Once you cross that line between the US and Mexico, things seems to change drastically. And that rule applies itself to kids as well. Suddenly one starts to see them everywhere, selling chiklets in central parks, shinning shoes, working in the numerous stalls that populate the markets, selling veggies, fruit and meat or working in hostels, hotels, laundry shops, taking care of younger siblings, acting as guides, or just begging and sleeping in the streets.

How many are still going to school, how many do this after school on their spare time, how many dropped out of school, I don’t know. What I know is that a lot of them do work, starting as young as 5 year old, either begging, selling knickknacks or engaging in any manual work. Some have parents, some don’t and are left to fend for themselves.

And then, you have people who say: that’s enough!! In Leon, Nicaragua, I had the tremendous chance to stumble on Las Tias, an NGO formed 20 years ago by 7 market ladies, who, upon noticing the staggering amount of kids working the market and not attending school, decided to take matters into their own hands.

After approaching the other food stalls and asking for food donations so they could feed the kids, they started their first center, focusing on giving them a place to eat, learn, and live.

Today, Las Tias centers are formed of 2 branches. One caters roughly to 50 teenagers, offering them tutoring after school, lunch, and manual skills teaching in hairdressing, carpentry and weaving. The other center welcomes 100 under privileged kids aged 6 to 12, offering them a daily lunch, tutoring, and the services of social workers and health specialists. One of the project consisted of making necklaces to help reduce stress and anxiety in traumatised kids.

At one point they were even offering rehab to kids with drug and alcohol problems, program that had to shutdown due to lack of funds a few years back.

Now aged in the late 60’s, the Tias also struggle in their own battles, some of them dealing with one of their own children with drug problems. But day by day, they help their community by providing essential services to underprivileged kids. Funded in partnership with NGO’s based in Germany, and private donations from individuals, the Tias run a tight ship, trying to account for every penny donated, but still facing stress towards the future, their only hope residing in foreign donations, as the government offers nothing.

Please have a look at the pictures on www.transamericatrek.org in the folder Las Tias to see a bit of the work they do.
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Ahh, La Mordita, that little "je ne sais quoi", or more " "the I know exactly what", that little unofficial tax needed to grease up the wheels of buraucracy. The extra costs, the, "I know, and you know what I want, it's just a question of how much". The bribe, the tourist tax, the "pot-de-vin" as we like to say in french. Loosely translated, La Mordita mean the little bite, the little nibble. It's what makes officials work faster, slower, or not at all.

Common practice in all of Central America, it reaches its peak in Honduras, where they perfectionned the art to something both beautiful... and painfull!!

Thankfully, with the help of the network of overlanders I came up somewhat prepared for what is now known as one of the most corrupted 130km of highway in the world!!

It all starts at the border, that are usually dilapidated towns, made up of a a mishmash of officials, police, military, taxi drivers, truckers, "helpers", money changers, food stalls and total disorganisation.

While approaching, a handful of man will run after the Jeep offering any kind of help necessary, one of the biggest one is photocopies, a ridiculous amount of wich are necessary to cross countries!! I usually take a guide, they cost 2-5 dollars and generally speed the process up a lot.

It the case of the El Slavador-Honduras border, I know from other's experience that I will be asked for a bribe, La Mordita... the question is how much: anywhere between 1$ to 100$ is the general going price. I knew that the official total coast is 42$... but in my mind, 50-60$ and I would get out of it relatively easy.

I knew when I got to the customs office that I was in trouble: the guy in charge was the stereotype of corruption, big, sweaty, overweight, greasy, and with a face that hasn't seen a smile in 10 years. The deal was this, offical price will take 3 days... for 100$ it'll take 20 minutes. I explained to him that I didn't mind waiting for 3 days, since I had camping gear in the truck and was ready to sleep in front of the office if needed. We then settled on a 8$ bribe for 4 hours of work... (2 of these hours where actually his lunch break, where nothing would stop him from indulging in eating an entire cow).

After jumping through loops, running after photocopies, arguing and negotiating bribes, I finally made it out of dodge, only to be turned around 300 meters later by somekind of unofficial official that told me I was missing 1 photocopy!!

And then then fun began!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's how I prepared to avoind bribing the 11 police roadblcoks that mine the 130km of higway between Honduras and Nicaragua:

What is needed:

2 safety-emergency triangles
1 fire extinguiser
1 reflexive stripe in the back of the truck
All seatbelts buckled
1$ bills, around 5 of them, tucked in pockets... and hide any big bills...
A smile, a luagh, and stay cool, nowmather what!!

Here's what hapenned!!!!!

I got stopped 11 times by the police!

First roadblock the young officer asked for my triangles and fire extinguisher which I gave with a big smile. HE WASN'T SMILING!!! He then started to call me "Puta" which means, lady of the night with loose morals!! After 10 times of putas, he then asked me money for a softdrink, and after making a show of showing him I had nothing, he angrely asked me to keep going.

500 meters around the bend, another roadblock, this time asking for an offical custom list of everything I had in the truck... which obvioulsly I didn't have!!! He told me it would be 100$. I told him ok, I want the offical ticket, and I'll pay at the bank. He dropped it to 20@, I said ok, but that I wanted and official ticket, and wanted to pay it at the bank... He dropped it to 5$... well you get the drift here. At the end I paid nothing... the police yelled a me, called me a paysano (derogatory term for someone of low class) and I kept driving to the next one...

The game went on and on, and in a total of 11 roadblocks, I only paid a bribe of 1$, and that was for the honesty of the police, who smiled at me, told me he didn't care for my offcial papers, and needed money for diesel for his truck... and I paid a dollar with a smile...

I must say I was nervous before the crossing of Honduras, having heard of horror stories going from 100-1000$ bribes. In the end it cost me 10$ in Morditas... which is not too bad!!

But the experience would have been much more stressful and painful if it wasn't for my travelling companions: Jean-Benoit, Braydon and Simon, with whom every roadblock became a rnning gag, where we were cheering after each one, where we were taking bets on the next ones, and with whom I lived the most corrupt stretch of highway in the world!!

La Mordita... jus a little nibble for me!!

Cheers and please send some news wherever yous are!!!

And don't forget to look at the pics at www.transamericatrek.org
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I´ve spent the last 2 weeks in San Pedro de Atitlan, a town of 10 00 people on the edge od Lago Atitlan in Guetamala. Someone asked me a few days ago what it was like here and I could barely find the words to describe the feel of this place at that moment, but after a bit of thinking, I hope that I can now relate this place to yous all!

Imagine a town surrounded by 3 volcanos, one of them still active, sitting by a clear blue lake. Each night bathing in some of the most beautiful sunsets. But imagine that same lake, suffering from a bad case of pollution, switching its deep blue for a dirty brown, and according to the news, endangered and slowly dying.

Imagine a town that feels old and rugged, nothing fancy, roads paved with rocks, steep hills, wood smoke after 5 from the massive tortilla cooking that goes on everyday. It´s inhabitants, mostly of mayan origin, still sporting traditional multicolored wears, busy sellimng at the market, or attending one of the numerous shops that line the streets.

Imagine a constent cacophony of noises, from the never ending barking dogs, to honking tuc-tucs, from churches calling in the faithfulls at any time of day or night, not bothering with the fact that people sleep at 3 in the morning, and decide to start the bells, accompanied with blaring religious music. Top that of with religious rituals thatb include opping thunderous rockets at any time of day or night, supposevely clensing the place from evil spirits.

Imagine a long established community of gringos, made up of of long time travelers, hippies, and expats, operating small bohemish bars and hotels, including La Piscina, operated by Daniel, where the Saturday bacci tournemnat and the famous Sunday BBQ attract every single white person in the place.

Imagine that same gringo community where drugs are common and freely displayed, where alcool flows and music blairs, conflicting with the deep religious moralty of the locals

Imagine groups of vigilentes, going from bar to bar, armed with rocks and pepper spray, trying to shut down the stablsihments runned by the white devils. Running after people, confiscating cameras.

Imagine sipping beers in a pub and suddenly being lined against a wall, searched by police officers armed with shotguns and submachineguns, looking for drugs.

well that was life for the last 2 weeks

Please take tine to ceck out the pics at www.transamericatrek.org

cheers
.....Read The Rest Of This Post Here!

I´ve spent the last 2 weeks in San Pedro de Atitlan, a town of 10 00 people on the edge od Lago Atitlan in Guetamala. Someone asked me a few days ago what it was like here and I could barely find the words to describe the feel of this place at that moment, but after a bit of thinking, and a few beers, I hope that I can now relate this place to yous all!

Imagine a town surrounded by 3 volcanos, one of them still active, sitting by a clear blue lake. Each night bathing in some of the most beautiful sunsets. But imagine that same lake, suffering from a bad case of pollution, switching its deep blue for a dirty brown, and according to the news, endangered and slowly dying.

Imagine a town that feels old and rugged, nothing fancy, roads paved with rocks, steep hills, wood smoke after 5 from the massive tortilla cooking that goes on everyday. It´s inhabitants, mostly of mayan origin, still sporting traditional multicolored wears, busy sellimng at the market, or attending one of the numerous shops that line the streets.

Imagine a constent cacophony of noises, from the never ending barking dogs, to honking tuc-tucs, from churches calling in the faithfulls at any time of day or night, not bothering with the fact that people sleep at 3 in the morning, and decide to start the bells, accompanied with blaring religious music. Top that of with religious rituals thatb include opping thunderous rockets at any time of day or night, supposevely clensing the place from evil spirits.

Imagine a long established community of gringos, made up of of long time travelers, hippies, and expats, operating small bohemish bars and hotels, including La Piscina, operated by Daniel, where the Saturday bacci tournemnat and the famous Sunday BBQ attract every single white person in the place.

Imagine that same gringo community where drugs are common and freely displayed, where alcool flows and music blairs, conflicting with the deep religious moralty of the locals

Imagine groups of vigilentes, going from bar to bar, armed with rocks and pepper spray, trying to shut down the stablsihments runned by the white devils. Running after people, confiscating cameras.

Imagine sipping beers in a pub and suddenly being lined against a wall, searched by police officers armed with shotguns and submachineguns, looking for drugs.

well that was life for the last 2 weeks

Please take tine to ceck out the pics at www.transamericatrek.org

cheers
.....Read The Rest Of This Post Here!

January 20th, I’m sitting at the very mediocre bar lounge, of the very mediocre Quality Inn in Philadelphia in company of my new best friend Jean-Benoit, a fella from Joliette I’ve met barely 5 hours, being served by a year ravaged waitress with no smile, my Jeep close to 15 000 km away in Campeche, Mexico, and , as in so many times in my life, I’m wondering: How the Hell did I manage to get here!!

Simple, after 3 great weeks of resorts, amazing scuba diving (that included 3,5 meter sharks and underground caverns), meeting great people, and one of the best New Years Eve party in the last years (punctuated by hostel potluck, biggest sangria jar ever, and the 35$ bottle of vodka at the mambo Café in Merida), I dropped my girlfriend at the airport, and found myself missing her like crazy.

So, did what anyone would do, managed to get hold of the last overnight bus ticket of the day from Campeche and booked at 300$ return flight Cancun to Ottawa, after a 7 hour bus ride, barely not making it on time, I ended up leaving the 30 degree heat of Mexico for the minus 20 of my lovely hometown!!

Spent an amazing 2 weeks home, to find myself, on the way back, on a overbooked flight in Philadelphia. The desk stewart asked for volunteers to stay behind, offering a night in Phily, money for food and a 200$ discount on any US Airways flight… Not being a man to say good bargains. And a chance to see the Rocky statue, I accepted, and ended up meeting Jean-Benoit who was in the same situation as me. Figured out we were heading the same way and offered him to join on the trek.

We are now January 29th, I’m in Guatemala, have a bad case of the runs, writing this blog in a hippie compound on the edge of lake Atitlan, surrounded by volcanoes, and still asking myself the same question… How the hell did I manage to end up here!!!

The 9 last days have been filled by the craziest driving I’ve ever done. Palenque to San Cristobal is only 190 km… IT TOOK 7 HOURS of managing narrow mountain roads, going through roughly 300 speed bumps, avoiding barrages made by begging kids, and realising that radiator problems at 2400 meters high, is not the most pleasant of experiences.

But saw the most amazing waterfalls, stayed in the best Hostel in San Cristobal, met a fella who’s been drving around the world for the last 5 years (see his website at www.heartofdarkness.com.au), visited mayan towns where they sacrifice chikens in churches, and discovered Guatemala, one of the most beautiful country I’ve visited.

Bacci tournament this afternoon, topped with poutine, courtesy of the ex director of production at Le Devoir, who reinvented himself as one of the coolest bar owner in Guatemala!
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