A few days later, I regretfully ate two hotdogs at the border trying to get rid of my Guatemalan money. Obviously, I got sick, but the worst part was that I supported the economy of one of the three true armpits of the world. There aren't many towns that come to mind that are this bad, but here are a few:
1. Shkodra, or Shkodër, or whatever you want. It's so bad they name it multiple things so you think you're going somewhere else. Actually I think it has to do with whether the town is a direct object or not. This is the first town in Albania if you're crossing the border from Montenegro. Albania is otherwise fantastic, and a great place to travel (check out what Jaco has to say about it), but this point of entry is really a dump. Literally, there's garbage smoking from every angle. Shkodra is the land of the cabbie scam, the only bad börek in the Balkans, giant holes in the sidewalks and dogs making love all over the place. The first time I went there I was intercepted by some Catholic missionaries at the border who were terrified for my safety and demanded that I slept at their compound. The place is known for blood feuds. The second time I went some kids tried to take my bike helmet while laughing but gave it back after I panicked and yelled 'microbi!!' at them and pointed at the helmet and my hair. Why did I go back? Because Albania is full of incredible hospitality, interesting folks with interesting stories, great food, cranking landscapes and limitless eagles and aeries. It's also got the best coffee in Europe, no joke.
2. Sanche. Sanche is an agricutural town in the desert in Xinjiang, China, on the outskirts of which Jaco and I spent one night. First we were denied a place to put our tent several times, so we went to a teahouse to ask if we could sleep there. This is a normal thing to do in Central Asia. They have these massive platforms covered in pillows on which people commonly dine and then sleep. We were granted permission, and ordered some shashlik, which is fairly tasty Uighur grilled meat. People stared at us the whole time. When we would greet people in their native tongue (it's not that hard: asalaam alaykum) they would 90% of the time keep staring at us or just laugh. But we were used to this. What we were not used to was the sight upon our waking. When I woke up, at around 6am to Chinese school sirens and announcements blaring their daily cockadoodledoo of propaganda, there were three or four schoolchildren staring at me. I got up and walked around for a bit looking for bread (there was none in this town) and returned maybe a half hour later to find sleeping Jaco surrounded by a large conference of Uighurs young and old. There were 63 of them to be exact, half being adults, staring at Jaco while he slept. When he awoke, he naturally greeted them and said good morning, and they naturally didn't return his greeting. He dressed to much spectacle and we got out of Sanche, and Xinjiang, as quickly as we could.
3. This goddam towm in Guatemala on the border of Mexico which I couldn't find a name for. It's the last place where the Pan-American highway crosses the Seleguá river. Coming in from the East, you pass by a bunch of guys selling hotdogs. I asked how far the border was and they told me 4km. So I decided this was the place to get rid of my quetzales. I bought a couple hotdogs and ate them while people stared at me and didn't return my greetings. This generally makes me feel uneasy and unwelcome. People laughed and whispered when I asked a terrified storekeeper if he had beans in a can. He didn't. Then I left, and saw some tacos for sale, and decided to spend the absolute last of my quetzales on tacos. I was hungry. Some cabbie asks me if I needed a ride. No thanks. He insists that it'll be cheap. No thanks, I like my bike. He leaves me for a bit, then returns. He's screaming at me with a big, childish frown on his face. It looks like he's acting. He tells me to look at his van. It appears my guitar has smudged it a bit as it wiped against it as I passed. He acts really upset and instantly a massive crowd forms, maybe 50 people. Where did they all come from? And with all these people aren't there some beans in a can? Well, the driver keeps yelling that I've destroyed his car and I keep asking him what I can do. He spits on his hand and wipes at the smudge. It starts coming off and I urge him to continue but he doesn't. He looks to the sky and makes groanings of lament. The crowd loves this. I offer him my three remaining quetzales ($0.35), he declines. I offer him a taco, he declines. I ask him again what I can do and he mimes towards the car. I offer him everything I have of possible value again, and he declines. I'm sick of this game, so I leave as he's shouting, 'Dios!' and the crowd is laughing. I eat my tacos in a corner of the taqueria and go. Turns out there's another 35km or so to the border. Lying hotdogmen. This is how towns suck in my book.
From this godforsaken pit I descended and descended and descended to the border with Mexico then even more into Mexico. I spent the night warm in a cornfield. Then I hit another death climb. This one was crazy. Lumps forming on lumps rising rising rising out of the valley. It looked like a pile of little hills, except it continued for 40km or so and gained enough elevation for it to be really cold again. Every turn looked like a pass, but there never really was a pass. I rode until after Comitan, heading for San Cristóbal de las Casas, but unfortunately didn't make. The damn hotdogs caused some seriously curious bowel movements. I took the bus the remaining 73km of death climb into San Cristóbal, which is where I am now.
It's a fine town, and here we will wait for Alex has ordered a new bike after his rear hub axle snapped in two (whoa!). I ordered a new front rack as well after mine snapped in two (whoa!). Mine got welded back together though and it looks pretty cool.
And we'll wait until Sunday when a certain Conference Football Championship game will be played by a certain SF 49ers team. Like eagles with jetpacks, soar on!
