A selection from Karl’s journals that cover CENTRAL AMERICA

Saturday, 17th March 2001. Panama City.

I know it's always the case, but I never really appreciated what there was around me and what was to be seen in the jungle until it was over, until I lay in bed today lost in a dreamlike world. It's all so clear to me now, vivid visions of the jungle, the smells and sounds. I relive it over and over again in such detail. The faces of the monkeys staring at me from the trees, the fish nibbling my body as I washed in those clear pools of warm water. So much comes back to me. While on the move I was too focused on the task in hand, too blinkered to see it all.

It's a pretty lazy start to the day and I do little. I need a map and also to find the tourist information office, an Internet cafe, the Western Union--- well, you name it. That's where the problems started. Unlike most cities I've come across, where most everything you need can be found in one area, say the city centre, this place is a completely different story. I start by making a few basic mistakes with the taxis and end up getting ripped off. It's costing me $2 US to get from place to place as everywhere I need to be is miles from the previous. The food is expensive here as well, $3-$5US for a meal. Hell, money just vanishes like smoke. I don't go out to socialise as I can't even afford to start. I was hoping to get a new trailer built at some point, but there's not a cat in hells chance of having it done here. In fact I can't even afford to buy some of the necessities that include a new camera. Panama City and I don't get on at all.

I'm staying in the older part of town. It's grotty, run down and I wouldn't be going too far if I say it stinks. Certainly not a place you'd like to hang around in after dark. Nothing new there then. Once again the depressive malaise begins to set in and I feel quite low. I can't sleep properly, become listless and find it hard to do anything. On Monday 19th, I give Andy Newlands, the deputy head of mission at the embassy, a phone call and we agree to meet up on Wednesday evening at a place called 'Bennigan's', then go on for a steak meal.

Wednesday, 4th April 2001. 8 degrees 51 minutes north, 79 degrees 49 minutes west.

Out I went on to the dark streets. It was relatively quiet, save for a few rather scary prostitutes, drunks and members of the homeless. Within 45 minutes I had cleared the city and reached the America's Bridge, a huge construction spanning the Panama Canal. It was still dark but I decided to wait on the opposite side for first light in order that I could get a photograph of myself with the bridge.

It was passed 06:00 when I set off again and for the next two hours walked alongside rows of traffic, city bound and crawling bumper-to-bumper. I'd come across some odd road kills in my time but the sloths, Python's and smattering of possums were even new to me. I moved well, and covered a lot of ground as I made my way into the hills. It was pretty much jungle on either side of the road, there were some open fields, but unfortunately there were few places where I could find food or water. I can see this is going to turn out to be a bit of a problem. On the odd occasion someone will recognised me mainly because the local TV did a number on me some time ago I'm told. I stopped at a road toll terminal for water, one of the staff recognised me and I was given a plate of mixed chopped fruit.

By midday I had covered more than 33k's and with sore feet decided I would call it a day. Unfortunately at this point I was near the town of La Chorrera and there were nothing but houses along either side of the road. I couldn't find a point to get off. At least I managed to find a restaurant so I could eat, thank God. It was way past 16:00 by the time I managed to slip into a field and hide. My feet were very sore with a couple of blisters. It had been one helluva long hot day.

Tonight I used my new tent for a first time, a North Face 'Harrier', and a damn sight more suitable than the last tent. No sooner had I set up and was in my tent than I was asleep. It was as if someone had just stepped in and tapped me with a club.

Sunday, 8th April 2001. 08 degrees 30 minutes north, 80 degrees 21 minutes west.

A late start as I took some time out to cook a breakfast before moving, being so hungry. Food is somewhat scarce again as I'm trying to avoid running out of money too soon. I left Panama City with $60 US, even Catty sent me $18 via the Western Union to make up my short fall the day she returned to Medellin,- helping out yet again. However, I'm afraid this may run out if I eat too well. In fact after a bit of maths I work out it will run out before David.

I reached Penonome at the end of the day, but push on through. It's only a small place, off to one side of the Pan-American. My feet are particularly sore, and boredom is beginning to set in as well. Very boring at night, and the days are long hot and boring. Never-ending flat roads.

Shortly after leaving Panama City I developed a very nasty rash around my groin and the tops of my legs, making walking a real trial. However I seem to have sorted it out using alcohol and anti-bacterial cream. Ever wash your nuts in pure alcohol? Oh Lord! To keep on top of this rash I had to do it every night.

Monday, 9th April 2001. 08 degrees 19 minutes north, 80 degrees 30 minutes west.

The little towns I pass along the road here are all same. The same layout, apparently the same Chinese family running the same store in a building that looks exactly the same as the last.

My morning starts off with a nice spurt, but by the afternoon I'm staring at the road surface rather than the bright world around me in some dreamlike state, in an effort to forget or ignore the pain and heat. My good road surface has now gone and I'm left with a crappy narrow road which forces me onto the dirt strip, composed of stones and rocks, along one side. This slows me down, and makes it damn hard to walk. The wind starts dropping off and it gets continually hotter.

I reached the small town of Nata by the end of the day, where I stopped for a Coke in a small cafe. This is where a rather loud chap and his girlfriend find me, both full of questions. He's from Lima in Peru and somewhat over friendly, a real Jack the Lad. At first I'd rather he moved on and left me alone, but I'm forced to talk. It turns out he's not that bad and even reckons I can stay here with them. It could be a good deal, on the other hand it could be a bad move as well. What the hell, I except. He gets some food in which is a good start and then we get in his rather flash car. The girlfriend has disappeared by this point. Wheels spinning and screeching it's out onto the road. Radio blasts out at full volume and we tear down the road at 180 kph, (110 mph). He's got a can of beer in one hand and looks, and sounds, as though he's had a few already. We drive out back east, where he stops and speaks to someone, then we head west again, engine screaming, music blasting. This guy is 45 plus going on 16. Sure enough we end up cruising around with this muppet yelling at any female within range. He would then look at me and laugh loudly. We visit more people and it doesn't take long to dawn on me that no one actually seems to like this guy, he's a bit of a 'Billy No-Mates'. It transpired we didn't have anywhere to sleep and that's why we been driving around speaking to people. Not to worry he says, we can both sleep in his car.

" What d'you say Buddy?'... I look at him.

" But buddy, we’re friends. You and I, you can't leave me alone."

" I know, it breaks my heart too, best of luck."

I leave him back at the cafe where he'd found me and head out into the darkness. I pass two dead alligators, road kills, one longer than I was tall. Needless to say, I was a little nervous as I stumbled through the long grass down by the river, whilst looking for a spot that couldn't be seen from the concrete bridge. Imagine hitting one of those things on the road.

'Boof!!'

"Dad, Dad.... go back and see if it's dead!"

"Shut up son."

Saturday, 14th April 2001. 08 degrees 12 minutes north, 81 degrees 38 minutes west.

I've noticed I’m sleeping a lot better. My new tent is nice and roomy and sleeping on a flat surface is a damn sight better than the hammock, even with a few rocks and lumps beneath.

Down amongst these winding roads and valleys there's a total lack of wind and the temperature soars under a flesh stripping sun. It's now starting to look more like Colombia and small stores can be found along the road selling Coke, if nothing else. It's been hard work today I found, it's so damn hot. There's a lot of hill work and my energy levels are falling as I'm on a strict pasta diet. I've got myself a nasty set of blisters on my right foot. They appeared on the first day out of Panama City. There's one large blister on the ball of my foot and beneath three of my toes, which is in fact three blisters combined, although they're still separate within the mass. I've just let them be, but when each one bursts I know about it as I received a pain spike. It's all looking a bit messy now and the tape is soaked in blood tonight, a gooey sticky mess of blood and pus. I have to nail myself down as I apply alcohol. I've set up in a field that has had cattle in it that's for sure. I know because I'm covered in tics from the grass.

Way behind me, beyond these hills, a large thunderstorm rattles and lightning flashes constantly light up the tent and my world like neon lights as I lay in the dark.

Monday, 16th April 2001. 08 degrees 08 minutes north, 82 degrees 06 minutes west.

Halfway through the day I run out of water and I'm forced to hunt out small huts in the bush. I find a group and the kids scatter as I enter. Running and hiding, you can see the surprise on their faces. In fact it's a bit of a surprise for everyone, to have some gringo stumble into their modest dwellings.

" Good day, I really could do with some water."

I know I'll be given a rather dodgy liquid as the kids run off with my plastic bottles to find some. Another child is dispatched on a mission in a different direction. It takes time for the group with my bottles to hunt down water from chicken coups and dogs dishes. The young lad with a mission returns, gasping after hoofing it through the bush, and has brought back with him some ice!! God alone knows where from. It’s placed in a cup of water for me and they hand it over with a smile. Needless to say the water is leaping but I can't say no with the small boy looking so pleased with himself, still gasping for breath. Down it goes, floating debris and all. Apart from the bacteria, I certainly need it. I'm putting away 8-9 litres whilst on the road and two more at night and in the morning. The sun is raging all day, the air still and stale. My clothes are permanently soaked through. On the odd occasion they do dry out they become crisp with salt stains.

The days are dragging somewhat. I've developed open sores on my hips and legs, probably from being constantly wet. They are as sore as hell, and the tape won't stick because of the sweat. Blisters rage on both feet now, still... I'm nearly there. I find a shady spot beneath some trees on the side of the road and flop into the grass. Something begins thrashing about beneath me.... Christ! It's a bloody snake!! A bright red snake with black stripes goes ape. I roll off and it vanishes. I sit still for a moment, not knowing where it's gone. However, I see no more of it. I have a drink, then move on.

At midday the sun's almost directly above me, my shadow beneath my feet. My head spins and when I rest sometimes the world seems to close into the centre of my viewpoint. When I'm on the road, if I stop and stare at a fixed point, everything begins collapsing slowly into the centre. It's not like tunnel vision, but an hallucination, as though someone was stood behind a film screen, pinched it in the centre and then stretched it backwards, distorting everything.

Monday, 14th May 2001. 10 degrees 21 minutes north, 84 degrees 56 minutes west.

06:55 on the road. I'm moving ok, but it's damned hot. The road's pretty much straight, but very up and down all the way. After a couple of hours the traffic died down and I parked my arse in a roadside cafe for a Coke, and to count my remaining cash. With 8-9 days left I didn't have a lot of money, in fact basically nothing at all. Arrr bollocks, it's grim once again. I messed up in San Jose and I've left myself well short. I've also been spending too much per day so far, mainly because with no milk the only thing I can find is orange juice. However, by the litre this is pricey. At present I'm just buying the odd Coke or orange juice but even this will have to stop for a few days, if not I'll simply run out all the more quickly. So yet again I imagine I'm going to start getting very tired, ratty, short-tempered and snappy. The days will drag and never end as the hunger sets in.

On the way up to the road I came across a large sheet of swarming ants moving across the track. I'd come across them before, notably in the hills before San Jose, which was the biggest swarm I've seen. There was a column 10 ft deep that spanned the road and even went on to the verges, all moving in the same direction as the road. There must have been million upon million of these tiny black ants. A pack hunt like no other, they all moved as if under the command of the central organiser, again fascinating to watch. The forward edge is a massive group which flows like water over everything, and out to the sides small columns form long probing fingers which never stray too far from the main group. Bringing up the rear straggling groups file into columns that eventually drain into the main group like water running from high ground.

Sunday, 20th May 2001. 11 degrees 21 minutes north, 85 degrees 45 minutes west.

It's a restless night, far too hot. I seem to spend all night scratching and itching. I haven't been able to wash for 10 days now and my skin is probably far less than healthy. By the end of each day the top half of my body is covered in an ugly rash.

I awake this morning to find a cloudy sky and after only five minutes on the road it absolutely throws it down with rain, at last! I reached the border, changed my last dollar bill for cordobas,( Nicaraguan currency), then spent my last few coins on a piece of cake and a Coke, before attempting to cross the border. It's then I find I have to pay $3 US to leave Costa Rica. With nothing to lose I kick up a bit of a stink and the fat man on the desk just snaps "Give me your passport!" and I get my exit stamp. However I then find I have to pay to enter Nicaragua, I'm screwed. It's $7 US, but on Sundays this goes up to $9 US. It would appear you don't get a free visa after all. Still worth a go...

" You're not entering unless you pay!"

" But..."

" We don't care!"

" But..."

" We don't care, no money, no entry!!

Only 36k's from Rivas and I'm stuck, what are choker. I had a good think, what could I do? I could try to sell my Walkman, but without batteries no one would believe it worked. Ring the embassy?.. Sunday! Very little to lose, I'll give it a go. The only working public phone is outside and I can't get out without a valid passport, but after a bit of buggering about I get permission to use the phone, only to get some answering machine that is barely decipherable as the phone line is so bad. I plonk myself down outside the office.. now what? It's a grotty little frontier crossing, very rough. There's a lot of confusion, shouting. Big fat women with ten kids hanging from them, yelling and screaming at the immigration staff. Long queues of trucks and cars, people everywhere. I guess that's it then until tomorrow, until I get a chance to speak to the embassy and find out what my options are. There's a bank here but it's of little use to me as I don't carry a cash card. I'm left with just 20 cordobas to use up on phone-calls. I'd kept my cool and had not snapped at the staff on this side, mind you it took a great deal of self control. Now I just sat outside with a hopeless thousand yard stare. Sometimes life sucks and today it was sucking good... 36k's. Sunday, what a time to get stuck in a cesspit like this.

A little while later the strangest damn thing happened! The same staff in the immigration office, who an hour earlier had shut the door in my face, (and weren't interested in my newspaper clippings or anything I had to say), called me back into the office. " We had a whip around, each of us giving $2 US, and we're going to pay for your entry."

Well I'll be damned, never in a million years of Sunday's would I have thought this would happen. They don't know me from the next guy and yet these people are now paying out of their own pockets for some dippy penniless backpacker who was dumb enough to get himself into such a mess in the first place... how do I do it? I vow to pay them back and I was on my way, but it was now just gone 11:00. This meant I'd lost a few hours, however until this point I'd been looking at a day or two in the grotto.

Out now on to a flat straight road running along the shoreline of the huge 'Lake Nicaragua'. I also have a good view of the two very prominent volcanoes, Madera and Concepcion. The latter it would appear is active as I can see steam streaming from the top. The day was humid and once again very hot under a bright sky.

I began to notice there were a lot of flies in the air, somewhat like a mosquito in appearance yet harmless. The air became thick with them, the grass smothered and their bodies layered the road. The stench of the billions of rotting flies was making me retch... what a mess! The knock-on effect of this fly explosion was a corresponding multitude of spiders exploiting this phenomenon. It looked as though someone had run over the entire landscape with an industrial strength can of spray on web. Billions upon billions of spiders had covered everything in a thick carpet of webs. These in turn were matted with the bodies of the flies, and at times the area around me looked almost alien, I'd never seen anything like it. The stench was terrible, and a number of times I almost vomited. This went on all day.

Wednesday, 30th

May 2001. Jinotepe. 11 degrees 51 minutes north, 86 degrees 12 minutes west.

A grey wet start which just about summed up how I was feeling. By midday I'd reached the town of Jinotepe, was now feeling very tired and not too clever at all. I decided to crash here, since I had some money and was in no particular rush ... what the hell! At least the Imodium seemed to be working.

This place is somewhat similar to Rivas, except that I couldn't find a place to stay for the night. Since I was relatively flush, and I do mean relatively, I was hoping for somewhere just a little upmarket from my usual dives, as it would only be for the one night. I'd had a bit of a dream about spending a night in a clean place with a TV, even Sky or cable... wow! Think of it. I was prepared to fork out a little more for such a night, but no such luck, there was only one hotel in town that was half-decent and that was $40 US, per night... obviously a joke. I was left with the one and only alternative, a dog kennel of a squat for $6.

It was stinking. An old fat woman answered the door, seemingly the same one that I'd seen at every other dive I've ever stayed at. She wore the standard uniform of a sweat and food stained T-shirt and flip-flops.

" What do you want?" she grunted.

" I'm collecting on behalf of the world's impoverished professional football players... what the fuck do you think I want!"

She spent ten minutes looking for the key and arguing with a huge old fat man who looked as though he'd been welded to his rocking chair for some years, his feet buried beneath a pile of empty beer cans. We walked initially knee-deep through a herd of snotty, grubby kids then out into a small courtyard, where we continued to wade through chickens, pigs and three dogs, to cave number 14. As already mentioned, the place stank and there was animal crap everywhere. She forced open the ill-fitting door then picked up some rubbish and one sheet from the bed, which had obviously not been touched since the last squatter left. All the rooms had double beds, as these places normally double up as brothels if there's a bit of a rush on. There I was then, in my square concrete box again. The green paint peeling and streaked with water stains and rust. A mish-mash of corrugated iron sheeting above me, and two bare wires taped to a wooden beam from which hung a single low watt lightbulb. The light switch itself sparked and crackled when it touched it. Apart from the bed, there was one small grubby wooden table, and that was it. These places are cloned, along with their owners, they're all identical. A large rooster glared at me from the open doorway. 'Great', come 02:00 and this bastard is going to be giving it 'Cock a doodle doo!' at 100 decibels outside my door! Maybe I should just kill it now while I have the chance. Oh Lord! ... I sagged visibly as I sat on the bed.

Sunday, 3rd June 2001. Leon.

The day started with a mad dash to Leon and after only a few hours on the road it began to grow hot, but by then I was entering the town. To say I was less than impressed would be a great under statement. It was by no means as well put together as I'd hoped, and in fact was very run down. Having reached the town centre I wondered if I would be able to achieve my aim and get a new trailer built here. Having a bit of cash I swung straight into town occupation mode, then tried to locate anywhere where it would be possible for someone to actually build the thing.

On the second day I tried two places. The first was a virtual scrapheap in someone's backyard. The 'engineer' a large fat guy in the standard food, sweat-stained and rather ragged T-shirt, (plus two dogs). The second venue was the local Tech College where half the complex was dedicated to the production of items in wood and metal, almost in the form of a factory. They handled anything from old furniture to car-parts. It was quite a large establishment, with sufficient facilities and workshops. I went and spoke with the 'Administration Chap', who was an Austrian, but I could luckily explain in English what I wanted. I was then taken see a department head and after we had discussed the plans they seemed to think they could do it. Think they could do it? After a further bit of prodding and cajoling I got a more positive response.

Now that we had set the wheels in motion I went off to the Post Office where a re-supply parcel was waiting for me, with a new pair of boots and other bits and pieces. There were also letters from Mother etc. I was staying at a place called 'Hotel America'. A little on the pricey side at C/100, (approx $8 US), but it was noticeably more pleasant than the norm. I had my own toilet and shower, and the place was well lit with strip lighting, all in all quite clean. I was quite happy to pay to stay here for a couple of days, and then look for a new joint later.

The first few days were really quite hectic. I drew up more detailed plans for the new trailer, which took some time. I now had to choose between a heavier steel construction or aluminium. The latter is obviously a lighter, but would possibly not take the same amount of hammer as the steel and fracture around the stress points. Rather than converting any parts to fit the trailer, such as bike forks, this time it would be built from scratch, from the ground up. Having dragged a converted golf trolley 5000 miles I was in a position to know exactly what I wanted. In the end I decided to use aluminium in the construction as steel would have been just way too heavy. Each day I would use a series of bus and taxis to get to and from the college, the ' Fundacion Politecno La Salla'.

Monday, 30th July 2001. San Miguel. 13 degrees 28 minutes north, 88 degrees 10 minutes west.

Starting where I left off yesterday it's up down, up down, all the way until I finally complete my 30k's. I find San Miguel squatting at the base of a huge volcano called (funnily enough) San Miguel, that rises to 6,988 feet.

This is the second largest city in El Salvador and I intend to spend two nights here as I need a few re-supplies such as food, money, note pad etc.... plus a good wash. My left little toe is painful, yet better than it was, and it's clearing up quite well. I'm beat by the time I get here, but still have to fight the traffic on the narrow congested streets as I search for a cheap hotel. The cheapest I find is $8 US, which relatively speaking is not cheap. I don't like the look of this place at all. It's very run-down and the streets outside are filthy, filled with rubbish and overflowing sewers. Poverty is everywhere, along with the homeless, drunks.. and plenty of gun shops. I've only a few pennies left, so once in place I go straight out looking for a cash machine. The first one I come to turns me down, and the bank also refuses to accept my Visa card, Oh Oh! A second machine also rejects my requests, and just as I'm thinking of using the Internet to organise some money through the Western Union, I come across a third machine. This one is working, but then I realise I don't even know what the rate of exchange is for US dollars, having changed only Honduran money into Colone's (local currency) at the border. So ask for C 400 which should be about $50 - $60 US, however the machine then proceeds to pay out $400 US!

On my way back I pop into an Internet cafe to check on the mail situation and find an extremely strongly worded e-mail from Dad. Last month's bill from Barclaycard... £960, What the hell are you playing at??... Oops! I know I had the trailer to pay for and to kit out, however it came as a real shock to me as well- and now I have to tell him I've just taken a further $400 US out. Thank God I'm in Central America.

On returning I find a group of people standing about outside the hotel. At first I presume they're waiting for buses, but then I see they're standing around an old guy who's on the ground beside the road. To my horror I see his right foot has been torn from his leg, well virtually anyway, as it's only connected by a few strands of flesh. His exposed ankle joint and foot are crushed into his shoe, the result of a bus wheel I'm told. I asked what's been done about it and it appears nothing has. As I step forward to look at the man, people stop me saying I mustn't touch him until the police get here.

I scatter five dogs that are hanging around, lapping up the blood from the road, then go into a shop next door and grab a plastic bag. I ease the remains of his foot and his injured leg into the bag just to keep the flies and dirt off it. The old man just lays there as if trying to sleep, probably in shock. There is less blood flowing than one would have expected, so I decide not to try and tourniquet it, however this is something you'd expect to see in a butchers shop. There's nothing further I can do, so leave it to them and head back for a shower and a rest.

The next day it's wash clothes, shop and eat. There's a new modern shopping centre in the south of the city that is very clean, a stark contrast to the city centre.

Thursday, 2nd August 2001. 13 degrees 20 minutes north, 88 degrees 28 minutes west.

I do well this morning, getting through the town of Usucutan, where again I'm mistaken for the Canadian chap. More or less the same as yesterday, however the roads are better now, being flatter. It's the usual hot sun, face sucking flies and annoying campesinos. Items two and three swarm all over me when I take a rest and it's the same interrogation, repeatedly asking the same questions.

" Are you on a bike?"

" No!"

" But it's a bike!"

" Where have you come from?"

" Chile."

" Ah, you’re Chilano."

" No, I'm English."

" You've walked from England?"

" No, I've walked from Chile."

" But you said you're from England?"

" Yes."

" But you come from Chile."

" Yes!...er no! Oh, what the hell." I just want to hang my head and say nothing, do nothing, only rest here under this tree..... alone. More campesinos arrive on their bikes and stop.

" Hey, is that a bike Gringo?"

" No, he says it's for walking."

" Walking! Where is he from?"

" England."

" He's walked from England??"

God give me strength.

Thursday, 9th August 2001. 13 degrees 41 minutes north, 89 degrees 56 minutes west.

It’s long, straight roads today and tremendous heat, yet I move well. Overall I feel OK and the days don't seem that bad, a lot better than they were after the stop in Leon.

During the afternoon I pulled into a mish-mash of wooden stores alongside the road which were basically a small village. It's all very busy with the people and campesino’s getting on with their lives. I re-supply with pasta, plus this time some fresh green tomatoes, onions, toilet paper, candles, milk powder and a new set of batteries. Whilst here I also take the opportunity to fill up with three litres of water to last me through the evening. A woman had taken my bottles around to the back to fill them and as she was handing them back to me there was the screech of tyres from the road outside. As I turned I heard that terrible thud of an impact and saw a bicycle folding beneath the wheels of the car, its rider sent rolling across the tarmac like a rag doll. I ran over to the scene only to see the car reverse off the bent and twisted bike, weave around to the right of the body and drive off at speed. The victim was lying face down, blood running from his mouth and I could see bits of teeth. He was breathing, unconscious, but breathing. A large crowd quickly gathered and an old man attempted to pull me away saying, “ No, no, it's OK he's alive. Best leave him.”

After a very quick look at him there were no other injuries immediately evident and the bleeding from the mouth appeared to come from a facial injury. People began pulling at his arms and legs and I attempted to stop them while I gave him a look over, but eventually they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him off the road to the shade of a tree.

“ Do you know what you doing?” I yelled.

“ Yes!” Came the reply.

A group of men sat the unconscious casualty upright, holding him by his arms whilst three men began fanning him with their straw hats. I tried to explain they'd be better off laying him in a coma position, however amongst the noise of the confused crowd no one seemed to be listening. I decided that time would be best spent looking for transport.

“ Who's got a car here?” I yelled.

I was met by the same blank expressions as my previous experiences, so once again I attempted to stop traffic on the road. I eventually managed to stop a red pick-up and began to explain that we had an accident victim that needed to get to hospital. Others from the crowd then switched on to this and helped me to convince the driver, who rolled his eyes as if to say ‘Christ, why me!’

The crowd were still fanning the poor victim and even slapping him on the back. “ Let's go!… Get him over here!”

The group of men lifted him, none too gently, off the ground and began bringing him over to the pick-up….. which was now full of other people!

“ Everyone off the back of the pick-up please!”

“ But it's our taxi!”

“ Not now it's not, it's an ambulance!”

Once the back of the pick-up was clear I turned around to find them stuffing the poor victim into the front passenger seat, and I mean stuffing, there was blood running everywhere. Cursing loudly, I lifted the chap out while trying to explain how this was just not the way it was done.

“ Help me!” I shouted as I carried him around to the back and slid him on. The locals were yelling about the heat from the pick-ups floor and I said to the one chap that was on there with him, “ Don't worry about that, lay him on his side, and keep him on his side.”

Though it was the least of the victims worries, fair play, the pick-up was red hot, you could cook on it, and people began stuffing things under him as I arranged him in a three-quarters prone position.

“ He needs to stay like this! Look, blood in his mouth… keep him laid on his side!”

Blank confused stares from the man with the victim. People were now covering him with leafy branches to try and keep the sun off.

“ Just you worry about his breathing!” I yelled as the truck pulled off.

As I watched the truck disappear, I saw him roll the victim onto his back. It was a good drive to the nearest hospital or even town. This place is incredible. I wonder if this is a bad month for RTA's around here or just the norm. As the crowd dispersed I just managed to grab hold of a young man who was making off with my hat.

Monday, 27th August 2001.

The junction is in chaos this morning, the road crammed with brightly-coloured buses. Sometimes it's entertaining to just sit and watch these buses. Time is money, you've got to race the other buses to the next queue, so that when a bus stops ( I say 'stops' advisedly, as in reality it doesn't actually get out of first gear), it's pandemonium. There's a chap that hangs out of the door, screaming the buses destination at everyone as it approaches the 'queue', waving his arms in the air. Campesinos of every gender and age alike run for the bus which doesn't actually stop but moves slowly past. There is a fearsome scramble at the doorway, with people carrying huge sacks of rice or beans, chickens, small pigs or whatever, struggling to get on. The man by the door is now dragging people on and throwing stuff up onto the roof at same time. As the bus slows the rear doors will burst open and people despatch themselves like paratroopers, followed by sacks of rice, livestock, kids, sacks of corn, vegetables and car-parts. Before the last passenger has left the rear door he's already grinding it into second gear and putting his foot down, with a stream of those unlucky ones still running alongside. However the next bus is already quickly approaching. Those that didn't make it onto the last bus now begin scrambling for the next. And it's not just passengers running alongside the buses, hordes of campesinos with baskets of snacks, pop, water, tacos and in fact anything they can sell, sprint for each bus and swamp the thing yelling "Water, Water!! Chewing gum! Hands appear from the windows and the exchange of money for goods takes place on the run. Sometimes you'll see a frail old lady by the road who will signal to an approaching bus. The bus will then slow slightly as it reaches her and you watch her feet rise into the air as she's grabbed and lifted aboard.

Once more it's a lot of hill work today, and as the road turns on to the high ground it seems to be mostly uphill. However today I spend more cash on pop and even food. I must have stopped for a Coke every 5k's and even had a meal at midday. I have a little extra cash to hand and I'm hoping to find that certain buzz attained by eating well or going over the top on liquid sugar. Suddenly an energy storm kicks in and if you've been on a low for some time then this must be the equivalent of taking hard drugs. Suddenly you're on top of the world and can tab forever. You're happy, you smile and the whole world is beautiful.

Bang! Another tyre explodes when a pick-up truck passes me and I watch a fully loaded truck fight for control as its rear sways all over the place. It eventually careers onto the grass strip alongside the road. Other vehicle's brakes screech as they try to avoid the pick-up. Jesus! What if one of these things blows just as it's approaching me?

Mid-afternoon and I get my buzz at long last, not only that but it clouds over and begins to rain. The road steams but after the temperature drops the world becomes perfect for just a little while. Unless you do something as daft as this it's hard to realise just to what extent your energy levels play around with not only your physical state but your mental state as well. There's a real clear cut difference between trotting along keeping it just above the red line and when I'm 'high'.

I end the day on a lofty position with nothing short of an immense view, almost to the coast that is to my south west. Funnily enough my 30k's lands me right on top of a gas station with a truck park and cafe. I arrive bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and feeling good enough to have a laugh and a joke with the petrol pump attendants and shotgun wielding guards. When on a low I would not so much as grunt at them, but sit and scowl in a shady corner, wishing the whole world could be consumed in flames and pain. It's interesting to sit and take a few moments to watch the people passing through these stations. It's here you get to see the difference between those city folk and the campesinos. Mr City Slicker with his five year gym membership body, cowboy boots, tight jeans, silk shirt and greased back hair sports a 9 mm (chrome finished so that it goes with his jewellery) in his belt holster as he pops in for his packet of cigarettes, while his drop-dead model of a girlfriend waits in their newly polished Range Rover. This will probably be followed by a pick-up full of campesinos who are crammed into the back and covered with strips of plastic, but still soaking wet. They pull in at the pump next to the Range Rover and sullen dark faces with the even darker eyes look out at me with fixed stares. They don't even blink.

The thunder and lightning pounds away and the rain keeps coming. The storms are beginning earlier now, and it becomes overcast by 14:00 and rains before I stop. I don't mind at all, as it's far better than the stifling heat. As with yesterday and in fact the day before, I spend all day thinking about Catty. I am troubled, but having somewhere safe to stay takes a lot of pressure off. Here there are five armed guards with shotguns, side arms and CS spray.

Thursday colour 30th August 2001. 14 degrees 21 minutes north, 92 degrees 10 minutes west.

A good sleep, and by 06:00 I was on the road. A very pleasant morning, cool and fresh. The sun was still hidden behind the hills and volcanoes, but its orange glow was just starting to illuminate the peaks. It cast a huge shadow to my front and shortly after the trees around me burst into a brilliant yellow. From then on of course it just got hotter and hotter, but I continued moving well.

I stopped for a drink at a roadside restaurant and began talking to the owner, who'd lived in New York for two years. As many here have found, the grass was no greener on the other side. As we were talking my American friend from yesterday, Michael, turns up. He'd come looking for me with a camera, so we took a number of shots on the road and he also used my camera for a few shots as well.

The day continues to swing along and soon I'm within only 5k's of Mexico. I sit and drink water under the shade of a tree and watch the world go by for a while, suddenly I have time to kill. Indian women in native dress pass me coming from the river below with baskets of washing balanced on their heads and young children hanging in slings over their backs. Young girls bring up the rear with scavenged bundles of firewood, also balanced on their heads. Campesinos cycled past, always on rusting squeaky bicycles with the obligatory load of firewood attached, and the ever-present machete.

Moving on, I quite quickly come to Tecun Uman, a very grotty frontier town and not the place you'd want to hang around in. I can't even find a crossing point and have to ask. I end up trailing my way through shady backstreets until I find a shabby looking office where I can pick up my exit stamp. An obviously destitute and probably homeless young girl helps me by explaining in clear English what I need to do and where to go, not that I need it by now. She's very proficient and far from dumb, knowing exactly at which point to tell you that from this time on you no longer need Quetzals, and that it’s Pesos from here on. Dutifully the Gringo removes his remaining loose change and thanking her for her help, hands over Q/2.5

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