Susan Cushman grew up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and spent much of her childhood at her family’s beloved cottage on Lake Michigan, just south of the Sturgeon Bay canal. After … Read more
This is Chapter Ten of the El Mirador Odyssey, and since it only took Odysseus ten years to get home, this will be the last one. If you’re just arriving … Read more
This is part eight of the El Mirador Odyssey. There are links to parts one through seven at the bottom of this post, if you want to back up and … Read more
As I was staggering in the heat toward El Mirador, I thought back to a couple of hours earlier when Maria had stopped us all about ten minutes into the walk. She had gathered us in a circle, asked us all to bow our heads, and then offered a rather long prayer to Jesus to protect us and guide us in our walk into the jungle.
“Jesus?” I thought at the time. “I have to rely on Jesus? I thought that’s what Maria and Eric were for.”
I’ve been dreading writing installment four of My Death March to El Mirador almost as much as I dreaded actually doing it.
In general, we love what we’re doing, and don’t mind so much the “travel days” when we actually have to schlep bags to a train station or airport and give up the comfort of a hotel room for the discomfort of actually moving.
We were finally on the road, eggs and all, although I didn’t have much faith that the eggs would actually make it to Carmelita.
In Mexico and Guatemala there are almost no traffic cops. There aren’t many traffic signs either. What both countries do have in abundance, though, is speed bumps. And, by speed bumps, I mean hard, sharp concrete tank traps at seemingly random spots in the highway where somebody, for some reason, wants you to slow down.