Teal waters, a green drink, and peeing with a chicken

(written Thursday. Apologies for backlog, and for the appalling formatting in this entry. Having trouble with wifi connections.)

More calcium and magnesium rich waters, another site and sight to visit, this one a river and waterfalls bright teal: called Agua Azul. 

The waters are impossibly teal, the teal that comes to mind when one closes her eyes to imagine a dreamy vacation in a tropical place. The color froths over the calcified cascades, in places gushing far, in others splashing only a short distance, such variety of grottos and pools created. A smooth bright pool invites you to swim, the rocks of the falls invite you to climb, then scamper up to another level of pools. The selection of pools and falls is expansive. I stared entranced into the waters and the sounds of water movement lulled me into stillness. I went adventuring, climbing around the cascades, likely marring the photos of the many tourists on the lookout. 

Agua Azul 

I left Agua Azul early the next morning, Thursday, wanting to beat as much heat as I for those map-heads). The first 5k was climbing, crawling and sweating up a steep grade. There was no breeze in the still morning and the sun made slants through the giant leaves. There was a choir of birds singing, "for-real for-real?", "drink-your-tea-drink-your-tea!", "doooo-wop? doooo-wop?"  Few cars, so many plants. This was the jungle and the jungle is noisy with these bird choirs in the morning. This serenade and luscious morning plant gazing, even while creeping up a mountain, was a beautiful way to be in a morning. 

Then after the climbing came the flying. Still on car-less jungle roads. What a life! And then a valley--what was weird about this? what felt strange about my movement?--and I realized I was riding somewhere flat, for once going at a decent clip, under my own power. I've only gone up or down, for weeks. I have had two speeds: 5k/hr or 35 k/hr. 

The ascent, descent, and flatness were through rural empty jungleness, which was glorious. Until I started to get hungry. I had eaten as many bananas as were sensible first thing in the morning, but they had been applied directly to that first climb. There were occasionally a few tiendas--selling soft drinks and dusty packets of preservative-packed junk food--but no comedors ("eateries"). 

Do the local farmers (growing corn, occasionally studded with banana trees, or cattle ranching) here not eat out? Was this a glorified food desert? Or does everyone just get by with snacks and cook at home? 

So I opened my packet of Desperation Peanuts, from one of those dusty tiendas, and was beginning to eat the preserved buggers when I passed an empty porch that said "Comedor". I rolled over and poked my head in. There was a man, weathered face and with a limp, who greeted me. "Tiene huevos?" I asked. He paused, as if it weren't actually a Comedor after all. But then, "si." 

I sat at the single empty table outside and waited, hearing noises of a gas stove being lit. Three little boys (his grandchildren?) in plastic sandals hid behind a pole, staring at me and laughing and goading each other to get closer. I was a decided novelty: I was off the tourist trail with its ever-present food and people who ignore me. I asked for the baño and ducked my way through a couple of low ceilinged rooms and into a back courtyard. The baño was a shed in the back, as is typical to have a bathroom unattached to the main quarters here in the rural places. Inside I found the seatless sullied toilet, the usual 5-gallon bucket for toilet paper (not to be flushed, ever), and two more 5-gallon buckets. One bucket housed a nesting chicken, and the other, a duck. 

Foul baño with fowel 

It wasn't on my bucket (heh) list, but I have now used the facilities in the company of these fine feathered fowl. They looked complete content in there and I left the door ajar for them, like I'd found it. 

There was a hose situation for hand washing and I returned to my little plastic table. Senior brought out the eggs, with a little stack of tortillas. There was not even salsa or napkins but I fed hungrily (sorry Holly, couldn't resist!) on scrambled eggs. No cheese, no tomato, no black pepper. Just eggs, oil, salt. Hot hot hot. 

They may have been the best scrambled eggs I have ever had in my life. Oh my gosh protein tastes so good when you need it. 

The heat became incredible a few hours into the morning. (The difference between 900 feet elevation and 7,000 feet elevation is palpable in temperature!) I was coated in sweat and could feel the droplets coalescing into a pool adhered to my chin. For 30 seconds there was shade, a cloud, AND a weak breeze. Oh, what relief! And it didn't last long. The road was under construction, which did me no favors, so I jittered over dusty gravel, a rock skittering out behind my tire as I climbed laboriously over them. 

Mango time. Good thing I'd been hauling some, as soon as I'd found a tienda with fruit. I parked the bike, sat on a rock, and pocketknifed my way through a luscious yellow fruit. There is nothing like a mango to improve ones situation. Now I was sweaty, dusty AND sticky. 

What felt like 100 miles back a sign had said "Palenque 20 k." I was making discouragingly slow progress. A properly grueling ride. I went through a liter of Powerade (desperate times call for desperate measures, and it tasted like paint), a liter of tamarind juice (much better), and a liter of water. 

It was one of those periods where time moves very slow, where you spend most of your thought process registering "here lies suffering." And I passed people walking on the road carrying huge loads of wood on their backs, a strap across their foreheads for support. And here I am doing this for fun. For which I am so incredibly fortunate.  

At last: the descent! It felt like ice cream, like a good shower, like the best Christmas present. A man in a red dump truck blew a kiss at me. 

Once I got into town I ate an icecream cone. And then I rolled off to another place and drank a Chamoyada, a thing that I didn't know what it was. But it was cold. After consuming it, I learned a chamoyada is a drink blendered with fruit and ice (mine was green, and had piña and leaves of some sort: something like spinach?) and seasoned with "chamoy", which is a style of sauce that is made from pickled fruit and chili's. 

After THAT drink I was satiated and could manage happily the next tasks of ATMing, water buying, and snack restocking. (I may be on "vacation", but the daily faffing tasks still must be attended to.)

A Chamoyada

Kathy and I met at our agreed spot, like we arrange for when we ride at different speeds, and we are staying inside the rainforest near the Mayan ruins of Palenque, in a charming and tidy little room. Heliconias and bananas line the path, past which is thick with jungle and trees. Howler monkeys roar their gutteral cry occasionally, and I saw a hummingbird rest on a branch and zip it's tongue out. 

Next week this time I will be back in the north, so these jungle moments are particularly rich. 

Jungle vista. The air sweats here.