan expressed the other day. Here we are, close to the “end” of this project, and yet the knowledge gained and the experiences we’ve had prevent us from the release of a true ending. We are coming to the end only to find that we are once

We said goodbye to San Cris and were pulling out of town when a friend from Casa Libertad hailed us from across the street. Where are you guys going, he asked. Guatemala city, we said. Can I get a ride, he asked. For sure, we replied. We crossed the road, pulled to the side, opened the door, and looked down the side walk and we don't see one, or two, but five people running to get in. Three adults and two kids... they were on their way to a city in Guatemala to do some street performing for a few days.

Once again, Veronica resembled one of the local collectivos (mini vans that fill up with commuters).


Above, Ellos ninos. Two brothers hanging out the window as we speed to the Mexico Guatemala.

Passing the border was no problem for us, though there was some concern that our passports were so close to expiration. The two guys were without papers of any kind, but they just walked across the border without even being stopped. Apparently, if you aren't driving a vehicle, you can cross all the borders from Guatemala all the way into South America.

Sepi, (with the thick beard) told us that he was raised by his grandmother in a small rural town north of Mexico and doesn't even have a birth certificate. Pretty crazy to think. On the one hand, if you want to travel abroad this likely poses a huge problem. On the other hand, in a time where we worry about the state and unseen powers keeping tabs on our every move, it is a great advantage to effectively be a ghost.


Above, an old truck in the parking lot where we spent our first night in Guatemala. in a parking lot next to a gas station in a small town that seemed to be not much more than the gas station and a few houses and restos that surrounded it.


Buses in Mexico were a lot tamer than I thought they'd be, but upon arriving in Guatemala we started to see what we expected. Though, they weren't necessarily falling apart or anything... you'd see buses like the one above tearing along the road, belching black oily smoke, and stopping at a moments notice to pick up a potential rider, or let somebody out the back door.



Above, a blurry shot of a couple women in standard garb for rural Guatemalecos. Their head wrap is sometimes used as a cushion for burdens that they bear on their heads.

Above is a shot of a the high point of the road to Guatemala city, literally. Clouds above and clouds below and corn fields all over the place. Veronica's diesel engine was labouring hard at the high altitude, but no problems.

At a place called Los Enceuntros we dropped our friends off in the chaos of people and vehilces that you see above (the photo doesn't do it justice), to catch one of the buses there. Then we drove the last few hours to the city in the pouring rain.

Above, Dan gives a thumbs up to the lovely house that we had the use of in San Cristobal. Thanks to kindness of Mark and Mariana we not only could have a hot shower whenever we wanted, not to mention a kitchen where we whipped up some fantastic meals with Julie and Mike.

San Cristobal de Las Casas is a beautiful character-filled town nestled in the heart of Chiapas. about 3 hours from the Guatemala border. We were very fortunate that our friends Mark and Mariana, whom we met while we were at Oaxaca trailer park, generously offered their summer house to us for a few weeks. As Mark explained this is kind of the heritage capital of Chiapas, and it has largely avoided industrial development.

Above, two old boys discuss something important, outside a spot where they can keep the fires burning in their minds!


Dramatic clouds over the a one way street in down town San Cris.


Many of the streets in San Chris are one way and made of interlocking bricks. They're pretty tight on their own, but add parked cars and high sidewalks and a high volume of traffic and you get rush hour, whenever you want.

Frida spray painted on the wall outside our friend Kris Olmsted's awesome bookstore, Abuelita Books (Grandmother's Books). Kris' energy, strong coffee, sweet cookies, and amazing selection of English books that would be hard to find anywhere else in Mexico or Central America, made her spot our regular haunt.

We came back to the van after a day of wandering to find the sidewalk was apparently the territory of this pack of street dogs. There are so many dogs on the streets in Mexico in general. Many of them are in poor health and rough looking, which is heartbreaking a bit. Now, I understand why Bob Barker was always on about having your pets spade or neutered... but then some might say that the world would be a better place if we did that to ourselves!


Rolling downhill on a long straight street in San Cris.


The old gentleman pushing the ice cream cart in the picture above was in the middle of the road, and oblivious to the crush of cars streaming into the city centre in the morning. Just another day...

Morning sunburst


Some cool street art.


A little more graffiti.


Above you see me doing one of the most important things that we do every month or so: packing a big box of unlabeled rolls of film and video tapes and shipping it back to Scott in Ottawa. Scott is the probably the only man who has any reasonable idea what kind of crazy endeavour it's going to be to edit this film.


Out on the trails behind Mark and Mariana's house on the outskirts of the city, I came across this curious spectacle. Something is pleasing about seeing a randomly discarded object up high and out of reach. Does it count as litter? Or could it be some kind of meaningful statement about the world today? Reminds me of when you see an old pair of shoes with their laces tied together and then flung up to straddle a power line. Maybe someday I'll either see it happen. That or just do it myself.


The trails behind the house where we were staying skirted several quarries. Above, it's sunday at the quarry and the steam shovel get's it's well deserved rest.