1. (1) Hot Spring of Scorpions

2. (2) Leaving Mexico for Guatemala

(1) Hot Spring of Scorpions

There is a hot spring resort in the mountains 70 km southeast of Oaxaca. I have not soaked in a hot spring for a long time since the Canadian Rockies. Years ago, I heard from some Japanese young people who stayed in a foreign country for a long time that they were missing written Japanese. I have been on the road for the last 11 months and have never read a Japanese book. Even the only Japanese book I had was stolen together with the bag in the Yucatan Peninsula. Furthermore, after a campground in the Rocky Mountains I didn*t have time to read the three English books that I had taken from Japan. However, my situation must be different from those Japanese as I have been reading Japanese emails thanks to the Internet. Some other people told me they missed Japanese food. But in my case this doesn*t matter either, because I am a person who is not interested in food and who recognize food as a mere energy source to maintain life. What I miss about Japan is, as I anticipated, only hot springs. I left Oaxaca with a determination to visit the hot spring on the day. The last 8 km was a mountain dirt road. I had once run into a dirt road on the way to an Olmec ruin near the Yucatan Peninsula,. I became worried about falling off from the bike and I returned after riding about 2 km. However, if it is a hot spring, that*s another story. I rode through the long, long 8-km dirt road to the hot spring, being scared that I would fall off into the deep valley.

The hot spring resort was located on the steep cliff at the end of the dirt road, where there were around 8 bungalows. I had an idea I would stay in one of them even if it is expensive, however, it was less expensive than I had expected - 140 pesos (US$16), which was less than my permissible maximum budget of 150 pesos. I decided to stay there without hesitation. It was hot in Oaxaca in spite of its high elevation of 1500 m. The hot spring was at a higher altitude and the temperature was a little lower than Oaxaca, however, it was still hot enough to miss beer. Although hot springs are much better in a cooler climate, one cannot expect more in Mexico. On arriving there, I drank a can of beer and walked down to the open-air thermal pools 50 m below.

However, I fount it eerie. I folded a sheet of tissue paper small and gave a soft push to the object. It seemed to me that the object had moved a little. I gave another push. It really moved. It was an authentic scorpion! It was, of course. the first time for me to see the horrible creature like that. I was lucky that I was not stung by it while I was operating the keyboard. I took off the sandal, grabbed it with the right hand and gave a hard slap on the scorpion three or four times. The creature happily went to heaven. But, another fear hit me. "One scorpion really appeared in my room and it crept up on the table. If so, there is a possibility that there are more scorpions and some of them will creep into my bed while I am sleeping!". I thought I would sit up all through the night. But at the same time I thought, "It will be difficult to keep traveling if I can*t go to bed for fear of mere scorpions". I determined to sleep, covering myself with the top sheet and with the light on. The following morning, the carcass of the scorpion was surely still on the table when I woke up. It was not a dream. I found that scorpions live in the semi-desert land like the hot spring resort I visited. Recently people are eager for an ecology tour and leave their urban area to experience nature, however, nature holds, on the other hand, danger in itself. I*ll tell you what, I didn*t come to the deep mountain to see scorpions, but solely to soak in the hot spring. The Mexican hot spring resort welcomed me with not only a cold bath, but also a scorpion.

(2) Leaving Mexico for Guatemala

Going down from the hot spring of scorpions in the Sierra Madre, I arrived in Theuanteped in the Pacific coast. This is the town where I tried to connect my PC with the Internet for the first time at a cybercafe in December of the last year, but in vain. In order to say hello to the young woman who made a great effort to connect my PC for four hours, I went back to the cybercafe. Thankfully, she still remembered me. As she had lost the address of my Web site and had not seen it, I showed to her my story written about her and her photograph of my site.

Theuantepec is located in the narrowest part of Mexico. On the road 70 to 80 km from there toward Guatemala, the strong wind makes the motorcycle trip very hard. Although my heavy BMW had less problem, a light dirt bike would have been blown away. I made it again, using the low gear and going as slow as bicycling.

I dropped in the saloon the following day. It was a big house. Claudia lived in another big house. Adriana, who looked a little boyish but very attentive, soon made a phone call to Claudia for me. Claudia*s husband ran three pharmacies in a different town and they lived separately. They met each other when they were university students. Maria had been running the esthetic saloon for 35 years. Her husband Gabriel also worked in a different city and made it a rule to return to her place every weekend. Besides, Gabriel called her every morning and night. The two women were spending an marriage life unusual in Mexico. Leaving the bike parked outside the house, I talked to Claudia, Maria and her daughter Adriana one after another at the table in the front yard. Meanwhile, Adriana told me I could stay in their home if I wanted. She said Maria also knew that. I carried my luggage into a room. It was a large room. Before dusk, by the white Volkswagen driven by Claudia together with another three passengers, Adriana, her high-teen girlfriend and Claudia*s child, I was taken to a beach where turtles lay eggs and another beach from where small boats take tourists to a large biosphere reserve. It was already dark when we left the beach. Claudia easily detected the "topes" on the road in the dark. I made it sure that I couldn*t ride at night in Mexico.

On that night I talked with Claudia in Maria*s place until past twelve. She went back home and I fell asleep in the house where the only two women of Maria and Adriana lived. Maria left the door of her room cooled by an air conditioner so that the cool air could be sent to my room that had only a ceiling fan. Mosquitoes woke me up at tree in the morning. When I was looking for a mosquito coil, Adriana came out of her room and brought to my room a powerful fan to blow mosquitoes away. Mexican women are sensitive and warm-hearted. The following day, May 8, I arrived in Tapachula, a Mexican border town. The hotel was for 60 pesos (US$7). The inexpensiveness of the hotels told me Guatemala was near. My tourist card (visa) was to be expired on the 10th of May. There were rumors that Guatemalan officers find any excuse to ask pocket money from tourists. A professor in Canada wrote in his book that when he came to a Guatemalan border on a BMW, he got angry about the difficult procedure to enter the country and went back to Canada. Crossing border is the hardest problem for the motorcycle trip in Central and South America. In addition, the permit for my motorcycle temporary importation was already expired three months before. When I had my tourist card extended by three months in Acapulco, I visited some offices to get the motorcycle permit also extended. They told me it was unnecessary because the government regulation had been changed. So, I couldn*t make it and it had been annoying me for a long time. The reason I would be leaving Mexico a day before was that I was afraid of some unexpected problems waiting for me. On May 9, I rode to the border. It was 20 km away. The sky was cloudy. I sensed the rainy season was coming soon. At the border a man on bicycle came to hang around me. I thought the battle had started. I imagined those people should be enjoying the mutual prosperity with the border officials. The reality is not always easy. I had already determined not to resist, but to cooperate with them. The man, however, knew only about passports, but not about motorcycle permits. He was a burden to me. If I had given my extended tourist card back to the immigration, then I would have lost the only document to excuse for the already expired motorcycle permit. I peeled off the sticker of the motorcycle permit from the windshield and showed it to one of the officials. To my surprise, he told me to go back to the office at the exit of Tapachula where I stayed on the previous day. I rode 30 km back. I found the small office at the side of the road after passing Tapachula. There was only a man in charge in a small room with a PC. The man told me, as I had anticipated, there was a problem, and wouldn*t issue a certificate of exporting the motorcycle out of Mexico. That was a serious matter. Without the certificate, I would never be able to be back to Mexico with my BMW. I explained what happened in Acapulco, but in vain. He told me to go to the police in Tapachula to pay a probably large amount of fine. After a long conversation, he finally said to me, "I, not you, will have to take responsibility for this, but do you want my favor?". I thought he was talking about his business at last. I had only a day left in Mexico and I didn*t want to lose time in the police of Tapachula. I answered, "Yes". He then told me to make the copies of my passport, tourist card, and motorcycle permit at a store nearby. I made up my mind to pay for his rip-off, even if it would cost me dear. As I didn*t want to leave the bike out of my sight, I went to a shop with a copying machine by the bike. I came back with the copies and I handed them to the man. The officer immediately printed the certificate out. Maybe because we had another citizen in the office, to my surprise again, he didn*t ask me any money. And ridiculously, I felt I had made a profit. I had to ride another 30 km back to the border. The sky was covered by dark rain clouds. I, however, felt relieved. I became sure that I would be able to enter Guatemala during that day. It began to rain before the border. The procedure at the Mexican immigration was, against my anticipation, finished in several minutes.

I rode to the cross-border bridge over the river and went into the Guatemalan territory. In the Guatemalan side of the border there was a small hut of immigration with only an officer. I handed my passport to him and he stamped a three-month permission to stay in Guatemala in a second, charging $1.5. The fact, I thought, was far from the rumors. However, the problem was about the bike. I hoped the procedure for the bike would be also easy. At that time another "border worker" came to me. He took me to an adjacent office of vehicles importation. To a young woman officer I gave my passport, California registration of the BMW and the Mexican certificate of motorcycle exportation given a few hours before. She made a face and wouldn*t try to stamp the permission for the motorcycle importation. I asked the reason. She answered the problem was that my document of California registration was not an authentic one, but a temporary one. She spent a lot of time to solve the problem, consulting her coworker, and she finally said something to my border worker. My consultant then took me to another place. A man of that place made a piece of declaration form of importing the bike. He charged me $42 for his only 20 to 30-minute work. After that I made several copies of my documents and returned to the customs. Another an hour later, I finally got a stamp for the bike in my passport and was given a sticker for motorcycle importation similar to the one of Mexico. I put it on the windshield. However, I was told that the permit was valid only for a month and that I would have to renew it every one month. I thought that was too much, but there was no way. I rode on the bike to leave there at last, but I saw a man waving to me, suggesting to move the bike toward him. I suspiciously move the bike. He disinfected my bike. Disinfectant was sprayed on my BMW that had been polished up by the other voluntary border worker. An international border is an interesting place because unexpected things could happen there, but, on the other hand, it is a very risky place. Anyway, I wasted 2 - 3 hours and paid $55 all together to go through the Guatemalan border.

I managed to overcome the first barrier of my journey. I will learn Spanish at a language school for six months or a year. If possible, I will get a motorcycle license of Guatemala and have another international motorcycle license issued by Guatemala government. My Japanese international license will be expired soon. I will also get the "carnet" for the BMW from the Canadian Automobile Association just before leaving Guatemala. Guatemala is a country for me to prepare for the trip to Central and South America.