Introduction to the trip

18th January 2016

Hurriedly catching up on the last few months 

Before I headed out on this trip, I decided that this would be my last in the backpacking style.  Perhaps that will change, but I’m getting older, feeling tired, (maybe lazy), out of breath more often when scrambling up some rocks.  The slight cough I've endured for the past three years remains undiagnosed.   My enthusiasm for "hard knocks" travelling has waned in recent years.  I still like adventure, but perhaps I've grown wiser, less inclined to do crazy things.  Although, I am still interested in taking up sky-diving.  Travelling/ backpacking will often delivers knocks however you go about it, but I feel that in future, I'll increasingly soften them.  I'm not sure in what manner I’ll experience Africa, (the only continent I’m yet to visit, not counting Antarctica), but perhaps it’ll settle for a resort or on one of those previously hated tours.

But for now, I’m cramming too much into my pack, (as usual), stressing from the preparation and disorganisation of trying to let my apartment, something that's necessary before I can head off.  The flight is booked and the calendar is ticking.

In the end, the let was only confirmed 2-3 days ahead of my flight to Los Angeles.  STRESS. FUCKING STRESS.   But I’m so glad that I can finally escape.  I find the intense way or life of London more difficult to cope with these days.  It doesn't make me happy and I don’t intend to return to it.  Not unless there’s a very, very good reason; like love or a loved job.  

I feel that the time has finally come to leave London for good.  The place of my birth, and my home for so many years has become unrecognisable.  Most of the inhabitants came to the city for money, not for love.  I used to love my city.  That city is gone.  Stone cold dead.  I won’t mourn it any longer.  It has spurned us for money anyway, the familiar story of economical growth and sacrifice of tradition and honour.  We've been betrayed and few seem to grasp the meaning of honour honour these days.  Derided by the left, misused by the right, honour is an outdated concept, desperately lacking in 21st Century life.

My London heritage, on my father’s side (and much of my Mother’s), goes back hundreds of years to when reliable records began for us working class people.  Back then, my forefathers lived in an area of the much smaller city called Kensington, these days, famed for being home to the fabulously wealthy and stores like Harrods.  But my people inhabited a world the modern inhabitant wouldn't recognise, or dare to tread.  Interestingly, some of them kept cows (to provide milk) or worked in carpentry and tailoring amongst other professions.  Yes, there were cowkeepers in what is now Central London.  In a yard in Kensington.  Milk has long been important to the British.  Tea without fresh milk is for heathens!!  Perhaps that was a good business to be in. 

There are still master carpenters in the family today, though now they live South of London, in nicer surroundings.  Most of those living in Kensington these days are the mega rich, and many of them from numerous oversea destinations.  Times have changed alright, and there’s no point dwelling on the past, or a lost home.  It won't return, it can't.  No one from that side of the family remains in London, and none can return.  The increase in property prices, driven by wealthy investors makes Kensington one of the most expensive places for real estate on the entire planet.  Those who helped build this city. are dispossessed, bought-off if they're lucky.   I am one of the last of my family to have lived there.  It’s happening in many cities worldwide, and perhaps it has always been the way, albeit at a much slower pace than we experience today.  But I have to move with the times.  I see no other cause of action.  There is no choice.  The saying adapt or die still holds truth.

Out of all my friends that still reside in the more central part of Zone 2, all live in what is, or once was social housing.

But anyway, I’m happy to be leaving now.  There's nothing to be done to stop the tide.  I hope never to return to the grey, miserable winter days.  Only love or a loved job could tempt me back again.  Both are unlikely.  It's time for something I have often longed to try: the countryside, or a small country town or village.  A fresh start.  When I finally settle.  But for this winter, I am escaping those grey skies and exploring the Americas; from California all the way down to Panama, and back up again to New York.  South America was last years adventure.  That was good, but this is now.

EDIT below

And right now, I’m sitting in Coban in Guatemala two months and eleven days into this trip.  It’s January 19^th and the weather back in England is cold and dark.  There’s even snow in London.  Here, I am in a cooler place than the last few days (30 degrees daily), due to altitude.  Tomorrow I head to Antigua, then after a few days there, on to Lake Atitlan, followed soon after by El Salvador and on and on, every day or two, catching buses, until I reach Granada in Nicaragua where I plan to rest again.  That is the future, but the past was mostly filled with California until twelve days ago.

On the 8^th November I boarded my Norwegian Air flight to L.A., glad to be finally getting away and ending four years of running a guesthouse for minimum wage.  After eleven hours in the air of a very smooth flight I disembarked into the bright light of California.  I’m sad to report that this light illuminated a gabble of taxi drivers.  How much am I going to be ripped off by?  If I’d planned ahead I could have caught an Uber for about $10 to my airbnb destination, but instead I handed over about $40.  Never again though, my hire car would remove the need for taxis within a few days.

The next three nights were spent in Culver City waking up at 2 am whilst trying and failing to stay awake beyond 6pm.  This was the worst jet lag I have ever experienced and it took about a week to settle down.  I should have slept on the plane, but that never comes easy for me. 

On the first morning I planned to use the bicycle, from the airbnb I had booked named “Bike to the Beach” and go for a spin.  Unfortunately, I had to fix the bike first.  Not a great start but I made it work.  Whilst going about this task, I noticed bananas growing in the back yard.  They were only small but still… this is exotic to us Brits.  There were also Persimmon fruit growing, of which I was a happy taster over the next week or so.  They seem to last a good long while in a zip bag on the open road.

The dawn temperature of L.A. in November is lovely.  Cool and fresh, then later hot and sunny.  No clouds.  And I didn’t see any for a week or two either, felt no rain at all for several more.  The skies are blue blue blue in California.  Several Hummingbirds sat on the wires out back.  I took photos of a bright red one and reasoned to look it up later.

My first stop was Ballona Creek.  I wasn’t yet sure which areas are safe, so as I took out my camera and binoculars to hungrily eye up an Osprey and other interesting bird species, I checked out passers by for intent.  Little did I know, that everyone here is as unfriendly as a potential robber.  This seemed like a dodgy place.  It wasn’t really.  That’s just the city doing it’s thing.  There are random shootings and robberies all over, so naturally, it puts people on guard more than in Europe.

On the second day I headed out at dawn again, this time to Santa Monica Beach via little Venice, and cycled all the way along the promenade, stopping at the piers along the way.  Again, clear blue skies. 

A seal pup swam playfully around the end of the first pier.  I tried to get a photo but not this time.  I was surprised and shocked by the sheer amount of homeless people that appeared to be waking up all the way along the promenade.  I later found out that they aren’t permitted to sleep there so go down early to set up camp and get ready for a day’s begging and/or enjoyment of the environmental conditions, the one thing that works in favour of homeless in L.A.  I was to see this level of homelessness pretty much everywhere in the US, even in small towns.  I’ve not seen anything like this level of destitution anywhere in the world since India.  The United States need to think about that.  India.  Even the Indians will tell you what a terrible situation they have for the street people but this is the richest nation on Earth.  A majority of these people appear to be mentally ill.  In Europe these people are mostly cared for in hospital.  In the USA, the money is spent elsewhere, and very much fuck the unfortunates.  What a crazy juxtaposition with the richest, “free-est” nation on earth.  I struggled to understand the United States.  Perhaps there's nothing to understand.  

It was only towards the end that I came to realise something quite obvious about the culture.  They worship money.  And pretty much everybody who immigrated there, did so because of economical reasons.  To make money.  To have a better life it’s called, (the american dream - remember that?), but really it’s about the opportunity to make money, very similar to what has been happening in London in recent history.  

The immigrants didn’t go to America because they loved the land.  They went for money.  And the nation was built on the love for money, and that in a nutshell is what’s wrong.  In Europe, we have history, culture, love of our land.  The land is historically loved mostly for what it can produce in the USA.  There’s something missing in the soul of the country.  I look forward to seeing more of the East coast and New York because I know, despite the problems, it's a great nation of a sort, with numerous advancements in science and tech originating here.   And there are a good deal good people as well, mostly in the Democratic part of the political spectrum seemingly, but it’s all getting fucked up by the narrow minded mental cases on the other side.  

Apart from the great roads and road trips, wildlife and nature that remains, the USA is a some what vacuous place to visit at times.  I hope for different experiences in the other states I'll visit, for they are unique, each and every one.  A fascinating, complex place.  Every culture, every idea, every religion and concept on the planet exists somewhere in the USA.  I may end up living here, but it seems unlikely.  There's just one thing will sway me.  Love.  It seems unlikely I could ever work there given the strict regulations.

You adapt to any situation, any country, any culture, that fact is well known.  It’s taken me about 12 days to adapt to being outside of the West again.  Despite the problems, the USA is the west, and western life IS comfortable for most of us.  It’s been 12 days since I  flew from LA to Cancun.  As soon as I cleared immigration and customs I was hit by the heat, followed swiftly by the taxi drivers offers to take my money.  $65 to get to my most recent airbnb booking?  Oh no, no.  I don’t think so.  After a fair amount of negotiation, myself and my new travelling friend, Marjolein, accepted a $10 per head trip in a shuttle bus right to the door of our accommodation.  Street numbers are a bit confusing here, so we spent some time texting the host to find out the exact house.  In the end she pulled up in a nice new looking car and drove us about ten doors along.  We could have walked, I swear, I didn’t know she was driving from so close.  I glimpsed a night bird of some kind in the street, but this wasn’t the time to scramble about in my bag looking for the camera and binoculars, so I ignored it.  Later evenings searching for whatever it was proved fruitless.  Thems the breaks when watching wildlife.

The accommodation was pretty much perfect, and the family were very accommodating, and even fed us on several occasion.  Breakfast on the first day was provided by the sweet 20-year old daughter.  She speaks English very well and is soon on her way to study at a university in Mexico City.  A bright future lies ahead.

After breakfast, Marjolein (from Bruges), and I, set off to see some Mayan ruins near to the beach.  They weren’t up to much as I expected, (we would have heard of them), and my companion was disappointed.  This was the first time I’d seen so many Iguanas in one place, and I snapped away trying to get a decent shot.  Once, we’d exhausted the smallish site, the beach was a short walk away.  Playa las Fines, and it was fine.  We considered getting into the beautifully clear blue waters, but for some reason headed to the Museum instead.  I was sure it was further away than it was and we caught a bus for about two stops, rather then the ten or more I’d imagined.  The Museum had some interesting things to say, as you’d expect, but I found the map (with photos) of all the main sites in Central America, that was the most useful thing, and I took a photo for later use.  

A short walk in the grounds to see a modestly sized Pyramid introduced me to some local biting insects.  Suddenly, insect repellent flew to top of the shopping list.  On the way back to base, we stopped off in a supermarket to check what things are meant to cost here.  I bought some cheap insect repellent, not having much faith in any of them anyway, and ate cold chicken from the supermarket counter.  They sell chilli’s by the kilo here.  No thanks.  A single piece could last me a year. 

After three nights, the hosts dropped us off at my next destination, Playa Del Carmen, as they had stuff to do there anyway.  I went to meet my couchsurfing host, and Marjolein began her three weeks rushing around trying to see every interesting site she could in Eastern Mexico.  But only after a day at the beach.  

I met with my host, Daniella, we ate lunch and then went down to the beach ourselves, through a gated community away from the main packed to the brim beach, that she had some underhand access to.  The soft sanded sea floor drops gradually here, so you can wade out reasonably far, and swim about almost as if a pool.  A pool with the occasional head banging wave.  I stayed in the water long after Daniella went to sunbathe.  It had been a while since I’d been in the sea and I wanted to enjoy it.  The highlight was when a Brown Pelican started diving for fish just metres away.  I tried to swim up to it several times but it would take off and pass round again to make another assault on some miniature fish.

Later on, we went to eat at a restaurant-café towards the higher end.  I wanted to try some really good Mexican food.  Started with tomales.  Not good.  I never liked semolina when we were force fed in for dessert at school, and I still hate it today.  Overall, I’m sorry to say, that I can’t stomach Mexican food, and I was seriously worried that that was all they ate all the way to Panama.  Thankfully, that’s not quite the case.  I’m sorry Mexico and to my Mexican readers.  Our cultures collide culinary.  In fact, there’s a lot of Mexican food in California and I did try a little bit back there, some was ok, but mostly not to my tastes.  What can I do?