Copán Ruinas - Honduras

This town saved me. Just one more hour on a bus, in a truck, or on a boat would have plunged me into that ever-feared "deep end." During the 24-hours of actual travel and 36-hours of down time it took me to get from Tulum to Copán, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I could actually feel myself going insane. Like flipping through the television channels in a foreign country, I saw thoughts come and go from my brain, pausing there just long enough for me to think, What the hell? One minute it was I wonder why Santa keeps his suit on here, even though it's 85-degrees outside, then I was pondering the idea of creating miniature elephants, and then How can the universe go on forever? It has to stop somewhere. But if it stops, what's past the edge? Nothing? There has to be something.... And on and on and on until I wished my head would just explode. Sleep did not come easy.

I reached Copán Ruinas tired, hungry, sore, and really, really sick of being one of 29 people stuffed into a 16-seat minivan for the past two and a half hours. When I found a hostel and discovered that it had hot water showers, I almost fell to my knees and cried with joy. And when I laid on my bed after showering and found that the mattress was actually comfortable and there was a blanket for me, I didn't want to leave. Ever. And for most of the time during my three days in Copán I didn't. Sure, I ventured from my sanctuary a few times to walk through the sloping, cobblestone streets and to sit in the plant-filled central square, but these jaunts usually coincided with my meal times and were always used as an excuse to take another hot shower or lay on my bed some more.

I didn't do any of the things you're "supposed" to do in Copán. I didn't see the ruins (I hear they're nice), go to the museum (people tell me it's very interesting), or take a walk along the nature trail (lovely, they say), and I don't care. What I needed was a place to gather up the remaining pieces of my sanity and put them back together, and that's exactly what I was able to do in Copán Ruinas. It's a charming town I won't soon forget.

Belize City - Belize

When I arrived in Belize City there was only one thing on my mind: Food. I had just spent 12 hours walking, hitch-hiking, and catching various buses to get there, with nothing to fuel me but a miniature order of quesadillas in Chetumal, Mexico. Although my stomach was begging for attention, it soon became apparent that I would have to shift my energies from finding food to even more pressing matters, like staying alive.

"Planning to stay here long?" the taxi driver asked me as we sped through dimly-lit, trash-laden streets.

"Actually, I'm on my way to Placencia. I'll be leaving tomorrow," I replied, trying not to think about how light-headedly hungry I was.

"Good idea. No reason to stay here. It's too dangerous."

"So it's true what they say?" I questioned.

"Worse. Seven people been shot the last couple weeks. F*cking government's making everbody poor, so now they break in your windows to steal your sh*t," he replied, his voice full of anger.

"Oh." I thought what I'd heard was simply traveller's paranoia.

As we stopped in front of my hotel, I noticed that the name on the sign above the door didn't match the name I had given the driver.

"I didn't tell you earlier," he said, recognizing the look of confusion (and possibly a dash of fear) in my eyes, "but this place burnt down a couple times before they finally sold it. Some Chinese people bought it."

"But it's still an okay place, right?" I asked.

"Same old story," he replied, now a hint of contempt in his voice as he stepped back in his car and drove away.

I looked around me: Dim streetlights, closed-up shops, and stray dogs eating from the piles of garbage scattered around the sidewalk. According to my guidebook (which had failed to mention the burning and selling of my hotel) this was the only cheap place to stay in the area. Great, I thought as I rang the bell. An entire Chinese family answered the door; they all seemed really excited to see me.

"Do you have any single rooms?" I inquired.

"You want TV?" the youngest girl asked, translating for her parents.

"No, just the cheapest room you've got," I answered.

"Twenty dollar."

"Belizean," I wanted to clarify.

"No, US."

Huh? My (soon to be dog food) book claimed the original place charged eight bucks a night.

"There's nothing cheaper?" I nearly begged.

"Twenty dollar," repeated the little girl.

Again, I looked around. Twenty dollars was supposed to be my budget for a whole day, but this didn't seem to be the time or place to be wandering around searching for another hotel with all my belongings on my back. And my stomach was reminding me of its current empty state.

"Fine," I said. "I'll take it."

The little girl led me through the thick metal gate into a hallway that smelled like a scientifically derived mixture of moth balls, my grandma's hairspray, and shrimp fried rice. Not the sort of welcome my 20 dollars were hoping for. My room was in the far, right-hand corner of the dead-end hallway.

"Here you go," the little girl said as she opened the door, turned on the light, and moved to the side, letting a gigantic cockroach scuttle by, out into the hallway. Well, at least it's not in my room anymore. I opted to look on the bright side.

I paid the girl, closed the door, dropped my bag, and collapsed onto the bed. It was a little lumpy, but heavenly compared to the bus seats I had been condemned to for much of the day. I was starting to feel better, jolly even, when I turned my head and saw all the little black hairs scattered around me. The resulting feeling in my stomach reminded me again that I needed to eat.

I emptied my pockets of everything but a few bills, had the little girl show me how to unlatch the three separate locks on the front gate, and ventured out into my gruff surroundings. After walking around (burning a great deal of the few calories that were keeping my heart beating) for 15 minutes or so I started to get frustrated. I had passed half a dozen restaurants and two grocery stores, all of which were closed, thick sheets of metal covering their openings.

Finally I came to a building with a lit-up Belikin Beer sign and a young man sitting on the step in front of the door.

"Is there food here?" I asked, desperate enough to eat the man's arm if he offered it to me.

"Nope. Just drinks. You thirsty?"

I hadn't thought about that.

"Actually, yeah. But I need to eat. Anything. Is there a restaurant or store open anywhere in this city right now?"

"Yeah. Sure. He'll show you where," he said, pointing to my newly appointed guide.

I looked at the man who had somehow appeared just to my left. About 60, he was a coat-rack of a man. Somehow he kept his ratty jean shorts and t-shirt from sliding off his bones.

"Come on," I think he said out of his toothless mouth, starting off to my right.

Again, all I could think was, Great.

After a failed conversation consisting of him mumbling through his gums and me mumbling through my hunger-induced haze, we wound up at Chin-Tu-Yuk's Mini-Market. From the sidewalk I looked through the metal bars at the modest selection of what I guess some people call food. After weighing my options a bit I ended up with some raisins, a small box of "ValuTime Toasty O's," and a bottle of water. Such a meal had never looked so delicious.

As my change came, my guide, whom I had pleasantly forgotten about, starting mumbling again and didn't stop until I understood what he wanted. I have him one of the two coins the woman had handed me through the bars, but he demanded the other as well.

"What?" I asked firmly.

"Gimme the other!" He was finally speaking a little more clearly. "I took you here, and I wanna buy a beer!" Now he had a crazy look in his cloudy eyes.

"Fine." I tossed the other coin into his outstretched palm and started back across the street. He stuck to my side like a leech, still mumbling periodically. Only now I didn't try to understand and didn't say anything in response. Finally he turned down a side street, still mumbling, but now only to himself.

Alone again, I downed my somewhat disappointing feast while maneuvering my way past the sorry-looking dogs and sometimes sorrier-looking people. Everyone in the streets was either stumbling around, sniffling and wiping their noses, or sleeping on cardboard mattresses. They were all staring at me, and a lot of them seemed to think I was feeling lonely, because they were quite eager to attempt to strike up conversations. Before I started pretending to be deaf, most of these conversations led to open palms first being shoved at me, and then grabbing at my arms when I refused to put anything in them. Getting back to my hotel seemed to take even longer than it had to find the market, but eventually I wound up there, a little surprised to still be in one peice.

I quickly rang the bell, and this time was greeted only by the little girl. As I slipped through the front gate and heard her latching the locks behind me, I had never been so happy to be walking into a stinking, roach-infested building. After a brief, cold shower everything felt in order as I turned out the light and laid down. Ignoring the growling in my still-hungry stomach and pretending not to feel the dull aching behind my eyes, I rested my head on the lipstick- and drool-stained pillow, the slightest hint of a grin crossing my face as I quietly said to myself, "I'm Alive!"

Tulum - Quintana Roo, Mexico

After spending more than enough time in Playa del Carmen I finally packed my things, went to the bus station, and bought a ticket out. It only took an hour-long, very interesting bus ride (the driver must have made the morning's Bloody Mary a double) before I found myself in a small, one-street town called Tulum. Most famous for the Mayan ruins of the same name, the real reason to visit Tulum is the absolutely gorgeous beach. A few kilometers of white sand, turquoise water, palm trees, and no one trying to sell you a spot to sit make this an ideal place to walk, swim, or sunbathe (which a good number of visitors do half or fully nude).

Fortunately, that ugly machine called development hasn't yet laid its dirty hand on Tulum, and for the most part the only buildings at the beach are tiny, bare-bones cabañas and a few bar-restaurants which are set a number of meters from the waterfront. This makes it possible to really lose yourself in the natural beauty of what places like Playa del Carmen used to look like.

About seven kilometers from the beach el pueblo, as the locals call it, is doing a decent job of taking advantage of the ever-increasing tourism to the area while still continuing to bask in its natural Mexican flair. On the main street there are relatively fancy, but moderately priced restaurants next door to traditional taquerías, internet cafes next door to open-air, fresh fruit and vegetable markets, a wide range of lodging possibilities, and a nice soccer field which the kids are constantly enjoying. The locals haven't yet started seeing foreigners as just people off of whom money can be made and they are very helpful and more than willing to chat in the street or over a beer. The town makes a very pleasant place to take an evening stroll and enjoy some good food while watching the great mix of people wander by.

So whether it's the unique, beach-side ruins, the eclectic little village, or the beach itself, there's something in Tulum for everybody to enjoy. I imagine most people wind up enjoying at least a little of all three. Because of this it's one of those places where people often find themselves staying twice as long as they had planned. And that's exactly what happened to me.

My Heart, My Compass

One can learn a great deal about who a person is and how they lead their life by learning a bit about how they choose to travel. There are those who leave home with a small amount of time and a huge, detailed itinerary, strictly planning to see a new place each day. There are those with the same small amount of time, but who would prefer to spend it relaxing in one place, ignoring the stress and worries that will surely be awaiting them when they return home. And there are those people, more of whom I meet nearly every day, who prefer to travel more or less the way I do.

For me, the most satisfaction comes from a trip that reveals to me some information about myself and how I fit into the world. I have found that I learn the most when I embark with a general plan in mind, and stray from it as often as I like. For example, I started this trip knowing one thing: I was going to the beach in Mexico. I flew to Zihautanejo, enjoyed myself for a while, fell into a tedious routine, and decided to abandon my original plan altogether.

After following a route that seemed to materialize on its own, I discovered that I would much rather walk the streets of cool, colonial mountain towns than swim and lay in the sun. Some of my favorite places have been ones that didn't enter my mind or my plan until a day or two before I arrived.

Of course, I have also been to some of those places that everybody knows about, and which most people consider to be necessary stops along the way. These can be quite nice; there is a reason they became so popular. But if I go to them simply because I feel I'm supposed to, and not because my heart tells me I really should, I always leave longing for more. Something is missing. Although it can be a bit unnerving at first to venture away from the path that most people are following, and allow my heart to lead me instead, the places I get to when I do always reveal to me a little about who I am.

And so I'm on the road, following my heart and finding answers to some of the questions that have been floating through my thoughts for a long time. I'm not sure where I'll go tomorrow, or the day after that, and it's not important that I am. I know that wherever my heart leads me I'll be happy.

Playa del Carmen - Quintana Roo, Mexico

It's been three months on the road, and here I am - on vacation from my vacation. Playa del Carmen is the sort of place where thinking is neither necessary nor encouraged. It's the sort of place where conversation is generally held in English and tends to revolve around the blurry parts of the night before, the various means of spending money, or where the best place to start another blurry night might be. It could be any resort town, in any country, on any continent in the world.

Playa is best (only?) enjoyed sitting on the beach, margarita in hand, listening to the subtle waves of the Caribbean while watching the seemingly hand-chiseled bodies walk by. It is no place to learn about Mexican culture (I write, as I look across the street to the largest Wal-Mart Supercenter I have ever seen), but it seems to make an ideal spot for all those 9-to-5'ers to come, saturate themselves with tequila and triple sec, and forget about their lives for a week. And, I suspect, that's exactly why there are so many people here.

The Beginning

The decision to start this web log came about like so many of the decisions I find myself making: delayed. Three months of wandering throughout Mexico, Guatemala and Belize, countless hours staring at the clouds forming and transforming over the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean Sea, a number of books, a few conversations - all of these finally led me to decide that a regularly updated collection of my thoughts and observations not only could, but should, become an integral part of my travels.

I will attempt to make updates a few times a week, or whenever something noteworthy takes place or comes to mind. To me, where I've been and what I've seen are equally important as how those things have affected me and what I've learned from them; it is on this principle that I plan to base the format of my journal.

This will be, I think, as much a chronicle of what happens throughout my travels as within my mind, from now until I get to where it is I'm going. And where, exactly, is it that I'm going? Stay tuned, and we'll see if we can't figure that out.