chris.bracken.jp

index.xml (107989B)

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     <title>Travel on Chris Bracken</title>
     <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/tags/travel/</link>
     <description>Recent content in Travel on Chris Bracken</description>
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     <item>
       <title>Bonjour, Bon Vespre!</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2005/05/bonjour-bon-vespre/</link>
       <pubDate>Wed, 11 May 2005 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2005/05/bonjour-bon-vespre/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Just how far can you travel in a week and a half? It turns out pretty far.
 Combining planes, trains, ships, and automobiles, Yasuko and I travelled, all
 told, roughly 22,100 km over the Golden Week holiday.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;From Tokyo to Avignon, on to Marseille, then Arles and Nîmes, followed by
 Carcassonne, Perpignan, and Barcelona, before heading back to Paris and home to
 Tokyo in 12 days wasn&amp;rsquo;t bad… Especially considering the car was a Fiat.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>New York, NY, USA</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2004/09/new-york-ny-usa/</link>
       <pubDate>Thu, 09 Sep 2004 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2004/09/new-york-ny-usa/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Flew out to New York for interviews with Tokyo via videoconference on the 9th
 and 10th. More details later, but I’ll post pictures now.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Summer 2004 in Japan</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2004/08/summer-2004-in-japan/</link>
       <pubDate>Fri, 20 Aug 2004 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2004/08/summer-2004-in-japan/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;I had originally planned my summer vacations for May, then July, and finally,
 in an effort to match my summer vacations with those of friends in Japan, ended
 up shuffling them back to August. Aside from the scorching heat, August is a
 fantastic time of year to visit. The heat this summer was more than a little
 bit scorching though, it was the hottest summer in ten years.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;It turned out, however, that I would have something more pressing than the
 weather to keep my mind busy though. In the middle of the night, somewhere over
 the Pacific ocean I woke up from my sleep in a cold sweat. My heart was
 pounding. The airplane cabin was surprisingly silent; everyone around me had
 dozed off to sleep and all that was left was the low drone of the jet engines
 and the gentle hiss of the air vents. Slowly, I reached for the back pocket of
 my backpack. My hands trembling, I unzipped it and slowly pulled it open. With
 a huge sigh of relief, I pulled out my wallet. I hadn’t forgotten it at home
 after all. Dropping it back in, I turned back toward the window and fell back
 asleep. It wasn&amp;rsquo;t until the next day in Osaka, as I opened my wallet to pay for
 my hotel that I realised I’d forgotten my bank card at home.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;This would not have been a problem, except that in a flash of brilliance, I had
 decided to forgo the usual traveller’s cheques and use post office bank
 machines to withdraw from my accounts back home. This had worked fantastically
 last year and would save the hassle of cashing traveller’s cheques at a bank.
 Fortunately I had a credit card on me. Unfortunately, Canadian credit cards
 can’t be used to withdraw more than 20,000 yen a day, and then only at special
 Visa bank machines which tend to be incredibly hard to find. Or, as I would
 find out, impossible to find outside of Osaka or Tokyo. Fortunately I was able
 to get hold of Mum on the phone relatively quickly, and she FedEx’ed the card
 to Yasuko in Tokyo. By my math, I had just enough cash to buy Shinkansen
 tickets to Shizuoka, then Tokyo. All I had to do was ensure that I reserved a
 hotel in Shizuoka that accepted Canadian credit cards. No problem.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;I spent the first night in the Umeda ward of Osaka, mostly because it’s so
 close to Osaka station, and I was planning to catch the train first thing next
 morning out through Kyoto, then Otsu, to Imazu-cho to meet Annie. Aside from
 spending most of the next day in Osaka desperately seeking out Visa ATMs, I
 can’t say I had that bad a time. Well, the weather was alright anyway.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Annie put me up for a few days in Imazu-cho, where I had the chance to meet up
 with some friends from last year, and do a little exploring of nearby bits of
 Shiga-ken. Caught the ferry out to Chikubushima, an island just 30 minutes out
 from shore into Lake Biwa. The amazing thing about Chikubushima is the temples
 and shrines you find in this remote location. The wood for the buildings did
 not come from the island itself, but was ferried out by hand hundreds of years
 ago. Chikubushima is one of several locations in Japan where the godess of
 artistic inclinations, Benzaiten, is worshipped. Benzaiten, or Benten as she is
 more often called, is the only female among the Shichifukujin¹ and is often
 depicted as a woman carrying a lute. As she is a river godess, temples and
 shrines dedicated to her often appear on lakes or near water.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;After a few days in Imazu, I decided to head to Shizuoka. The best way to get
 there was to catch local trains to Maibara station, on the other side of the
 lake, then take the Shinkansen from there to Shizuoka. As I was running a
 little late, I ended up sprinting through Imazu, suitcase in tow, to the train
 station. With 100m to go, I saw the train pull into the station, so I threw it
 into high gear. I quickly bought the 900 yen ticket from the ticket agent, who
 told me to run for track 3, and remember to change trains at Nagahama station.
 I sprinted up the stairs, and threw myself headlong through the train doors
 seconds before they closed. 20 minutes later, the train driver called Nagahama
 station over the crackly radio, and I hopped off. I was the only one. The train
 pulled away, and I was left standing on the train platform with nothing but the
 scorching heat and humidity, and the chirping of cicadas. It was then that I
 read the station name: Nagahara. I’d misheard the name. There would surely be
 another train in ten minutes though, so I staggered down the stairs and noticed
 the utter lack of automatic ticket gates.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;An old woman sat in the station-master’s booth. She looked up at me with a
 half-surprised, half-worried expression and asked me for my ticket. I handed it
 over. Noticing the apparent discrepancy in train fare she asked, “where are you
 headed?” I answered “Maibara.” She said, “that’s on the other side of the lake.
 You’re at Nagahara.” I said “I know. I’d meant to change at Nagahama…” at which
 point she started laughing. ”The next train’s in three hours.” Three hours. I
 asked when the next train to Oumi-Shiotsu station was. It was one station to
 the north, at the junction of two train lines, so there’d be a much better
 chance of catching an earlier train. She said ”That&amp;rsquo;s the one. The next train
 anywhere is three hours from now. There’s a bus in two though. Or I could call
 a taxi, if that would help.” Maibara had to be at least 80km from here. No way
 I could afford a taxi. But I could probably get a taxi to Oumi-Shiotsu, which I
 did. And was laughed at some more over my mistake.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Turned out I wasn’t the only one. When I arrived at Oumi-Shiotsu, I was greeted
 by three Japanese backpackers from Kyushu who’d apparently gotten off at
 Nagahara the day before, and decided to stay the night at a nearby hotspring
 and continue on to Maibara the next day. We sat for an hour, jumped on the
 train, and eventually arrived at Nagahama, changed trains, and completed the
 journey to Maibara. From there, it was the Kodama Shinkansen to Shizuoka.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;I crashed the night in Shizuoka, then spent the next day exploring town. I
 visited Sumpu-jou, a small castle in central Shizuoka, and Sumpu-jou Kouen, a
 nearby park where I was invited in to try a whole series of green teas.
 Shizuoka is famous for green tea, and as I had been the only foreigner that
 week, I was treated to a detailed history of tea cultivation in the area, an
 explanation of the many varieties and styles of green tea, and a pile of free
 desserts! They asked if I had some spare time, as they’d love to take me on a
 guided tour of the rest of the teahouse, and show me the private gardens in the
 back. It was pretty spectacular.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;After Sumpu-jou Kouen, I tried to find a bank machine that would allow me to do
 a cash advance on my credit card, but finally gave up while I still had my
 sanity. I bought a Shinkansen ticket for Tokyo with the plan to meet Setsuko at
 Tennodai station at 9pm.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;On the train, I met a professor with the Shimizu Univeristy Naval Engineering
 school, and we ended up chatting the entire way to Tokyo. He was originally
 from Kyoto, but had lived in Holland for years, and half-way through the
 conversation, I discovered that he also spoke flawless English. He was
 incredibly polite and put up with my fairly dodgy Japanese the entire way. It
 was pretty good practice for me, though we did switch to English as the
 conversation got into ship-building and a few other topics I knew nothing about
 in Japanese.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;In the end, I got to Ueno station a little bit early, stuffed my suitcase in a
 locker, and ended up exploring the park for a few hours. I ended up doing a
 huge survey on what I thought of Ueno Park, which was also great Japanese
 practice, and I got a free pen out of the deal, to boot. I also discovered a
 big festival going on at the far end of the park, near a temple that Yasuko and
 I had visited last year. I wandered past the booths selling onigiri² and
 kaki-kori³, listened to the music, took some pictures, and stopped by the
 temple for a bit. It sits in the middle of a large pond full of blossoming
 lotus flowers, and combined with the smell of incense wafting over the pond, it
 makes for a very peaceful experience.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Eventually, I grabbed some onigiri and headed back to the train station to
 catch the next train for Tennodai, in Chiba. Got there just in time, sat down
 and waited on the platform for Setsuko, who arrived 5 minutes later. It was
 crazy to see her again on the other side of the world. We headed off to the
 supermarket, grabbed some food for dinner, and headed back to her apartment to
 eat.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The next day, we did some shopping around Kashiwa station in Chiba, and I ended
 up ordering a hand-made traditional futon. They measured me, we selected
 fabrics and they said to come back in ten days to pick it up. Grabbed some
 chinese food for lunch and some snacks, and did a bit more shopping. Eventually
 we headed back, and I went to sleep. I remember being woken by an earthquake at
 about 2am, but falling back asleep before it was even over. I can’t stay awake
 for long on futons; they’re incredibly comfortable.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Yasuko and I arranged to meet at Shinagawa station early the next morning under
 the big clock by the central ticket gates. It was great to see her again, and
 we immediately bolted off to drop my gear at the apartment in Shinagawa she’d
 rented and head out for lunch at an Italian place nearby. The rest of the week
 was spent eating some of the most amazing sushi, soba, French, and Italian food
 you can imagine, and checking out two huge fireworks festivals. Aside from all
 the eating, we also visited art galleries in Ueno park, and did a bit of
 shopping in Jiyuugaoka and Ginza. I got to visit Apple’s flagship Ginza store
 which is a noble goal for any true Mac fanatic. Well, technically I also needed
 a new AC adapter, since I’d accidentally destroyed mine earlier in the day.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;After a week in Tokyo, it was off on a business trip to Oita, on Kyushu. I’d
 never been to southern Japan before, and I was looking forward to meeting some
 of my Japanese counterparts for work after many email conversations. Not only
 did I get to visit a Japanese shipyard and see firsthand the incredible
 precision with which they manufacture their vessels, but I also got to visit a
 rural Japanese town, and meet Matsumoto-san and Kato-san, who treated me to
 some of the most memorable karaoke of my life. After the business trip to
 Nagasaki, we headed out for one last night together, with an amazing
 traditional Kyushu-style sashimi and sushi dinner, and karaoke until two in the
 morning.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;For my final day in Japan, I was scheduled to fly out of Oita airport, arriving
 at Tokyo Haneda airport at 12:15. At 5pm, my return flight to Canada departed
 Tokyo Narita airport. In the intervening 3 hours, the brilliant plan was to
 jump from train to train at breakneck pace and make it to Togoshi-ginza station
 to meet Yasuko for lunch, then jump straight back on the train and make it out
 to Narita just in time for my flight. I made every single train as the doors
 were closing. Literally, with under two seconds to spare every time&amp;hellip; but we
 did have a fantastic Italian lunch, and make it to the airport with such
 impeccable timing that by the time I arrived at the gate, everyone had boarded
 but ten people. You can’t cut it much closer than that.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Once again, one of the most memorable trips of my life. The best part is that
 I’ll be permanently moving back to Japan within a couple of months, so I’ll be
 even closer to all the places I’ve been looking forward to visiting. Thanks to
 everyone who put me up again this year: Annie, Setsuko, and Yasuko! I can’t
 wait to be back.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;glossary&#34;&gt;Glossary&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;ol&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Shichifukujin:&lt;/em&gt; The seven gods of good luck.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Onigiri:&lt;/em&gt; Rice balls, often stuffed with pickled plum or fish.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;kaki-kori:&lt;/em&gt; Shaved ice covered in flavoured syrup such as strawberry,
 blueberry, or green tea.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ol&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Biking Japan 2003</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2003/08/biking-japan-2003/</link>
       <pubDate>Sun, 17 Aug 2003 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2003/08/biking-japan-2003/</guid>
       <description>&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2003-08-17-cycling-in-japan.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Brodie bike parked beside vending machines in front of restaurant&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The plan was to travel from Osaka north to the Japan Sea, northeast along the
 coast to Joetsu, south through the alps to Nagano, then southeast all the way
 to Tokyo — a total distance of close to 1200 km, entirely by bicycle.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Unfortunately for me, disaster struck just over half-way, in the form of
 150km/h winds and torrential downpours. Typhoon Number 10 ploughed straight
 through Japan, following a track from the island of Shikoku through Nagano
 before it died out, dumping up to 650mm of rain a day, and flooding out every
 town and village in its path.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;I arrived in Osaka the night of July 28th and promptly hauled my bike,
 panniers, and tools through customs and immigration, across the airport, and
 into a hotel. I’m not entirely sure how happy they were to have a
 grotty-looking guy assembling his bike in his hotel room overnight, but no one
 said anything, and I snuck out around 6am anyway.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;It’s unbelievable just how slowly you start and stop when your bike is loaded
 with 40kg of gear. Sort of the cycling equivalent of driving an 18-wheeler. The
 weather was a scorching 36C, with the humidity hovering around 85%. Over the
 first 70km from Osaka Itami Airport to downtown Kyoto, I consumed 8 litres of
 Dakara, Boku, Miu, and the oh-so-deliciously named Poccari Sweat, crashed
 twice, and got lost every 5 minutes. Took a break in Kyoto, stopping by to take
 a look at Sanjuusan Gendo, take some pictures, and chat with Taxi drivers, the
 police, and anyone else who wanted to know just what the hell I was doing.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Eventually, after a few more Poccari Sweats and some ramen for lunch, I jumped
 on my bike and started the trek to Otsu. Half an hour later, winding my way
 slowly uphill, along a narrow shoulder on a bridge 30m above a cemetary, I had
 the first major close call of the ride. Fortunately, through a combination of
 luck and skill, I deftly avoided flying over the railing and plummeting 30m to
 my death. Unfortunately, I did so by launching myself headlong into a traffic
 barrier, failing to release my toe-clips, breaking the seat right off the post,
 and trashing both my leg and pannier on the pavement in the process. Pretty
 sure my leg was broken, I lay there for a few minutes contemplating the
 resounding success of my bike trip thusfar while the last of the Poccari Sweat
 drained out of my water bottles into my shoes.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2003-08-17-fireworks-in-fukui.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Fireworks in Fukui&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Suffice to say that the rest of the day went uphill from there (both literally
 and figuratively) and I arrived in Otsu, on the edge of lake Biwa, in one
 piece. Annie met me at the JR train station, we ditched the bike in a parking
 lot, and rode the train back to Kyoto, where we met up with the entire
 complement of Shiga JET Programme teachers at The Hub, an Irish Pub in
 Karamachi. After a few beers, some fish &amp;amp; chips and edamame, Annie and Brent
 hauled me back to their apartment in Imazu, where they (and I am forever
 indebted to them for this) put me up for three days.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Although I didn’t get to go to SummerSonic in Osaka, I did get to pick up my
 bike in Otsu, ride 95km back north to Imazu, and spend the evening at Imazu’s
 Natsu-matsuri¹ with friends of Annie’s and Brent’s (Josh, Yo, and Hatsumi).
 Natsu-matsuris involve many elements, but some of the most important factors
 are: fireworks that put ours to shame, music and dancing, traditional Yukata²,
 and vast quantites of food and alcohol. After the festival, we dragged
 ourselves to Bumblebee Twist, a local bar, and had a few more before eventually
 hauling ourselves off to bed to recover.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The next day, we were all invited to a barbeque. The one thing that any
 foreigner will immediately notice about a Japanese barbeque is that you can’t
 just light the barbeque using zip-lights or lighter fluid. No&amp;hellip; the correct
 way to light a barbeque in Japan is for one person to heat the coals with a
 torch while the rest stand around fanning the flames with uchiwas³ until the
 barbeque, in a moment of glory, bursts into flames and the cooking begins. We
 had music, more food, beer and Chu-hai (a sort of cider), snacks, and more
 fireworks. It was totally great, even though I was beat over and over at some
 kind of pirate game by a three-year-old.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The next morning, I said bye to Annie and Brent, then hurled myself off
 northwards up the highway towards the north coast. For 30km, the road winds up
 through the mountains over a narrow pass toward Tsuruga. In the scariest
 downhill of the entire ride, I plummeted down the winding road, drafting behind
 semi-trucks at 70km/h, flying in and out of tunnels and around hairpin turns
 for the 8km down into Tsuruga.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Tsuruga sits on the ocean at the edge of the Sea of Japan, at the beginning of
 the long road leading northeast to Fukui and Kanazawa. Unfortunately, it also
 sits at the beginning of a 95km-long leg of straight uphill running along the
 edge of a cliff with no shoulder. Fortunately, it’s some of the most beautiful
 riding you could possibly hope for. Even more fortunately, midway through the
 ride, as I sat at the side of the road huddling in a tiny corner of shade at
 the edge of a cliff, two motorcyclists from Osaka pulled up and offered me
 something to drink, a look at their road maps, and some encouragement in
 Kansai-dialect. This was reinforced over and over throughout my ride by
 children hanging out of car windows waving and shouting &amp;ldquo;ganbare!&amp;rdquo; at the top
 of their lungs.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2003-08-17-lining-up-for-okonomiyaki.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Lining up for okonomiyaki&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Eventually, I wound my way up through the mountains to Fukui, where I almost
 had to spend the night camped on a park-bench by the river. Just when I’d
 almost given up hope of finding a hostel, someone walked up to me and in
 perfect English, asked if I needed a place to stay for the night. Turns out her
 family ran a hotel downtown, and she and her sister had spent several years
 living in Australia. Their mom invited me in for tea and snacks after dinner
 and we all stayed up late with their little boy, Ryu, yakking about travelling
 and good Japanese food.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The next day it was off to Kanazawa, which it turns out has a lot in common
 with Kyoto. While it’s much smaller, there were many beautiful old sections of
 town. There are temples and shrines everywhere, Kanazawa Castle and Kenrokuen —
 probably the most famous Japanese garden in the world. There’s also a crazy guy
 dressed in a cape and John Lennon glasses who runs around dragging people to
 convenience stores. Too embarassed not to buy an ice cream treat from the
 shopkeeper, I grabbed some ice-cream mochi balls, borrowed the phone and set up
 reservations for Nagano.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Because of the typhoon, I ended up doing the rest of the trip by train. I found
 a bike shop and spent the day yammering away in pseudo-Japanese to the little
 old grandma and grandpa who owned the shop. Turns out that he had done almost
 the exact same bike trip about 40 years ago! He had also cycled across
 Australia and much of the rest of Japan. Pretty amazing! If I hadn’t found
 them, my bike would probably be lying in a crumpled heap in a landfill right
 now. It took hours, be we did manage to pack everything into an unbelievably
 small bag that I could haul onto the train with me.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;From Kanazawa, I caught the train to Nagano, taking local lines and limited
 express trains the whole way. Nagano was the site of the 1998 Winter Olympic
 Games, but has since reverted to its pre-Olympic small-town feel. It was a
 beautiful place to visit, hidden away in the Japanese alps, surrounded by
 Japanese hot springs and ski hills. I can’t wait to visit in winter. Nagano’s
 biggest feature is probably Zenkouji, a Buddhist Temple which houses the first
 Buddhist images to come to Japan from the Asian mainland. Underneath the temple
 is a pitch-black maze of tunnels that you can wander into, pushed along by wave
 after wave of school-children on field trips, people on pilgrimmages, and
 curious tourists. It’s almost impossible to tell just how fast you’re moving,
 or how far you’ve gone&amp;hellip; just disembodied voices in the dark. Eventually you
 arrive at the “key to salvation”, which you can’t see, but you can feel. A few
 shakes and rattles, then you’re swept away down the tunnels again.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;From Nagano, I caught the Asama Shinkansen into Tokyo. At 280km/h the trip
 takes just about two hours. The train tore through the edge of the hurricane at
 breakneck speed and we were in Tokyo on schedule to the minute. You can’t help
 but love the Japanese train system.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2003-08-17-akasaka.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Akasaka at night&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Met up with Yasuko in Tokyo, and we spent the week bumming around town and
 catching all the sights: Akasaka, Shinjuku, Shibuya, Odaiba, the Tsukiji fish
 market. Took a side trip to the art gallery a few hours away in Hakone
 Prefecture where a mix of European and Japanese art is on display. There were
 some absolutely amazing pieces of Japanese pottery in their collection. Back in
 Tokyo, we had the chance to see a Kabuki play. I wasn’t entirely sure what to
 expect, but it was great. The most striking thing is perhaps the movement. It
 was absolutely incredible. I wish I were able to describe it, but the best I
 can do is recommend that if you’re even in Tokyo, you go see a Kabuki play!&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;I returned home on August 17th. Ate breakfast, lunch and dinner in Tokyo,
 jumped on the plane at 6pm and had another breakfast and lunch. Arrived back in
 Canada 8 hours before I left, and had lunch and dinner again, for a total of
 seven meals on the 17th. Not bad! It was a pretty wild and crazy trip, but it
 was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken. I can’t wait to go back.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Thanks to everyone who put me up along the way! In particular, Annie &amp;amp; Brent,
 and Yasuko! You guys are the best!&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;glossary&#34;&gt;Glossary&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;ol&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Natsu-Matsuri:&lt;/em&gt; every village’s traditional summer festival, usually in
 early- to mid-August, near Obon, the Day of the Dead.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yukata:&lt;/em&gt; traditional light cotton kimonos that come in a variety of colours
 and patterns.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Uchiwa:&lt;/em&gt; Large, flat traditional Japanese fan.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ol&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Back in Canada</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/05/back-in-canada/</link>
       <pubDate>Sun, 26 May 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/05/back-in-canada/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Back in Victoria, B.C. after a two month return home to Canada by land beginning
 in Mérida, Yucatán and continuing through Cuba, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras,
 then all the way back up through Guatemala, México, the U.S. and finally
 across Western Canada.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Chetumal, Quintana Roo, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/04/chetumal-quintana-roo-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Thu, 04 Apr 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/04/chetumal-quintana-roo-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;As we stepped off the Cubana Ilyushin Il-62 plane at the Cancun airport, I
 literally kissed the ground in happiness. The airport was crowded with people
 snacking on good Mexican food and the sound of shouting and laughter filled the
 air. After all the episodes of trouble, dengue fever, and trying to figure out
 what the hell was actually going on, it was easy to lose sight of just how
 great a country México is, and after Cuba, coming back to México felt like
 coming home.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;After arrival, the first challenge is getting from the airport to the Cancún
 bus depot. The shuttle bus drivers&amp;rsquo; union has a strangle-hold on travel from
 the airport in Cancun. They charge 75 pesos per person one-way from the airport
 via the major hotels along La Zona Hotelera to the station. If you happen to be
 living on a wage of 50 pesos an hour, this is practically highway robbery.
 However, it turns out that the shuttle bus drivers only have a monopoly on
 travel from the airport; travel to the airport remains entirely unrestricted.
 Those who take a few minutes to sit and relax out front of the airport for a
 few minutes will notice that there is a clever way around this racket.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Following the example of the locals, we hauled our backpacks across the parking
 lot, headed out the gates of the airport, and started down the highway in 36
 degree heat. Within moments a taxi skidded to a stop, and the driver, nervously
 glancing out the rear window, motioned to us to get in.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;We didn&amp;rsquo;t. Instead, we stood at the window asking &amp;ldquo;cuanto cuesta?&amp;rdquo;, to which he
 shouted &amp;ldquo;no importa! vamos amigos!&amp;rdquo;.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Still we didn&amp;rsquo;t get in. &amp;ldquo;We&amp;rsquo;ll pay 50 pesos&amp;hellip; for the two of us.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Looking insulted, he replied &amp;ldquo;Are you crazy?! I won&amp;rsquo;t do it for less than 70
 pesos each!&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Glancing back toward the airport we told him &amp;ldquo;That&amp;rsquo;s ridiculous, the bus is 75
 pesos, and besides we don&amp;rsquo;t have that kind of money. We live in Merida; we&amp;rsquo;re
 not rich turistas norteamericanos.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;A shuttle bus flew by honking its horn while the driver shook his fist at the
 taxista.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;Bueno! 110 pesos para los dos! Vamos!&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;At 110 pesos, we were still overpaying by Mérida standards, but given that we
 were a 16km walk in scorching heat from the city, I was pretty sure we weren&amp;rsquo;t
 going to get much of a better deal.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;At the bus depot, we bought tickets for Chetumal, 5 hours to the south, then
 made a dive for the nearest yucatecan restaurant. After weeks of oil-drum
 pizzas and roast ham &amp;amp; cheese sandwiches in Cuba, I savoured every last bite of
 my poc-chuc. We finished our horchata, then climbed into the bus for the trip
 to Chetumal.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Confined by the jungle to the southeast corner of Quintana Roo state, and
 squashed between the sea and the Belizean border, Chetumal is the last outpost
 of civilisation before crossing into the jungle to the south. Until the end of
 the 1970s, like much of pre-Cancun Quintana Roo, it was essentially a free zone
 in relatively lawless territory. Trade with British Honduras (now Belize) was
 the foundation of the local economy, and earned it the title of the territory
 (now state) capital. The historical importance of trade gives the city a
 distinct feel from colonial Merida. You can still spot the occasional
 wood-frame house, and the city has a relatively modern atmosphere.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Previously named &lt;em&gt;Chactemal&lt;/em&gt;, the city had served as a Mayan capital since
 pre-Columbian times. The first Spanish missionaries arrived the 16th century,
 and the Conquistadors followed soon after. By 1544, the city had fallen to the
 Spaniards and the remaining Maya fled into Belize, leaving the city all but
 abandoned for the next two centuries.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;At the turn of the 20th century in 1898, Porfirio Diaz, then President of
 Mexico, ordered the establishment of a port at the mouth of the Rio Hondo in
 order to quell the flow of arms across the Belizean border and into the hands
 of the Maya. To this end, the city of Payo Obispo was founded by Othon Blanco
 with the help of Mexicans from the surrounding areas. The economy developed
 quickly and the city grew into the territorial capital by 1915. In 1936, the
 city renamed itself to Chetumal, which it remains to this day.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;All along the waterfront of Chetumal is a gorgeous walkway. Unlike the
 shimmering blue waters of the north-eastern coast of the Yucatan, the water
 here was more reminiscent of the murky green ocean back home on Vancouver
 Island. The locals are adamant that the water is horrifically ugly, but I
 suppose when your bases for comparison are Playa del Carmen, Cozumel and
 Cancun, that you can afford to be picky.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;After sunset, as we wandered through the town, snacking on fresh tamales, we
 were stopped by a couple of old men sitting in chairs on the sidewalk in front
 of a saddle shop. They stopped us to ask where we were from and what brought us
 to Chetumal. We explained we were taking a trip to see Guatemala and part of
 Honduras before returning back to México.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;Why do you want to go to Guatemala? It&amp;rsquo;s a dangerous. It&amp;rsquo;s poor. They have
 nothing. Pickpockets are everywhere, and the people have no dignity left. Life
 is cheap in Guatemala, they&amp;rsquo;ve been surrounded by civil war and death for 30
 years. It&amp;rsquo;s a beautiful country with a terrible history.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;That night, we checked into an 80 peso hotel. The employees were huddled around
 the television furiously debating México&amp;rsquo;s loss to the USA in fútbol.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;The giants defeated us midgets! Look at the size of their players. And the
 Americans don&amp;rsquo;t even care about fútbol! Can you believe this?! This is an
 insult!&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;We tried to console them by mentioning that Mexico would be guarateed to put
 Canada to shame. It was the best we could manage. It didn&amp;rsquo;t help much.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;They shut off the game, and we got to sleep early. Just after the stroke of
 midnight I woke up and, in a final farewell to the bugs I had picked up in
 Cuba, I threw up (in order) the dinner tamale, followed by the entire plate of
 celebratory Poc Chuc I had eaten that afternoon. I felt surprisingly better,
 and fell sound asleep excited about the next day&amp;rsquo;s 12 hour trip down a narrow
 dirt track road through the jungles of Belize and into northern Guatemala.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Trinidad, Sancti Spiritus, Cuba</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/03/trinidad-sancti-spiritus-cuba/</link>
       <pubDate>Thu, 21 Mar 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/03/trinidad-sancti-spiritus-cuba/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Looking down on the ocean from the rolling hills a kilometre away, Trinidad is
 a small, traditional town whose population of 50,000 takes great pride in its
 home. Founded by Diego Velásquez in 1514, Trinidad became a stopover for
 explorers and trading ships travelling to and from México. During the 17th and
 18th centuries, its economy largely depended on trading contraband with
 pirates. The buildings are in incredibly good shape for their age, most of
 which are at least two centuries old. It’s not too tough to see why Trinidad is
 now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2002-03-21-trinidad-street.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Street in Trinidad, Cuba&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Trinidad is about five hours from Havana by bus, and as with everything in
 Cuba, there are two buses: one for Cubans, with a several hour long line-up,
 and one for people with dollars, with basically no wait at all. Upon pulling
 into Trinidad the bus was swarmed by masses of locals offering a room in a casa
 particular. We ended up being shown one house, but it had been freshly painted
 that afternoon and the fumes were pretty rough, so we set out wandering down
 the streets in the dark. By sheer chance, we ran into an old grandfather
 carrying a bucket and pushing his bike up the rickety cobblestone streets and
 when we asked him if he knew of any places to stay he said that in fact, we
 could stay at his house. This is how our planned two-night stay in Trinidad
 ended up turning into a week-long stay in paradise.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Roberto and Elda, their daughter Mercedes, her husband Eddy, and their
 11-year-old son Saúl made our stay in Trinidad one of the most relaxing visits
 we had to anywhere in our travels. We would have breakfast every morning in a
 little courtyard off to the side of the house, spend the mornings wandering the
 cobblestone streets in search of pizza, and the evenings falling asleep to the
 sound of Cuban salsas, merengues, and cha cha chas drifting through the window
 from La Casa de la Trova across the street.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2002-03-21-horse-cart.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Horse-drawn cart driven by man and boy in Trinidad street&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;While most of the old town is centered around the main plaza, cathedral, and
 clock tower, most of the action seemed to center around the plaza in the newer
 part of town down the hill. Old men sitting on park benches sharing a bottle of
 rum, school children eating peso ice cream, and the occasional black market
 cigar salesman trying to pass off some cigars smuggled out of the local factory
 all milled about the plaza in the hot, sticky heat. A bunch of us sat on our
 park bench watching the old men on the bench across from us get progressively
 more drunk from their homebrew, before eventually falling asleep. One thing
 that anyone visiting Cuba can be assured of is eventually being offered a taste
 of homemade rum. My guess is that neither the recipe nor the distilling of this
 rum has changed much over the past few centuries, so you can be assured that
 your experience will be as blindingly nerve-wracking as that of the colonial
 sailors plying the waters of the Caribbean in the 1600s. Following the initial
 jolt of fermented cane sugar hitting your stomach like a rock is the slow
 nauseating feeling of vertigo creeping over your body; after that, a strange
 queasiness, and finally recovery and swearing it off for life&amp;hellip; or at least
 the next day.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;A few days into our stay in Trinidad, as we walked down a dark street off the
 plaza, we heard music pouring out through a half-open gate. Peering inside we
 were greeted with the sight of thirty or so people packed into a small dirt
 courtyard, and a small band of grizzled 80-year-old men playing salsas on their
 guitars and trumpets. People had pulled up some old wooden benches and were
 serving mojitos made (I swear) straight rum, some sugar, and crushed mint. A
 woman named Blanquita invited us in, offered us some mojitos and yanked us up
 off the bench to teach us some salsa while chickens scuttled around our feet.
 It was probably my most vivid memory of Cuba.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>La Habana, Cuba</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/03/la-habana/</link>
       <pubDate>Tue, 19 Mar 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2002/03/la-habana/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Havana is a city of contradictions. It’s simultaneously one of the most
 beautiful and most run down cities in the world. It’s hard to imagine how
 things could be any worse, or any better given the Cuba’s political past and
 present.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2002-03-19-old-havana-street.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Run-down street in Old Havana&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Havana, along with the rest of Cuba, is the way it is almost purely because of
 politics—some of the most complex politics on the planet. If you like history
 or politics, Cuba is for you.  Cuba’s troubled history begins long before the
 Cuban Missile Crisis, or even before the Revolution of 1959. Ever since
 Christopher Columbus set foot on the Isle of Cuba on October 29th, 1492, one
 nation or another has been fighting over the country. For over half a
 millennium now, politics have affected almost every aspect of life in Cuba.
 It’s amazing that despite all this, Cuban culture is felt worldwide through its
 music, dance, and artistry.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;fast-facts&#34;&gt;Fast Facts&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Before we get started, here are a few quick facts to clear up a few common
 misconceptions about Cuba:&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;ul&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;The US embargo was put in place on October 19th, 1960, two years before the
 Cuban Missile Crisis. It was the result of the US Eisenhower Administration’s
 plan to overthrow Castro. This was the result of Cuba nationalizing a lot of
 property sold to the US by Cuba’s former dictator, Fulgencio Batista. In
 1963, after the end of the Missile Crisis, the Kennedy Administration imposed
 a travel ban on US citizens, preventing them from visiting Cuba. Here’s an
 &lt;a href=&#34;http://www.historyofcuba.com/history/funfacts/embargo.htm&#34;&gt;Economic Embargo Timeline&lt;/a&gt;, if you’re interested.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;In 1959, a group of Cuban revolutionaries, including Fidel Castro and Che
 Guevara, led a popular uprising to overthrow Fulgencio Batista, the
 totalitarian dictator who led Cuba from 1934 to 1959. Under Batista, more
 than a third of the land in Cuba was sold off to US interests. In several
 cases, teachers who worked to alphabetize rural villages were tortured and
 killed by Batista’s private police force, for fear that a literate population
 of farmers would be more likely to favour local land ownership, and oppose
 the dictator. Cuba is now a communist country, and Castro is the elected head
 of state. Elections are supervised by international monitors. They work very
 differently from other western electoral systems, however, since there is
 only one party. Like Canadians, Cubans elect local representatives, who
 select a party leader. In practise, Castro has been re-elected President by
 party officials in every election since the Revolution.  Here’s some more
 information on &lt;a href=&#34;http://dodgson.ucsd.edu/las/cuba/1990-2001.htm&#34;&gt;elections in Cuba&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;Today, Cuba’s population is highly educated. The current literacy rate is
 approximately 97%—the same as Canada’s. Before the revolution, the overall
 literacy rate was 23.6%. Castro’s guerrilla manifesto of 1957 included an
 immediate literacy and education campaign, with the slogan &amp;lsquo;Revolution and
 Education are the same thing.&amp;rsquo;&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;It’s illegal to form a party other than the Communist Party, and people live
 under fairly strict supervision by the government compared to most western
 nations.  The movement of Cubans is restricted by the government. The
 Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs maintains a &lt;a href=&#34;https://travel.gc.ca/destinations/cuba&#34;&gt;fact page&lt;/a&gt;
 on Cuba, as does &lt;a href=&#34;https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/resources/the-world-factbook/geos/cu.html&#34;&gt;the CIA&lt;/a&gt; in the United States.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;Cuba’s media is not entirely restricted, and Cubans can tune in to Miami and
 Mexican radio stations. The national newspaper, Granma is published by the
 Communist Party and is &lt;a href=&#34;http://www.granma.cu/&#34;&gt;available online&lt;/a&gt; in several languages.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ul&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;I was going to include a quick whirlwind tour of the history of Cuba here. I
 started on it, but by the time I got to the late 19th century it was already
 ten paragraphs long. Instead, if you want an excellent point-form history, have
 a look at &lt;a href=&#34;http://www.historyofcuba.com/&#34;&gt;A History of Cuba&lt;/a&gt;. If you want something more in
 depth, specifically focusing on US-Cuban relations, the multi-volume set &lt;em&gt;A
 History of Cuba and its relations with The United States&lt;/em&gt; by Philip S. Foner is
 excellent.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2002-03-19-old-havana-door.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Crumbling doorway in Old Havana&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;arrival-in-havana&#34;&gt;Arrival in Havana&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The flight to Cuba was probably the craziest flights I’ve ever experienced. We
 boarded the ancient, Soviet-built Cubana Yak-42 jet in Cancún and took our
 seats. The first thing we noticed as we sat down was that the safety
 instruction cards were printed in Russian. The second, and more alarming thing
 we noticed was that smoke was slowly filling the cabin. The flight attendants
 assured people that it was just steam, and that it was totally normal. By the
 time we landed in Cuba, The cabin was filled chest high and we couldn’t see our
 knees anymore. We got off the plane as quickly as possible, were packed into a
 rickety old East-German bus and carted off to immigration.  Once in Havana, we
 checked into Hotel Flamingo where we stayed for our first two days while we
 explored Havana. Across the street were a bunch of featureless, utilitarian,
 crumbling apartment buildings, which are apparently identical to the ones that
 were built across the Communist Block countries during the Soviet era. You’re
 surrounded on all sides by relics of the Soviet era: East German and Polish
 buses, Russian radios and record players, and tons of North Korean equipment.
 It’s fascinating to see a country that exists almost entirely apart from the
 US. When it comes to the States, it’s as though time stopped in 1959. The only
 Chevys and Buicks to be seen are 1950s models. All new cars are Ladas, Yugos,
 Polski Fiats, or Chinese and North Korean imports. Supposedly push-by shootings
 from Ladas aren’t as big a problem here as they are in Russia.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Old Havana La Habana Vieja is something amazing to see. Walking down the
 streets of Old Havana, you’re surrounded by some of the most incredible
 architecture you’ve ever witnessed. What’s even more incredible is that it’s
 crumbling all around you. Ornate gargoyles and balconies have decayed and
 collapsed with age; the paint is peeling, and everything is covered in a thick
 layer of dirt and grime. Broken windows are everywhere, and yet people continue
 to live in these buildings that elsewhere in the world would have long since
 been condemned.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Another thing not to be missed in Havana is sitting in the park in front of the
 Museo de la Revolución and eating freshly roasted peanuts out of a rolled up
 newspaper. For one peso, you can buy salted peanuts from street vendors, rolled
 up in an old copy of a page from &lt;em&gt;Granma&lt;/em&gt;, and sit back and watch kids play
 baseball in the street.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Baseball is everywhere in Cuba. You can’t turn around without seeing a game
 going on. Baseball equipment, on the other hand, is hard to come by. This
 doesn’t stop anyone from playing the game, however. A rock wrapped in rubber
 bands makes a pretty decent baseball, and we saw a lot of kids who could hit
 some amazing runs with a broom handle baseball bat. If you visit Cuba,
 something that’ll make any kid’s day is a baseball. Pencils and pens make nice
 gifts too.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2002-03-19-vintage-american-cars.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Vintage American cars&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;dollars-and-pesos&#34;&gt;Dollars and Pesos&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;There are two things that everyone who visits Cuba should do. The first is to
 experience live Cuban music, which you can read about in the Trinidad section.
 The second is to convert some dollars to Cuban Pesos. Cuba has three official
 currencies: Cuban Pesos, US Dollars, and Cuban Convertible Pesos. The Cuban
 Convertible Peso was introduced to reduce the dependency on actual US dollars,
 but are worth exactly one dollar in Cuba, and exactly zero dollars off the
 island. Cuban Pesos are a soft currency, and as such, have no practical value
 as an exchangeable currency; however, exchanges do happen at wildly fluctuating
 rates. We got 26 pesos to the dollar.  Cuba has two economies that don’t
 overlap even remotely. Hard-currency stores charge US prices in US dollars and
 sell high-end items. Bottled water is about $1.00 a bottle, soap is $0.50 a
 bar, and meat and cheese are similar in price to what they would be in Canada
 or the US. However, Cubans are paid in pesos at a rate of about 200-400 pesos a
 month — about 8 to 16 dollars. That makes a bottle of water worth somewhere
 around 10% of your monthly paycheque. Try the math with your paycheque. Soft
 currency shops sell local goods, such as fruit and vegetables, for pesos.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The reason you should convert some money is that finding a place to spend your
 newly acquired pesos will force you to discover a whole part of Cuba you might
 otherwise never have seen. Cubans buy things in soft currency at markets or
 shops that sell in pesos. The items you can buy for pesos are universally
 locally produced items such as locally farmed foods, small pizzas baked on the
 street in oil drums converted to wood ovens, and some ice cream. A pizza, which
 is basically a piece of bread with a little tomato sauce, some oil, and bit of
 salt on it, sells for 3 pesos, which is about 12 cents US. The reason it’s so
 cheap is that peso goods are subsidised by the work you do for the state. Basic
 food staples such as beans and rice are part of your government supplied
 rations, and can be obtained with your ration card at certain shops. When you
 can find it, food sold on the street is usually in pesos. Food in paladares¹,
 hotels, and touristy places is almost universally in dollars.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2002-03-19-camelo.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Camelo bus&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;the-rich-and-the-poor&#34;&gt;The Rich and the Poor&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The one thing that struck us immediately was the uniformity of income in Cuba.
 In México, there are two extremes: the extremely rich and the extremely poor.
 The middle class is tiny compared to Canada, where the middle class is the
 norm. In Cuba, almost everyone lives in something that is not exactly poverty,
 but at the same time they have basically no buying power. They have what the
 government gives them, and little else. The income difference between a street
 sweeper and a specialist doctor is about $7 a month vs. $15 a month. No matter
 how you cut it, the $8 difference doesn’t buy much. It’s hard to get imported
 goods no matter what, and what you can get is often on the black market.
 Although under communism employment is universal and housing is provided by the
 state, there are still people who turn to begging because it can be far more
 lucrative than work in a factory for $8 a month. As a result of the incredibly
 tiny incomes in Cuba, jineteros² have become more numerous, and will follow you
 wherever you go, trying to drag you to a restaurant or shop where you’ll spend
 your money. A lot of people on the street beg for soap or toothpaste when the
 police aren’t watching. One man told us he’d do anything, even get down on his
 knees and beg if it would make a difference.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Given all this, was the trip to Cuba worth it? Without a doubt. We met some
 absolutely wonderful people, and learned a ton about Cuban history and
 politics. The government isn’t the oppressive dictatorship many people would
 like to believe, and it’s certainly an improvement over Batista’s brutal
 dictatorship; however, things could certainly be a lot better than they are,
 and Castro isn’t exactly known for his spectacular record on civil liberties.
 The Cubans we met were friendly and welcoming, not to mention incredibly good
 dancers. When we ran into difficulty getting cash out of our Mexican bank
 accounts due to the embargo, one family we stayed with offered to reduce our
 room rate, and give us a cheap ride to the airport so we didn’t have to pay the
 taxi fare. Falling asleep to live Cuban music every night was worth the trip
 alone.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;glossary&#34;&gt;Glossary&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;ol&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Paladar:&lt;/em&gt; a small independent restaurant. One of the allowed forms of
 capitalism in Cuba.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Jinetero:&lt;/em&gt; Literally a &amp;lsquo;jockey.&amp;rsquo; Jineteros will approach you and offer to
 show you a restaurant or store. In exchange, the restaurant charges you
 extra for your meal and the jinetero gets to keep the surcharge.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ol&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Valladolid, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/valladolid-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Thu, 27 Dec 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/valladolid-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;In 1543, Francisco de Montejo (the nephew of Mérida’s famous Francisco de
 Montejo) descended on the ceremonial centre of the Zací (Hawk) Maya, waging war
 on the &lt;em&gt;Cupules&lt;/em&gt;, a group of Maya that hadn’t taken kindly to the Spanish
 conquistadors. When the battle was done and the town had been razed, he renamed
 it Valladolid in honour of the Spanish city of the same name. Today, Valladolid
 is one of the most beautiful colonial cities in the Yucatán, with a mix of
 Spanish and Maya influences. Maya from local pueblas and from the city sell
 traditional &lt;em&gt;huipiles&lt;/em&gt; near the plaza downtown. The city is still roughly
 centered on the &lt;em&gt;Cenote Zací&lt;/em&gt; that was the ceremonial centre of the original
 Mayan settlement.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-27-cenote.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;View of Cenote Zací. Stalactites and vines hang from above. A few swimmers can be seen near the edge of the pool. A path leads upwards through the trees.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The cenote is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. To get to it, you hike
 down a passage into a cavern, then wind your way down the side to get to water
 level. The water is a deep turquoise colour, and is absolutely crystal clear.
 In the shallow areas, you can easily see fallen stalactites lying 30 metres
 below on the bottom. In the deep parts, you won’t see the bottom—it’s more than
 100 metres deep. The same little blind fish that are present in the cenote at
 Dzibilchaltún will nibble your toes in this cenote as well.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Above the cenote is a little zoo with spider monkeys, who spend most of their
 afternoon playing with toys, and getting fed potato chips by laughing groups of
 kids. What was more interesting, however, was that they had a raccoon in the
 zoo. You don’t see them in México at all, and most people we asked didn’t know
 what the Spanish word for it was, until an old man we ran into told us it was
 &lt;em&gt;mapache&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The main plaza of the city is gorgeous. With ornate lamp posts, hanging baskets
 full of flowers, and beautiful hedges, it was the Yucatán’s answer to Victoria.
 The streets downtown are kept immaculately clean by a crew of street cleaners
 who run through the streets every morning at 5 am. The government of Spain has
 apparently deemed Valladolid to be one of the most Spanish cities in the
 Americas, and donates money to help in its preservation.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-27-cenote-top.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;View from above, looking down into Cenote Zací. Vines hang down to the water from above. A stone staircase leads up from the dark blue-green waters. A few scattered fallen leaves litter the surface of the water.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Probably the most exciting thing that happened while we were there was the
 rain. We had gone off in search of what is supposed to be an absolutely amazing
 cathedral and graveyard somewhere in the southwestern part of the city. In
 typical Mexican fashion, everyone we talked to was able to tell us in
 approximately what direction it was, so we were able to slowly make our way
 there stumbling randomly from one Vallisoletana to the next. We never did find
 it, but not for any lack of determination, but because it started to rain. Now,
 when I say rain, I don’t mean the rain we get in Victoria. I don’t even mean
 Vancouver rain. To fully appreciate a Yucatecan rain storm, you really need to
 experience one. Imagine the streets filling with water, then overflowing onto
 the sidewalks until the whole city is two feet deep in rainwater. We did the
 only thing we could do: jump into a corner store. The guys in the store reacted
 the same way any other Mexicans all over the country would react: toss over a
 couple chairs and invite us in to watch some TV. We bought some cookies and
 juice and sat for 45 minutes or so, watching the water level in the street
 outside rise closer and closer to the edge of the door before we finally
 decided that we were going to make a break for it, only stopping once for a
 slice of cheesecake in a bakery along the way back to the hotel.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Valladolid is also famous for the cenote at Dzitnup, about 10 km out of town.
 While we never did make it there, we heard some amazing stories about it from
 Nick, an Irishman from Cork we met in San Cristóbal de las Casas. What is so
 incredible about it is that it’s at the bottom of a dark cavern, with a small
 opening in the roof. At the right time of day, the sun shines through this
 opening and into the turquoise waters of the cenote, making it apear as though
 you’re bathing in light. The actual name of the cenote is &lt;em&gt;Kiken&lt;/em&gt; which is
 Yucatec Maya for &amp;lsquo;pig,&amp;rsquo; because the cenote was originally discovered by a farmer
 whose his pig had fallen in through the hole in the roof.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Valladolid is also famous for its uprisings. What transpired in Valladolid in
 June of 1910 helped to spark the Mexican Revolution that erupted in the rest of
 the country that November when Francisco Madero flew across the border into
 Piedras Negras, Coahuila. The revolution wasn’t over until 1920; but as they
 say, the opening chapters were written in blood, here in Valladolid.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-27-truck.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;The rusted carcass of a truck parked on the side of the street. Painted across the front: Duele mas andar a pie (it hurts more to walk). On the bent and twisted remains of the bumper: Asi como me vez te veras (one day, you&amp;#39;ll look like this too).&#34;&gt;&lt;figcaption&gt;
       &lt;h4&gt;&amp;#39;It hurts more to walk&amp;#39;&lt;/h4&gt;
     &lt;/figcaption&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Unhappy with Spanish control of a land they considered their own, a small band
 of revolutionaries had worked together for months, planning the overthrow of
 governor Moñoz Aristegui. On the night of June 3rd, 1910, all those committed
 to the plan met in the Plaza de la Santa Lucia at midnight. Under the command
 of Ruz Ponce and José Kantún, one group stormed the police quarter, killing the
 guard outside and taking everyone else prisoner. Another group, led by Claudio
 Alconcer and Atilano Albertos took the office of the Mexican Guard, killing the
 Sergeant of the Guard, Facundo Gil. The governor, Felipe de Regil, asleep in
 bed at the time, woke up to the sound of gunfire outside in the streets. He
 immediately jumped out of bed and, a gun in each hand, ran into the street
 firing on the revolutionaries. He fought bravely until the end, when he was
 finally killed and left lying in the street.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;At this point, there was no turning back for the insurgents. They now had the
 support of nearly the entire city, and within three days had amassed an army of
 no less than 1500 men, armed with guns and machetes. Most had no military
 training. Local landowners provided weapons, ammunition and food.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;In Mérida, this uprising had not gone unnoticed. While the locals were
 preparing in Valladolid, the government had sent a column of 65 men eastward
 with 300 guns, recruiting villagers along the way. Under the command of Colonel
 Ignacio Lara, they marched easward to Tinum, 12 km outside of Valladolid, where
 they waited for reinforcements to arrive. The cannons of Morelos arrived in
 Valladolid on the 7th. On the 8th, Lara led his men to the outskirts of the
 city, where, at dawn on the 9th of June, they began the assault on Valladolid.
 A batallion of 600 federal troops arrived on the 10th. Poorly equiped,
 untrained, and out of ammunition, the rebels fell under the three ferocious
 onslaughts. The death tolls were high on both sides: more than 100
 revolutionaries and over 30 government soldiers had been killed. This was the
 highest balance of deaths of any battle ever fought in México, and would remain
 so until the Revolution began that November.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The leaders of the revolt were eventually rounded up, tried and sentenced to
 death. In the courtyard of the Shrine of San Roque, Kantún, Albertos, and
 Bonilla faced the firing squad. That November, Francisco Madero launched the
 Mexican Revolution, and by the following April, 17000 people had taken up arms
 against Porfirio Diaz and his government. The rest is &lt;a href=&#34;http://history.acusd.edu/gen/projects/border/page01.html&#34;&gt;history&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Chichen Itzá, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/chichen-itza-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Wed, 26 Dec 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/chichen-itza-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Somewhere on the old highway between Cancún and Mérida lies Chichen Itzá. The
 ruins at this site cover over 15 square kilometres, with &lt;em&gt;El Castillo&lt;/em&gt; alone
 taking up 0.4 hectares. At 83 metres in length, the Ball Court is the largest
 in Meso-America. The close proximity of the ruins to Cancún and the size of
 some of the structures have made these the most famous Mayan ruins in the
 country.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-26-el-castillo.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;A view from the ground below the El Castillo pyramid at Chichen Itzá. Visitors climb the steep staircase leading up the centre of the face of the pyramid. A few people stand silhouetted at the top, looking down on the surrouding jungle.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The image that most people associate with Chichen Itzá is &lt;em&gt;El Castillo&lt;/em&gt;. The
 pyramid rises more than 23 metres above the ground, with steep staircases up
 all four sides, leading to a small building at the top. What’s so spectacular
 about it is the fact that this pyramid is actually a huge Mayan calendar built
 of stone.  The four staircases leading to the top have 91 steps each, which
 when added to the platform at the top, make 365. On the sides are 52 panels
 representing the 52 years of the traditional Mayan calendar round. The pyramid
 is composed of nine terraced platforms on either side of the two primary
 staircases, for a total of 18, the number of months in the Mayan calendar. If
 you’re still not convinced of the Mayans’ astronomical prowess, you can easily
 convince yourself by visiting on either the spring or the fall equinox when, as
 the sun rises over the jungle, the form of a giant serpent is projected onto
 the sides of the two primary staircases, each of which has a giant stone
 serpent head at its base. This illusion is created by the precise alignment of
 the terraces in relation to position of the sun.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;In a corner in the shade of one of the giant staircases leading up the side of
 El Castillo is a door. Once or twice a day, the door is opened, and groups of
 20 or so are allowed inside. A narrow passage leads to a steep staircase that
 runs up the side of another pyramid inside El Castillo. It’s narrow, cramped,
 hot and humid, not to mention dark, but the climb is worth it. Eventually, at
 the top of the staircase, if you’re lucky or pushy enough, you can catch a
 glimpse of a jewel-encrusted jaguar altar, used by the Maya for sacrifices.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-26-ball-court.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;The ball court at Chichen Itzá. Large, perfectly flat stone walls rise above the grass. Two stone hoops protrude, one from each wall, facing sideways. A crowd of people stands at the far end of the court.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The Ball Court is another feat of engineering. The walls are each approximately
 8 metres high, with structures at the top for viewing the game. At either end
 of the court is an elaborate stone temple. But what is so amazing about the
 Ball Court is its acoustics. A whisper at one end can be clearly heard at the
 other end, 135 metres away. In fact, the sound reflection at the centre of the
 court is so incredible, you can hear at least nine echos if you clap or shout.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The following excerpt, by one of the supervising archaeologists restoring the
 ruins, describes the acoustics:&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;blockquote&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Chi cheen Itsa’s famous &amp;lsquo;Ball-court&amp;rsquo; or Temple of the Maize cult offers the
 visitor besides its mystery and impressive architecture, its marvellous
 acoustics If a person standing under either ring claps his hands or yells, the
 sound produced will be repeated several times gradually losing its volume, A
 single revolver shot seems machine-gun fire. The sound waves travel with equal
 force to East or West, day or night. disregarding the wind’s direction. Anyone
 speaking in a normal voice from the &amp;lsquo;Forum&amp;rsquo; can be clearly heard in the &amp;lsquo;Sacred
 Tribune&amp;rsquo; five hundred feet away or vice-versa. If a short sentence, for
 example, &amp;lsquo;Do you hear me?&amp;rsquo; is pronounced it will be repeated word by word&amp;hellip;
 Parties from one extreme to the other can hold a conversation without raising
 their voices.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;This transmission of sound, as yet unexplained, has been discussed by
 architects and archaeologists &amp;hellip; Most of them used to consider it as fanciful
 due to the ruined conditions of the structure but, on the contrary, we who have
 engaged in its reconstruction know well that the sound volume, instead of
 disappearing, has become stronger and clearer&amp;hellip; Undoubtedly we must consider
 this feat of acoustics as another noteworthy achievement of engineering
 realized millenniums ago by the Maya technicians.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;—Chi Cheen Itza by Manuel Cirerol Sansores, 1947&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;/blockquote&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Aside from the Ball Court and &lt;em&gt;El Castillo&lt;/em&gt;, there are dozens of other sites of
 interest. There are no less than three cenotes around the site, one of which
 was filled with tens of thousands of artifacts, from neclaces and jewelry to
 the bones of human and animal sacrifices. The Hall of the Thousand Pillars is
 also incredible to walk through, with each pillar featuring unique carvings and
 inscriptions; on some, traces of red and blue paint are still visible.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The site was originally populated by the Itzáes around 500 AD, and slowly built
 up until 900 AD, at which point it was completely abandonned. No one knows why
 the Itzáes left so abruptly, but it appears that the city was re-populated
 about 100 years later, and then attacked by the Toltecs, a tribe known for its
 brutality at war. Structures from the period between 1000 and 1300 AD show
 marked Toltec influences, including numeral reliefs of Toltec gods, including
 Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent. The city was abandonned once again around
 1300, this time permanently.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Tulúm, Quintana Roo, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/tulum-quintana-roo-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Mon, 24 Dec 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/tulum-quintana-roo-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Between San Cristóbal and Tulúm is a long, empty road. The overnight bus works
 beautifully for this trip, winding its way through the mountains, jungle and
 the vast plains of the Yucatán. The only major stop along the way is Escarcega,
 Campeche. By major, I mean a couple of comida corrida places, a papaya tree,
 and a dusty bus stop on a long, empty stretch of highway. By six in the
 morning, we were in Tulúm, a slightly bigger collection of restaurants and bus
 stops along a long, empty stretch of highway. We grabbed a plate of
 &lt;em&gt;huevos motuleños&lt;/em&gt; and some coffee, which (I swear that I am not making this
 up) was blue. Sort of an off-grey blue. It tasted like milk mixed with
 dishwater.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-24-tulum.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Mayan ruins sit on a bluff of rock covered with low scrub overlooking the Caribbean. Below, waves crash against the rocks.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The best time to see the ruins is, without a doubt, sunrise. The ruins at
 Tulúm, while not spectacular except for the two-metre rock wall surrounding the
 site on three sides, have one of the best views you could possibly hope for.
 The structures sit nestled amid the rolling green grass and white sandy
 beaches, hovering over the turquoise Caribbean. As the sun rises, the whole
 place is bathed in a warm orangey-red glow. Sitting on ruins watching the waves
 is pretty relaxing.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Since Tulúm is so close to Playa del Carmen and Cancún, the number of visitors
 is absoutely huge compared to a lot of other Mayan ruins, and especially given
 the small size of these ruins. Because of that, most of the structures are
 off-limits to the public, so you can’t climb up on them as you can at most
 other sites. In the end, it’s nice to see that these ruins are being protected,
 but Palenque, Uxmal and Chichen Itzá are a lot more fun. That said, if you look
 hard enough, you will find a couple structures you can sit down on.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/san-cristobal-de-las-casas-chiapas-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Fri, 21 Dec 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/san-cristobal-de-las-casas-chiapas-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;San Cristóbal is, without question, one of the most beautiful towns in Mexico.
 It’s also the ideal temperature for visiting Canadians, with the temperature
 hovering around 10 °C, and the humidity close to 100% during the daytime in
 winter. It’s cold, damp and cloudy. After months of scorching heat and
 humidity, I was in heaven. San Cristóbal makes an ideal base from which to do
 day-trips to the surrounding villages of San Juan Chamula and
 Zinacantán—indigenous villages comprising the Tzotzil and Tzeltal indigenous
 groups respectively.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-21-plaza.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;The bright yellow façade of a catheral faces the main plaza in San Cristóbal de las Casas. Pedestrials mill about the square in groups.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;In town, we met a law student named Luís who took a group of us to the
 villages. In San Juan Chamula, we first visited the shaman’s hut for the
 village, where we learned about the mix of Catholicism and traditional beliefs
 practised in the village. We then continued on to the village church which was
 probably the highlight of the visit. Seeing the mix of beliefs being practised
 there was incredible: everything from prayers to the Catholic saints to burning
 incense to chicken sacrifices and ceremonial purgings. Photography isn’t
 allowed in the church and out of respect to the Chamulans, we won’t describe
 everything in detail on the web, but suffice to say that it was an incredibly
 worthwhile visit.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Zinacantán is only a few kilometres away, but the villagers speak an entirely
 different language, Tzeltal. Here, the church is much more traditional,
 although most villagers still maintain strong ties to traditional indigenous
 beliefs, such as worshipping the Earth Lord and placing a strong emphasis on
 the interpretation of dreams. For a more detailed look at the beliefs and
 culture of the people of Zinacantán, we’d suggest &lt;em&gt;Dreams and Stories from the
 People of the Bat&lt;/em&gt; by Robert Laughlin. This book is a collection of dreams and
 their interpretations as told by the villagers of Zinacantán, as well as a
 series of short stories passed from generation to generation in the village.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The town also produces many traditional handicrafts typical of Chiapas:
 blankets, clothing, dolls, etc. The villagers take these to San Cristóbal to
 sell them at the markets and on the street. The textiles are all made from
 hand, from the thread, to hand-weaving and embroidering. Typically, a
 medium-sized blanket takes two to three weeks to produce.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-21-beans.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Dozens of varieties of dried beans in many colours arrayed for sale in bins and large sacks for sale at the market&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Back in San Cristóbal, we spent a few days visiting the markets and wandering
 around town trying out the local food before heading back north for Palenque
 again. On our way out of town we noticed a small shanty-town suburb in a gravel
 pit. On a big yellow arch, bold black letters declared the name of the colonia:
 &lt;em&gt;Sal Si Puedes&lt;/em&gt;, &amp;lsquo;Get Out If You Can&amp;rsquo;. Just past this is the massive military
 encampment that has been in place since 1994 when the EZLN (Zapatista
 Liberation Army) overthrew and occupied the town before being driven out by
 reinforcements sent in, causing a bloodbath. There is a lot less tension now
 than there was then, but the Zapatistas still have incredibly high support in
 the villages just outside of town. The Mexican government under Vincente Fox
 has been much more responsive to indigenous peoples than previous governments
 have been, although in recent months this seems to be less and less the case.
 There’s still a lot of work to do before the indigenous groups in Mexico are
 able to live in conditions similar to the rest of the population. Most people
 in the villages still lack food, clothing and (non-dirt) floors in their
 houses, let alone running water and electricity. And although Chiapas produces
 more electricity than any other state, less than half the population has
 electricity in its home.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Palenque, Chiapas, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/palenque-chiapas-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Tue, 18 Dec 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/12/palenque-chiapas-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;For Christmas, we decided to take a trip to the state of Chiapas, about an 8
 hour bus ride from Mérida. Although Chiapas has been a somewhat politically
 unstable state during the past 10 years, it is also home to some of the most
 incredible scenery, archaeological sites and indigenous culture in the
 country.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-12-18-temple-of-inscriptions.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;The Mayan ruins of the Temple of the Inscriptions at Palenque towering over a courtyard surrounded by jungle. A large staircase leads up the main face of the pyramid. Rain pours down in torrents.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The town of Palenque sits only a few minutes by bike, foot or bus from the
 ruins of the ancient Mayan city of Palenque. The ruins themselves extend over a
 huge area and are composed of many smaller groups of structures situated around
 plazas. The most impressive of these are probably the main plaza—which is
 surrounded by the Temple of the Inscriptions and the palace/observatory
 tower—and the Sun Temple Plaza.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The Temple of the Inscriptions is well-known for housing the sarcophagus and
 jade death mask of Pakal, former ruler of the city. Unfortunately, it&amp;rsquo;s no
 longer possible to visit the inside of the Temple of the Inscriptions without a
 research permit. In theory, that involves applications via your university and
 submissions of your research to the government; in practice it involves 150
 pesos to the right people.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Dzibilchaltún, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/09/dzibilchaltun-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Tue, 11 Sep 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/09/dzibilchaltun-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;About halfway between Mérida and Progresso lie the ruins of Dzibilchaltún, an
 important centre in the ancient world of the Maya. The name means &amp;lsquo;The place
 with writing on the stones.&amp;rsquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-09-11-munecas-door.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;View framed by the doorway of the of Templo de las Siete Muñecas looking out over the ruins of a stone building and four-sized stone stela on a raised platform. A path leads past the ruins, through the low jungle, and towards the horizon.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Dzibilchaltún covers an area of about 16 square kilometres, in which there are
 about 8400 structures. The central part of the site covers three square
 kilometres, which includes several temples and pyramids, as well as a cenote of
 unknown depth, one of the largest in the Yucatán. Many of the structures date
 back as far as 500 B.C.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;From downtown Mérida, you can catch a colectivo that stops down the road from
 the temple. A 10 minute hike from there along a trail through the jungle gets
 you to the entrance to the site, where they charge 50 pesos per person ($7.50
 CDN) to get in. The day we arrived, it was a scorching 40-something degrees,
 with 100% humidity, so the fact that the small museum on the site was
 air-conditionned was worth the price of admission in itself.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The site is divided into two parts, separated by a one kilometre long road. At
 one end is the Temple of the Seven Dolls, named after seven ceramic dolls found
 there as offerings to the gods. At the other end is a courtyard, a pyramid, a
 ball court and the cenote, as well as an open chapel that was constructed
 during the Colonial era, in the late 16th and early 17th century.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-09-11-munecas-outside.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;View of the Templo de las Siete Muñecas from the path. In the foreground, a hiker walks toward a large worn stela on a raised platform.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The Temple of the Seven Dolls is probably the most interesting part of the
 site. At least it was to us. At one time, the temple was adorned with plaster
 friezes, molded to the shapes of intertwined serpents, hieroglyphs, and masks,
 though these friezes are no longer on the structure itself. The building is
 thought to have served as an astronomical observatory, and during the Vernal
 and Autumnal Equinoxes, an interesting phenonmenon can be seen at sunrise.
 During the Equinoxes, the sun is perfectly aligned such that the morning
 sunlight passes directly between two sets of opposing doors on the temple,
 casting the light down into the courtyard facing the structure. Many people
 pile into Dzibilchaltún between 5:00 and 6:00 in the morning to witness the
 sunrise, then run back out and pile into a bus to Chichen Itza to watch the
 more spectacular effect of the sun casting light in the shape of a giant
 serpent slithering up the side of the temple there in the afternoon. If you
 don’t happen to be a teacher who has classes on these days, this is apparently
 the thing to do.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The cenote on the other side of the site is open for swimming, if you don’t
 mind thousands of little fish chasing you around the whole time. What’s
 curious, of course, is that there are any fish at all in the cenotes, since
 they’re fed by a series of deep, underwater channels of water that snake
 beneath the entire peninsula. There are no rivers or streams connecting them on
 the surface, so the fish have to descend to incredible depths (over 100 m) to
 move between one cenote and the next. From what people have told us, the fish
 that live in the cenotes are blind, which is kind of cool.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;We hiked back out to the road after a few hours of wandering around, the sat
 waiting for a colectivo to drive by and pick us up. For 30 minutes we sat
 around, the air totally still and boiling hot, with only the sound of the
 mosquitos and the cow in the field next to us. I’m not entirely sure what was
 wrong with it, but the way it hollered made it sound demented and insane. I
 honestly hope I never drink any milk from that one; no way that’s safe.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Isla Mujeres, Quintana Roo, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/09/isla-mujeres-quintana-roo-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Thu, 06 Sep 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/09/isla-mujeres-quintana-roo-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-09-06-lancha.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;A small &amp;#39;lancha&amp;#39; boat floats in the crystal-clear blue waters of the Caribbean, moored a few metres offshore a white sandy beach.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;blockquote&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Lo que tu eres, yo fui&lt;br&gt;
 Lo que yo soy, luego serás&lt;br&gt;
 &lt;em&gt;—Inscription on the pirate Mundaca’s Tomb&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;/blockquote&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Many, many years ago, a pirate by the name of Fermin Antonio Mundaca de
 Marechaja landed on Isla Mujeres and fell in love with a young lady whose name
 has been long forgotten. Today, she is known only as &lt;em&gt;La Trigueña&lt;/em&gt; (The
 Brunette), the name by which he referred to her. In order to win her love,
 Mundaca built an elaborate hacienda, erected archways and laid paths throughout
 the gardens. He had trees and plants brought from all over the world to plant
 in the gardens. Unfortunately, before he finished this masterpiece, she ran off
 with another islander and got married. Today, his house lays in ruins in the
 middle of what remains of his fortress. And if you look carefully, you can
 faintly work out the words &lt;em&gt;La Trigueña&lt;/em&gt; carved into the stone archway. Mundaca
 eventually died of the plague in Mérida, but his small tomb can still be seen
 among the headstones of the small cemetary near the north beach of town.
 Adorned with an eerily grinning skull and crossbones, it bears no name, but
 carries the inscription: &amp;lsquo;As you are, I was. As I am, you will be.&amp;rsquo;&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;With a couple weeks before school and work starts, we decided to visit Isla
 Mujeres (lit. The Island of Women), a small island that sits about 11 km off
 the east coast of the Yucatán Peninsula, in Quintana Roo. A few hours east of
 Mérida, the island is surrounded by the turquoise, bathtub warm, crystal clear
 waters of the Caribbean, and is the site of some spectacular snorkeling and
 diving.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Isla Mujeres is tiny—about 8 km long and between 300 and 800 metres wide—and
 has a population of 7000 residents. The main part of the town sits on the
 north-west tip of the island, but there are some smaller &lt;em&gt;colonias&lt;/em&gt; in the
 central Salinas area, as well as on the south end. Although it was once a
 fishing town, the main business today is tourism. Unlike Cancún, however, Isla
 Mujeres has a much more relaxed, laid back pace of life, and it hasn’t yet
 turned into a party town full of drunken gringos. The locals appear to want to
 keep it this way, and the local San Francisco store stops selling alcohol at
 8:30 or 9:00 in the evenings.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-09-06-sunset.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;In the distance, the silhouette of a lancha passes through the shimmering reflection of the setting sun&amp;#39;s light on the ocean.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;From the downtown Cancún bus station, we grabbed the Route 13 bus north along
 Avenida Tulum to the Puerto Juarez ferry terminal, then hopped on a boat for
 the 30 minute ferry ride to the island. We spent the whole ride locked in a
 psychological battle trying not to jump off into the gorgeous blue water; it
 was sheer torture. Apparently we weren’t the only ones—as soon as the boat
 pulled alongside the Isla Mujeres dock, one 40 year old passenger jumped
 overboard and swam to shore.We spent the next few days wandering around the
 island on foot. Like a lot of touristy places in Mexico, there are thousands of
 people trying to sell you anything and everything on the street. Fortunately,
 the city is small enough that all the hawkers seem to be packed into two blocks
 along Avenida Hidalgo between Av. Abasolo and Av. Lopez Mateos. Unfortunately,
 that’s the easiest way to get to the beach. Fortunately (yet again), it’s
 easily bypassed by taking the scenic route.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The best times of day for the beach are sunrise and sunset. The boatloads of
 tourists from Cancún aren’t there, and the beach is nearly empty. The water
 stays warm 24 hours a day, and the sunsets and sunrises are spectacular. During
 the afternoons, the beach is packed with people and the sun is intense enough
 that if you don’t fork over the 60 pesos ($10 Canadian) for a beach umbrella,
 you’ll fry like bacon, even with the SPF 50 they sell at the super market.
 There’s a reason most Mexicans swim in shorts and a t-shirt.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;There are a lot of other things to do on the island. One of the most
 interesting is the Sea Turtle conservation park. This is the only facility in
 Mexico dedicated to preserving endangered sea turtles, such as the Hawk’s Bill
 Turtle, which grows to over 100 kg, and lives to around 120 years old. The sea
 turtles have been hunted to near extinction because of world-wide demand from
 for their meat and shells. At the conservation facility, the turtles are bred,
 cared for, then released back into the wild. There are no railings on the
 walkways above the huge walled off section of ocean where the largest of the
 turtles swim, and according to the guy who showed us around, if you fall in,
 &amp;rsquo;te comen!&amp;rsquo;, &amp;rsquo;they eat you!&#39;.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-09-06-skeletons.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Four small hand-carved wooden skeleton toys playing musical instruments and wearing sombreros sit on the step of a storefront with their feet on the sidewalk. A small wooden armadillo wanders by.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The ruins of Mundaca’s fortress are in the central part of the island, and if
 you want to be eaten alive by mosquitos (there are Dengue Fever warnings all
 over the place on the Yucatán Peninsula, by the way) it’s a great place to go.
 No wonder the object of Mundaca’s affections ditched him for another man. Any
 sensible pirate would have built his fortress on the beach or at least within
 walking distance. Mundaca built his in the marshiest, grottiest, most densely
 jungled part of the island. On the bright side there is, however, a sort of
 small zoo in his gardens, with alligators, monkeys, a deer, and apparently a
 jaguar, though we never got to see it, because the mosquitos drove us out
 first. By the twentieth or thirtieth bite, we’d had more than enough of
 Mundaca’s place.On the south side of the island, there’s Playa Garrafón, which
 is part of a national park, but seems to have been recently turned into an
 expensive tourist trap, complete with all-you-can-eat restaurants, zip lines,
 &amp;lsquo;underwater adventure&amp;rsquo; and more construction, all for the low, ubeatable price
 of $35 US a day! I believe they even translated that price into pesos
 underneath in small type. We actually went next door, paid 20 pesos (about $2
 US) and had the whole beach to ourselves. We snorkeled around the wharf and a
 small reef, then Pablo and Armando, who ran the place, took us out to a reef 15
 minutes out by boat, where we saw sharks, a sting ray, and a ton of live (and
 dead) coral. Unfortunately, it seems like a million and one other people go out
 to the same reef, and most don’t know how to swim. This means you’ll end up
 spending an hour getting your head kicked in by screaming hoardes of
 life-jacket wearing, water spitting drowners. I did get rammed in the legs by a
 nurse shark though. It felt like sandpaper and was among the creepier
 sensations I have experienced in my life.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-09-06-nativity-scene.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;The gazebo at the centre of the Isla Mujeres plaza decorated in an underwater-themed nativity scene. The virgin mary stands at the centre, her hands in prayer. Fishing nets filled with starfish, tropical fish, and multi-coloured Christmas lights surround the gazebo.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;There are also some Mayan ruins at the south tip of the island, though there’s
 very little left of them. Most of the ruins have been hurled into the ocean by
 various hurricanes, but what’s left sits on a small point overlooking the
 crystal clear blue water. My favourite part was the hand painted sign that
 reads &amp;lsquo;IGUANAS-No los tire piedras-Cuidelas&amp;rsquo;, &amp;lsquo;Please do not throw rocks at
 the iguanas-take care of them!&amp;rsquo; Two English ladies who now live in Kentucky
 were kind enough to pick us up on their rented golf cart and haul us back into
 town, saving us a taxi ride/sunburn.During our stay on the island, we ran into
 a small herd of beach cats. They appeared to be completely starving, which I’m
 sure is all part of their little ploy to get food from unsuspecting tourists.
 In fact, I’m sure that if a study were done, they’d probably find that this is
 a behaviour that beach cats have evolved over centuries of tourism, sort of
 like pigeons that pretend to be one-legged to get sympathy points from old
 grannies in parks. In any case, these poor things ended up rounding up enough
 sympathy to get some canned tuna… twice. Most of the time, though, I we watched
 it digging holes on the beach, which I don’t really want to think about too
 much. We also saw it kill and eat cockroaches, which no matter how disgusting
 it is, I have to admit is actually sort of mezmerising.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;All in all, it was a great vacation before everything gets crazy here. We hope
 we’ll have time to go back at some point for another visit. The place to stay
 is definitely the Hotel El Marcianito; the guy who runs it is totally friendly,
 and gave us a ton of advice on places to see.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Chelem, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/chelem-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Fri, 31 Aug 2001 14:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/chelem-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Grabbed a bus north to Progreso to go to the beach. While it was beautiful
 weather and the ocean looked great, there were no palm trees on the beach, so
 it was impossible to find any shade. We’d heard that in the next town over,
 Yucalpetén, there were some great beaches, so we asked around and finally found
 a colectivo headed out in that direction. The one we found stopped
 by a bathing centre and the town of Chelem. Now right now I’m going to come
 straight out and say it: if someone ever tells you a story about the amazing
 beaches at Yucalpetén, just back away slowly and do not make any sudden
 moves—the person you are talking to has probably escaped from an asylum.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-08-31-chelem.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Main street of Chelem&#34;&gt;&lt;figcaption&gt;
       &lt;h4&gt;The main street of Chelem?&lt;/h4&gt;
     &lt;/figcaption&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;We wandered around for a few hours, but we never did find a beach in decent
 condition. In the end we sat on a grass embankment close to the ocean,
 observing what appeared to be the remains of a house that had been bulldozed
 across the beach and into the ocean; there still were big chunks of concrete
 wall strewn all over the place. It was sort of post-apocalyptic looking. On the
 bright side, there was a nice cool breeze.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Progreso, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/progreso-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Fri, 31 Aug 2001 10:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/progreso-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Half an hour north of Mérida is the port town of Progreso. Though it’s on the
 gulf side of the peninsula, the water is still a beautiful turquoise-blue; it
 puts Canadian beaches to shame. On a hot weekend, Progreso makes a fun day
 trip. The wind keeps you cool, and as long as you keep ordering drinks, the
 food comes free at the palapa huts on the beach.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-08-31-palapa.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Three beach chairs sit in the shade of a palm-thatched palapa on the beach overlooking the ocean. A small &amp;#39;lancha&amp;#39; boat is pulled up on the beach. On the left, Progreso&amp;#39;s long pier extends over the water towards the horizon.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;The one thing that is impossible to miss in Progreso is the pier. At its
 original length of 6 km, it was the longest in all of México, and with its new
 3 km extension for cruise ships, it’s now the longest in the world. The reason
 for its size is that the Yucatán Peninsula is in essence a huge, flat limestone
 shelf that continues to extend long past the waterfront. At 6 km out, the
 water is still only 7 or 8 metres deep. As a result a 3 km extension was added
 in 2001 to allow cruise ships to dock safely.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;When we asked friends in Mérida about the beach in Progreso, they mostly told
 us that it wasn’t that nice. When we got back, I told my class that in Canada
 we put beaches like that in beer commercials. I guess when Cancún is only a few
 hours drive away, you can afford to be picky. The only downside is that most of
 the palm trees are tiny. The previous ones were all ripped out during Hurricane
 Gilberto a few years ago. As a result there’s very little shade, so your only
 option is to hide under a palapa.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Izamal, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/izamal-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Thu, 30 Aug 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/izamal-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Took a trip a few towns to the east this morning, to Izamal. While Mérida is
 known throughout México as the White City, Izamal is referred to as the Yellow
 City due to the preponderance of yellow buildings. With a population of 15,000
 or so, it’s much quieter than Mérida, and horse-drawn carriages are still used
 as transportation by some of its residents. The two big tourist attractions
 here are the ruins of Kinich-Kakmó, one of 12 Mayan temples that originally
 stood at the site of this town, and the Franciscan Monastery, one of the first
 in the New World, built from the stones of the largest Mayan temple in Izamal
 after it was torn down by the Conquistadors.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;The Convento de San Antonio de Padua sits on one side of the Plaza Principal, a
 block from the city’s bus station. Climbing up the ramp in front brings you to
 a large flat terrace and the entrance to the buildings themselves. From there,
 you can enter the chapel, visit the arboreum or climb up to the top levels of
 the monastery. If you look carefully, some of the stones in the walls and
 arches have Mayan designs on them—these were part of the temple that originally
 stood at this location. Facing away from the monastery, you can see
 Kinich-Kakmó towering over the jungle six or seven blocks away.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Kinich-Kakmó, which is about 200 m x 180 m, was built between 300 and 600 A.D.
 and was recently restored. From the top levels, the temple provides a great
 view of the city. Following a narrow dirt path around the back affords a
 spectacular view of the surrounding jungle and the vast, Saskatchewan-like
 flatness of the Yucatán peninsula. All over the place, big, lazy iguanas
 sunbathe on the rock walls of the temple. Just beside the entrance, at the base
 of the front side of the pyramid, is a great-smelling tortillería.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;We ate at the Kinich-Kakmó Restaurant, and it was delicious though a little
 pricey. We each had a Montejo beer and lime soup, followed by Poc-Chuc¹ and
 Rellenos Negros², along with some fresh handmade tortillas. As with many
 restaurants, homemade tortilla chips and salsas are served with the meal. The
 total came to about 160 pesos, which is enough to buy you several days worth of
 groceries at Wal-Mart or San Francisco in Mérida. The main dining area is
 outdoors under a thatched Mayan style roof (and yes, lots of people still live
 in traditional Mayan huts—some have corrugated metal roofs these days, but just
 as many use the traditional palm fronds). The waiters even offer bug-spray if
 you need it. Fortunately, due to some creative engineering by the staff, you
 don’t need it. Clear plastic bags of water dangle by threads from the roof and,
 in the words of the waiter, &amp;lsquo;when the bug sees his reflection as he gets
 closer, he sees himself reflected so big and ugly that it scares him away.&amp;rsquo; It
 seems to work—we didn’t see a single fly or mosquito during lunch, and there
 were tons outside. Royal Thai in San Rafael, California does the same thing, so
 there’s got to be something to it.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Unfortunately, I forgot to bring the memory card for the camera, so no
 pictures, but it was well worth the trip.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;glossary&#34;&gt;Glossary&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;ol&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Poc-Chuc:&lt;/em&gt; A Yucatecan dish made with pork marinaded in orange juice.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Rellenos Negros:&lt;/em&gt; A spicy, black Yucatecan soup made from beans, with
 pieces of chicken and a hard boiled egg bathing in it.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ol&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Quest for a Hammock</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/quest-for-a-hammock/</link>
       <pubDate>Tue, 28 Aug 2001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/quest-for-a-hammock/</guid>
       <description>&lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-08-28-old-door.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;A worn-down wooden door lies framed by a crumbling building façade in Mérida. Traces of faded lettering remain where the paint has not flaked away.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;In Mérida, most people sleep in hammocks. Walk down any residential street and
 look in the windows and you’ll see hammocks strung all over the room. What I’m
 getting at is that I finally caved in and bought a hammock. Now sit back and
 listen, ’cause here’s my advice…&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;If you’re in Mérida, you’ll be approached every five minutes by someone wanting
 to sell you a hammock off the street. Do not buy it! That man is crazy! The
 quality of hammock you get from a wandering hammock guy is a mystery until you
 try it out. And you’re not going to be trying it out until after you’ve paid
 for it. Generally speaking, they’re pretty bad. Locals refer to them as
 ‘hospital hammocks’ because that’s where you end up if you use them. Go to a
 hammock shop with a good reputation. If they can show you a photo album of them
 and their grandparents chopping down sisal (henequen cactus), stripping the
 fibre, and making hammocks, it’s a pretty safe bet that the hammocks are
 good.So Julio Armando pulled out a few hammocks, strung them up, proudly
 displays the threading to show there were no flaws, and got me to jump in and
 take it for a spin. Hammocks come in lots of sizes: single, double,
 matrimonial, and matrimonial especial. The difference is the number of pairs of
 end threads. Matrimonial has about 150 pairs of end threads, whereas a single
 has about 50 and a double has about 100. Keep in mind that these sizes were
 designed for people of Mayan stature, which is a lot smaller than your typical
 Canadian, or Mestizo Mexican.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Unfortunately, the walls in the apartment must be the only ones in the whole
 city that doesn’t have hammock hooks! Even a lot of hotels in Mérida provide
 hooks! I ran across the street to the Tlapalería¹ and using hand signals and
 pantomime, bought exactly five metres of nylon rope. Using those engineering
 skills I spent so much effort learning at UVic, and some knots I learned in Boy
 Scouts, I rigged up a makeshift hammock hookup. Unfortunately, the only
 available post to string a rope around was the chunk of wall between the
 balcony door and the window, which meant that both the door and the window had
 to be open to use it, and I had to pull the mosquito screen out of the window
 anytime I wanted to use the hammock.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;About Mérida’s weather: Maybe you people back home have looked at the
 temperatures in Mérida and thought &amp;lsquo;Wow! They spend the whole summer in the mid
 to upper 30s! It’s just like Cancún!&amp;rsquo; True, but it’s also insanely humid, which
 means you’re covered in sweat 24 hours a day—imagine waking up sticky and
 sweaty every morning; that’s why most people use hammocks. What’s more, unlike
 Cancún, there are thunderstorms every afternoon between about four and seven.
 You can set your watch by them. During these thunderstorms, it rains. A lot. So
 much, in fact, that having the window or door open even a centimetre spells
 certain doom. In short, the hammock is no longer up. Back to the drawing board.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;A curious side note here. If you wander the streets of Mérida enough, you’ll
 notice an inordinate number of people with one or both eyes missing. The reason
 for this is quite interesting. Mérida is famous around the world for its
 hammocks. And to make hammocks you need henequen fibre. The sisal cactus from
 which you get it has very, very sharp, needle-like barbs. You get the point.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;glossary&#34;&gt;Glossary&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;ol&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tlapalería:&lt;/em&gt; A sort of little roadside hardware store.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ol&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>Mérida, Yucatán, México</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/merida-yucatan-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Fri, 17 Aug 2001 16:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/merida-yucatan-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;Arrived in Cancún on Friday at about 6 pm, took out some money from the bank
 machine, and hopped into a colectivo¹ for Ciudad Cancún—the city itself—a
 twenty minute drive from the long strip of hotels between the lagoon and the
 ocean that the outside world refers to as Cancún. By the time the colectivo got
 to the bus station, it was 9 pm, so after checking out the schedule and booking
 tickets, there was just enough time to grab some dinner and get some sleep
 before heading off to Mérida first thing the next morning.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;figure&gt;&lt;img src=&#34;https://chris.bracken.jp/post/2001-08-17-cathedral.jpg&#34;
     alt=&#34;Façade of the Mérida cathedral in the evening light. Groups of pedestrians pass along the sidewalk in front as Volkswagen Beetles drive by.&#34;&gt;
 &lt;/figure&gt;
 
 &lt;p&gt;Sitting in a Mexican bus station is an activity in itself. Drenched in sweat
 and surrounded by hundreds of other sweaty people carrying bags, backpacks, and
 cardboard packages held together with twine, in heat and humidity well above
 what any sane person would tolerate, you gain an appreciation of just how
 patient a people the Mexicans are. Buses come and go as they please; to the
 Mexican bus driver, the posted schedule is only a guideline. Buses are
 notoriously late, and ours is no exception.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;When it does arrive, the bags are loaded, everyone climbs into their seats and,
 once the bus driver has got his drinks and snacks ready for the trip, he throws
 it into reverse and we´re off. After a four hour ride through the Yucatecan
 jungle, we arrived at the Fiesta Américana terminal in the north end of Mérida.
 From there, we grabbed a taxi into town and unloaded everything at Hotel Mucuy,
 on calle 57 between calle 56 and calle 58, where we stayed while we searched
 for jobs and a place to live.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;This might be a good time to explain the mysterious numbering system for the
 addresses in Mérida. Odd numbered streets run east-west and even numbered
 streets run north-south. For streets that run diagonally, the ones that run
 from SE to NW are even, the rest are odd—usually. Another challenge is that
 street addresses are not often consistent; number 499 might be three or four
 blocks from 498. Because of this, addresses are usually given as a street
 number and a cross street (for corner addresses) or a street number and the two
 cross streets between which the address lies.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;Mérida is the capital city of México’s Yucatán state and, centuries ago, was
 the capital of the Mayan empire as well. When the Spanish conquistadors arrived
 in the city in the mid-16th century, led by Francisco de Montejo, they
 discovered the Mayan city of Tihó. Its temples and limestone architecture
 reminded them enough of Mérida, Spain that they promptly renamed the city and
 began dismantling the Mayan structures. While you won’t find any of the
 original Mayan buildings remaining today, the cathedral in the Plaza Principal²
 contains blocks from the Mayan temple that once stood in the same location.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;In any case, the city today is gorgeous. Its narrow streets and colonial
 architecture give it a traditional feel. Every Sunday, all the streets within
 several blocks of the main plaza are shut down to vehicle traffic while
 musicians play live music near the Plaza Principal, and people dance in the
 streets.&lt;/p&gt;
 &lt;h3 id=&#34;glossary&#34;&gt;Glossary&lt;/h3&gt;
 &lt;ol&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Colectivo:&lt;/em&gt; a communal taxi, usually a VW van, into which the driver packs
 as many people as the laws of physics will allow. For example the last one
 we used had 16 people stuffed into it.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;li&gt;&lt;em&gt;Plaza Principal:&lt;/em&gt; the main square found in almost every Mexican town.&lt;/li&gt;
 &lt;/ol&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
     <item>
       <title>¡Hola México!</title>
       <link>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/hola-mexico/</link>
       <pubDate>Fri, 17 Aug 2001 11:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
       
       <guid>https://chris.bracken.jp/2001/08/hola-mexico/</guid>
       <description>&lt;p&gt;After a year and a half in San Francisco, California, we’ve moved to Mérida,
 Yucatán, México. So far so good! The heat is scorching, the humidity is
 sweltering, and the mosquitos are biting. But Mérida is a beautiful city, and
 the people are wonderful.&lt;/p&gt;
 </description>
     </item>
     
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