My Portuguese Peregrinations

Why is Lisbon not on the tip of everyone's tongue? As a European capital only two hours from London, I would have assumed a city with such old-world class would be a regular feature for the weekend getaway crowd. The Truth is that Lisbon is a hidden gem. For a city of less than two million, it has a buzz about it that perfectly fits the European summer scene.

The city layout and architecture throws one into a 17th century maze of narrow alleyways and steep ascents between 200 year old high-rise and miniature plaza, looking out upon the vast estuary of the River Tejo. The young university crowd gives the city an uplift to the typical Portuguese pace of life.

Always good to be travelling with old friends. Andy Carson, Jez Parker and myself brought British lad to Lisbon street party. In fact, I exaggerate, we indulged in some good old fashioned Iberian fun, enjoying a few casual drinks on the street into the early hours of the morning, joined by revelers from across Portugal and further afield, celebrating the day of San Antonio, Lisbon's patron saint. As three Brits we were slightly taken aback by the free-for-all party without the need for the obligatory police presence one associates with mass public 'fun' at home. Between late night ventures and trying to wash away a hangover surfing some intense Atlantic swell, we were kept very content.

I was not in Portugal, however, for a mere holiday, but had more serious intentions, to complete the Camino de Santiago as a pilgrim. My journey was to take me 600km north, across the border into Spain and the rural province of Gallicia. The city of Santiago has been a pilgrimage destination for over 1000 years, hosting the first ever form of travelers, who journeyed from the far corners of Europe to pay homage to St. James.

Whilst a walk of this distance was bound to be arduous, I was drawn by the opportunity to experience this original form a tourism. I was neither enthralled by grand monuments nor entertained by a myriad of distractions but the charming simplicity of walking 8 hours each day captivated the spirit. After the initial difficulties adjusting to the distance covered each day as well as the solitude experienced, I began to draw a deep satisfaction from the surrounding environment as well as appreciating the numerous chance encounters along the way. The generosity of the Portuguese people was quite overwhelming, I had oranges, bandages and socks forced upon me by strangers. Many invited me into their own homes, furnishing me with a bed for the night and offering me hearty meals and good wine. The pilgrims life although simple is one of real content, often alone but with genuine moments of warmth and community shared with locals and fellow pilgrims alike.

Whilst the image I have presented of Portugal may appear picture perfect for the average visitor. The reality shared by the Portuguese is not so rosy. Unnemploment at a personal level is markedly different that a statistic glanced at in the papers. A large proportion of those of my own generation, literally have nothing to do and it is common to find many having left for London or Brazil in search of work. The grim reality is that they may not be able to return for the next ten years or more, such are the prospects. My experience, spending the night in a homeless shelter in Coimbra illustrate that the whole population both young and old are suffering from the crisis and several just have nothing to fall back on.

The good news is that as tourists and travelers, we can support our neighbours with our wallets. A choice to visit Lisbon or Porto for a weekend break, or smaple some of the country's extensive rural tourism visiting vineyards and horse-country feeds money directly into the local economy. This country is a real hidden gem and should not be missed!

NYC

My journey to the USA was transporting me, in the space of a few hours, from the third-world to the first-world. My destination, Washington, the political epicentre of the Western world, home to the machine of government before which lesser nations have trembled for the past century. I was aware of the cultural shock I had last suffered leaving rural India for Canada, subsequently bracing myself for the overwhelming force of American society.

My initial reaction, however, was one of relief. Arriving at the house of Matt Almquist, an old Edinburgh contemporary, I was ready for a comfortable bed and a large gin and tonic. My brief stay just outside Washington afforded me the mandatory tour of the iconic symbols of freedom and democracy, enshrining the tenets of a nation founded as a bold social experiment. It did slightly resemble a picture-perfect city, well-groomed for the obligatory American pilgrimage made by thousands of domestic tourists. This coupled with the fact that the greater Washington area is primarily populated by government employees, ensures that the surroundings create an overwhelming impression that government serves the people providing a comfortable quality of life.

The central role of which minority populations played in American society soon became apparent. The headlines on the day of my arrival proclaimed that over 50% of the nation’s new-borns were now from a minority background, but it was clear from my eating habits, authentic Vietnamese phu and Korean Bbq that even the main body of the American population has become accustomed to an immigrant taste. A similar picture emerged upon arrival in New York, I was staying in the Lower East side of Manhattan, once home to Little Italy but subsequently replaced by the aspiring Chinese families, ubiquitous in New York.

My simple walking tour of Manhattan and Brooklyn, enlightened me to the multi-faceted nature of this sprawling metropolis. Ever the immigrant city, it was easy to identify the multitude of ethnic backgrounds, providing a distinct character to each district as well as the process of gentrification sweeping its way through certain quarters. Michael Bloomberg’s picture-perfect concept of a modern city had sterilized the large majority of downtown Manhattan. I was even fortunate enough to have a run in with the New York park authorities, receiving a ticket for apparently trespassing in a public park after hours, of all my travels throughout the developing world, this was the first time I was made to feel genuinely uneasy!

I was inspired however by the creativity exuded by the youth of New York. In a crowded city of 20 million inhabitants, it seems many are driven to pursue a sense of individuality in fashion, music even eating habits. And in typical American style there is now a huge consumer market to feed the demands of this alternative culture, broadly known as 'hipsters', a counter-culture inspired movement, fallen prey to widespread consumerism.

Of course the whole city did not enjoy the opportunity for such oppulent expression. Moving throught the hecticness of midtown where each individual goes largely unnoticed in the swarm of commuters, tourists and street vendors, I arrived north of Central Park in Harlem. Only 15 years earlier I would have been extremely unwelcome in this part of town, whereas now it was home to a vibrant Spanish culture, the colours and smells resembled more Mexico than Manhattan, and was rapidly being embraced by a non-immigrant population as "the" place to live.

New York truly never sleeps. Even now, having returned to the Old World and enjoying the quiet pace of rural Portugal, I am still aware, somewhere across the Atlantic, of this nucleus of energy. The thousands awakening hopefully this morning at the early hour of five, inspired to work another day, all seeking their fortune in this great city of opportunity.

The Guatemala Diaries: Part II

 

The journey through the rural Guatemalan south led across the highlands, reaching 3000m above the coastal plains which descend towards the Pacific Ocean. A two day marathon journey had me sitting nice and tightly at the rear of a small Korean made minibus. As is customary in Guatemala they managed to overfill the van by about 20 people leaving me as the centre of attention for inquisitive locals and livestock alike. I was beginning to discover that this country consisted of little else than a large rural population whose lives stood in stark contrast to the 20% living in Guatemala city and a few tourist enclaves.

I made my way to the refreshingly diverse Lago Atitlán, as a guest of a fellow traveller currently resident at the lake. With ten villages surrounding the edges of the lakes shore, it offered some of Guatemala’s most spectacular views with a backdrop made up of two volcanoes, towering 1500 m above the lake’s edge, a perfect opportunity for hiking.

As a guest, I had the privilege of a staying in a lake-side cabin as well as an introduction to the sizeable foreign community permanently based there. Small business owners, expats from Guatemala City, long-term travellers and gracefully ageing hippies lived side by side with the Guatemalan population in a bitter-sweet relationship which for the most part seemed mutually beneficial.

A two day local religious festival in the local village of Santa Cruz proved a fascinating experience. Aside from a traditional procession common to most Christian festivals, villagers were entertained late into each night by a dancing procession consisting of some quite confusing dress, think Star Wars meets the Village People. I was informed that the purpose of most of the festivals was for the men to drink themselves into a complete stupor while wives and children patiently waited for them to collapse allowing them to be dragged home to sober up in time for the following day’s festivities.

A week spent enjoying the hiking opportunities through the jungle and the very slow pace of life afforded me time to enjoy my surroundings. Subsequently I only spent a final night in Guatemala City. The reality of the city stood in contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of the country. The relative lack of any bandit activity in the hills was replaced with high walls, razor wire and tinted SUVs. There was no doubt that a few centralised monopolies constituted the dominant economic forces in Guatemala, one family owns the entire nation’s speed bump production. The insight derived from the contrasting regions of Guatemala has not progressed significantly further than the era of Guevara’s own writings on the Latin American condition. An indigenous population subsumed by the modern day state yet denied the full range of privileges expected with citizenship and manipulated for the benefit of the urban commercial-political elite.

The Guatemala Diaries : Part 1

As a Spanish speaker, I find it surprising to admit that Guatemala was my first incursion into Central America. Falsely assuming that I was stepping into a culture reflecting that of its northern neighbours in Mexico, I was pleasantly surprised to find it was in fact more a leisurely retreat from Mexico’s comparatively frenetic tempo.

The short, yet well-built Guatemalan farm labourer, sporting the ubiquitous wide-brimmed ranch hat was the common sight on the unpaved rural backroads. I was making the awkward border crossing at the Usumacinta River, deep inside the expansive jungle covering the Mexican-Guatemalan border region. A small shack in the rural hinterland constituted the remote border outpost where I was greeted with the manic Guatemalan grin that I soon became accustomed to as the national manner of greeting foreigners. Little else occupied the area, aside from the intermittent passing of ragged units of the Guatemalan army, severely under-equipped to counter the drug-cartel war which has rapidly spread south from Mexico, even incorporating ex-special forces operators who, having sold out, now work freelance carrying out mass executions and preserving the balance of the regional power struggle.

  

I was heading to Flores, a small island village at the western end of Lake Petén Itzá, a miniature urban paradise with the convenience of beautiful fresh-water swimming to offset the searing dry heat which hung over the region just prior to the arrival of the summer rains in June. Flores provided an excellent base from which to make the journey into the Guatemalan jungle to access Tikal, the classical Mayan capital which held influence over the area stretching north through Belize and Mexico. By fortunate coincidence, I met a Slovenian fellow solo-traveller cum philosopher who pointed out that we were visiting the archaeological remains on a full-moon, a spiritually significant event within Mayan cosmology as well as the perfect opportunity for some moonlight photography.

Inspired by the British/Norwegian couple Simon and Kristine and encouraged by a few travellers heading the opposite direction, we made arrangements to financially incentivise the guards so we might be allowed to stay in the park, sleeping in the Grand Plaza after official closing hours, surrounded by some of the most impressive remaining structures in the Mayan world.

I struck a fair deal with the local guard and we were led in to watch the sun-set and moonrise from atop of Tikal’s Temple IV, towering 200 feet above the jungle floor. Taking time to sincerely contemplate this seemingly routine event served to remind the true insignificance of the human species relative to the size and majesty of the cosmos. As well as further impressing upon me the vastly superior universal understanding of the Mayan elite, guided by their astrologers who were producing theory which far surpassed Western thought for nearly a thousand years.

We spent the following hours enjoying the moonlit plaza before being abruptly confronted by a cohort of park guards. It transpired that following a disagreement at the drinking table regarding the amount of money that had changed hands, a discontent warden had informed the boss, ensuring our abrupt dismissal from the park. The departing impression of Tikal was that of a wealth of indigenous knowledge which had been lost alongside this civilisation and later expunged by over-zealous Catholicism, civilizing populations on behalf of the Spanish crown. The reality of contemporary Central America however, is that this indigenous understanding of the art of living still exists in rural pockets of the country which will continue to outlast the era of the nation of Guatemala as we currently know it.

Mexican madness

Mexico, in a few words, is similar to a massive slap in the face. It leaves you initially stunned but with your senses heightened you begin to experience more clearly the magic of this country.


I'll admit, my opinion of Mexico has traditionally been quite unclear. Having woken up many a morning clutching my stomach has somewhat permanently etched in my memory the origins and consequences of Uncle Tequila. But antics aside, I am guilty for having generally considered Mexico as the poorer, younger brother to the USA. Little did I know! This country has been the adventure-a-day type of place. Los Mejicanos are as loco as their agave homebrew, el Mescal, whilst Las Mejicanas are as fiery as the chilli in your taco. It's good to be back in the Hispanic world.

Will you take a scorpion with your Mescal, sir?

Mexico, in recent years, has been subject to international fear mongering engineered by the media and government foreign departments. Admittedly the US's volatile war on drugs have pushed many cartels and the associated violence further North, through varying Central American nations and the northern border-states of Mexico. And we are greeted with familiar images of police and military figures dressed anonymously so not to risk the reprisals of the dominant cartels as well as the chilling recitation of the most recent body count. But here in the South, the party still continues.



Mid-April I arrived in Mexico City, DF (Distrito Federal) as it's known to it's locals. Slap in the face number one. 30 million people living in one urban centre is a megalopolis rather than a city. Upon flying in the city extends further than the eye can see. Yet the life of the city mimics that of many others across the globe, businesses function, individuals go about pursuing their own interests. Less interested in the similarities inherent in most large cities, I determined to move further South, initially to the colonial capital of Oaxaca. As I have continued to find through my travels, that real adventure start when you remove yourself from the chaos.

Oaxaca was an initial step backwards into Mexican history. As a colonial city, founded in 1521 by a Spanish expeditionary force led by Francisco de Orozco, it typifies hispanic influence in the region. The opulence of the church of Santo Domingo was illustrative of the extreme wealth and power of the Catholic church and its socio-politcal role alongside the conquering Spanish forces.



















However Mexico, never one to completely conform, to this day lacks strict adherence to the Catholic faith, Despite the 300 year foreign rule and atrocities committed against indigenous populations in the name of the church, native pre-hispanic culture has evidently survived. As my journey extended further South into the hills, it became markedly apparent how central indigenous spiritualism remains within contemporary society. The healing practice Temezcal, pursues a holistic approach to healing. Resembling a north-american sweatlodge, over an hour is spent inhaling herbally infused vapours known to cleanse the body. The technique makes recourse to the four elements fire, earth, wind and water, releasing highly energized minerals trapped in the rock for several hundred years.  The experience left me feeling completely centred for a considerable period of time without the series of distractions that typify the daily wanderings of the mind.



Moving further towards the Guatemalan border and deeper into the jungle, the experience of the ancient Mayan civilizations echos how distinct this indigenous culture is from our modern urban societies. And begs the question whether we have lost some of our more intuitive sensibilities on the journey towards more developed societies.

Spongebob's going to get it real good

However, regional Mexico may well have been able to reconcile the diverse nature of their heritage.
The trip so far has found me not only accepting invitations to impromptu birthday parties amongst rural Oaxacans, complete with real Spongebob piañta, as well as being heartedly welcomed amongst locals and long-term foreigners alike in the Mescalería's of San Cristobal. The privilege of experiencing several aspects of regional life here has opened my mind to the breadth of Mexican contemporary culture.

Currently arrived in Guatemala where the pace of live has abruptly stepped a notch down

Go West Young Man

So, how does one reintroduce a blog after such a significant hiatus? I, of course, must first apologise, to what must have been the thousands of attentive readers which I left hanging by a thread, pondering my most recent ventures.  

As some may know I proceeded from the temperate coastal breeze of Southern India onto a real winter. Arctic winds, -30 C^o , ice actually freezing its way between the smallest gaps of your window, what else but the great Canadian outdoors. And whilst five months living in Whistler was an experience, it was not necessarily an appropriate story to tell. We indeed partied like rockstars, rode like pros and lived the dream in the Coastal mountains. But the inevitable routine developed that exists in anywhere you choose to settle. As such, I thought it worth pausing my writing until I returned to the road.

Naturally, my nomadic desires got the better of me and I found myself soon forging ahead with plans for further quests. After some of the harshest winters I have braved, the idea of Central American sun, amicable Latinos and the refreshing taste of mescal seemed a natural choice. So $200 later I had a flight to Mexico City. However, this is not a story I wish to tell just yet, since the adventure began as I set foot out the door.

Leaving Whistler on a crystal blue day inspires you. Admittedly, you brave your way throughout some pretty tough conditions throughout the winter. But on a clear day, there a few places more beautiful. I envy the lucky few who are staying on for a summer of downhill biking, trekking and beers on the lakes. Getting caught up in a series of goodbyes to the 20-strong Whistler family that had developed over many nights sitting outside on the balcony, I naturally missed the Greyhound. So it was only appropriate that I hitched my way out of town. Canada’s reputation for amicability is by no means undeserved, and 10 minutes later, I was cruising down the Sea to Sky Highway with Tyler, a tradesman from Pemberton, my destination for the weekend Seattle.

Seattle admittedly had not been on my itinerary, but after a chance encounter with a university-era friend of my father’s (both having studied at Queen’s University Belfast before going their separate ways circa 1983). I did not hesitate to take up the offer to discover Northwest America for the weekend.

After a minor battle with an embittered member of Homeland Security (where do they get these people?), who insisted I had been denied entry in 2010. I had to refrain from pointing out that the USA had never been of any real interest to me, particularly in 2010 when I was happily living in Argentina. However, having held my tongue, I was so graciously allowed into the country.

Seattle's Pike Place vibrant flower market

My story of Seattle is of mixed perceptions. In all honesty, I had never paid any real attention to this major urban centre sitting on the Pacific coast of Washington State. Images of America instead elicit the buzz of Manhattan or the glamour of L.A. I had, it now seems, neglected a dynamic force driving the US economy. Seattle is the home to American giants such as Microsoft, Amazon and of course Boeing. The aura of the city certainly reflected this, possessing an intellectual, tasteful quality to its personal charm. Even with the nation as a whole emerging from a prolonged downturn, this part of the world seemed largely recession proof, with talented young graduates walking straight from college degrees into well paid professions, much unlike some of my British counterparts. Whilst there was no denying the wonderful quality of life enjoyed by Seattle residents, I managed to sneak a glimpse of Paul Allen’s (Microsoft Co-founder’s) multi-million dollar lakeside compound. I wondered whether such an affluent community had lost sight of mainstream America. There is no doubt that faced with highly educated Indian and Chinese competition, America depends on centers of technological innovation such a Seattle. However I was acutely aware of the somewhat stereotypical image of American spending habits, carrying on regardless of the restraint that the current domestic climate surely demands.

These observations, however, were not going to stop me from joining the fray and enjoying as much as the city had to offer. So, after a couple of nights on the town, making sure I upset any lingering assumptions that the British were a nation of tea-drinking squares. A notion that apparently still exists amongst a wide body of the populous that has never managed to leave the state, let alone the country. I donned my backpack late on a Sunday night for the journey to Mexico. But that, ladies and gentlemen is another story.

In the meantime, I would like to send my best from Mexico to my extended family in Whistler. We really did have an epic season and it is indeed a pleasure to now have a plethora of brothers and sisters from across the globe. Until we inevitably meet again.

Myself and hosts the Skelly family 

More Images to Follow