Guatemala

For the departure from Quetzaltenango the common sense was stronger than the spirit of adventure and we were able to get the director of the SOS Village to give us a lift to Alaska (the little area next to the Pan-American Highway, not the one at the beginning of the trip!!!) The experience of the arrival, in the middle of a crazy transit, asphyxiated by the permanent black smoke that came out of each and everyone of the vehicles tailpipes and the ascent on a road in paving process took away any desire to roll that way again. And after all, it was road already ridden!

Once at the highest point we returned with Japhy to ours bikes and undertook a delicious descent in search of the route that would lead us to the Atitlan Lake, one of the Guatemalan tourist points par excellence. The typical “pure descent” had some annoying climbs and little by little we were submerged in a universe covered of a blinding green color that lost its intensity gradually in the mist of the clouds that hung over us. Rain was to our side and in the middle of heavy showers we could glimpse the imposing landscape that opened before our eyes: the Atitlan lake, locked up in a topography signed by volcanoes, was blurred underneath us while we descended in a vertiginous way with crazy curves and counter-curves!

After passing through the town of San Pablo La Laguna, purely indigenous and where our presence contrasted remarkably with the locals, we arrived at our final destiny, San Pedro La Laguna. There we met a group of travelers of diverse nationalities (Argentina included), and with them we arranged to spend a few resting days in this place that had a few particularities. The tourist zone was jammed on the coasts of  the lake, where a good number of tourists, mostly Europeans, teemed between bars and inns set in a narrow and winding corridor. The atmosphere had a great reminiscence  of the hippie golden years of California, which was felt in the appearance of the ex-pats and in each corner. On the other hand, local people were settled in the high areas, on the slopes of hills and towards the center of the town. They were two contrasting worlds that nevertheless coexisted in a strange symbiosis. The peacefulness of the lake was affected frequently by roaring techno music of some discos, at the same time that one could observe the indigenous women doing laundry on the shores on cement pylons. The transportation means par excellence were the likeable motorbikes Tuktuk that went and came by the side streets and uniting the different towns like small hyper-kinetic ants.  

The evangelical cult predominated as in the rest of Guatemala and the graffiti with prophetic phrases abounded everywhere. Nevertheless, at the same time which posters invoked repentance before The Savior would arrive, one of the most fruitful businesses of the place was drug consumption. And the most peculiar aspect of this is the fact that the lady who monopolized this business was Doña Maria, a native who at first seemed to be  selling sweet breads in her wicker basket, but that in fact offered marijuana, hallucinogenic fungi and any other substance that the eager tourists wanted to try. Although some off guard visitor could take advantage of the better prices that were offered near the arrival wharf to whomever had a dot of foreign appearance, it turned out to be a double trap, since as soon as the transaction was finished, the police would magically appear to do its own business receiving a generous sum in order to avoid the pain of ending the day in jail. Meanwhile, life passed quietly in the high parts of town, used by the local inhabitants donned in their typical suits, trying to gain something extra with the flow of tourists in the local crafts and fresh products markets.

In that world of contrast and diversity, San Marcos La Laguna was a more relaxing area in a place where a “new age” wave had transformed the margins of the lake into a kind of Zen paradise for anybody that wanted to meditate, to attend a session of massages, to relax to the sound of drums or to sunbathe and to take a dip in the lake completely naked. Definitively it was a zone that offered a great variety of options for the tourist according to whatever one could be looking for!

Paying inflated cost for not being local, we left San Pedro crossing the lake on the boats that service the different towns in the direction of Panajachel, the town of greatest affluence and size on the shores of the Atitlan Lake. The sun in the morning just began to illuminate the clear waters of the lake and the postcard picture that the volcanoes in the background offered, made Japhy and me to  settle in the front part of the boat while the rest of the passengers took advantage to doze off for a while before facing the working day.

Of course, we chose the less direct and more winding route to arrive to Antigua, tourist capital of the country. We rode on a secondary road and as we ascended, we were recording in our retinas the images of the lake locked up by steep hills to then submerge ourselves in a succession of steep and abrupt descents and ascents that were common to us in these lands.

In the populated zones the children were a constant and we already knew what waited for to us whenever we were discovered: the revolution of screams and greetings intermingled with the looks of astonishment and curiosity. To make it still more interesting, we both had harmonicas which we used to make some sounds while passing by (since we could not call that music) that gave an extra touch of disconcert to the occasional spectators. Not only did we seem like we were from another planet with our clothes and those loaded bicycles, but also that we emitted strange noises!

In one of the ascents we climbed at a snail pace when I observed that an old lady was going down the road with a heavy load of firewood on her back. She was small, dressed in the traditional clothes of her ethnic group and she had a face so wrinkled that one could hardly give her less than 100 years. Her expression was serious and the marks of a life signed by hardness were evident in all of her person. When we pulled up to her side I made a sound with my harmonica and with a smile I said to her “good morning”. As if a ray of light had hit her, she raised her head and gave me a smile that will never be able to forget: pure, transparent, with a glance loaded of brightness, tenderness, astonishment and emotion. For a moment, time stopped and that image was recorded in my memory forever.
 

We arrived to the city of Antigua in the evening and I was immediately captivated by its beauty. The streets paved with stones, the meticulous care to maintain the colonial style in each facade, the imposing water volcano showing its image everywhere one looked up to. It was the tourist heart par excellence and the number of people with “foreign looks” was exceptionally greater to the local ones! People run around at night rambling by the streets, everything seemed to be arranged for the visitor and sure enough, the costs were also set according to the circumstances. It was like being in a totally different country from the one that we were crossing by on our bikes and something felt strange, like out of place.

The following day we did one of the “must do” excursions in the area: to visit the Pacaya Volcano. In permanent activity, lava flowed over its slopes arising from secondary craters and most impressive was the fact that after a brief walk one was touring the area a few yards forms the melted rock! I believe that in no other place in world one would allow that people to walk so near the lava up to the point of practically touching it! Only in Guatemala! And the guide even took the photos just centimeters away from where the tourists would get burned alive! It was very impressive and that almost cost me the soles of my shoes! The heat from rocks was not joke and it really burned!

Japhy had hooked up again with his friend Denisse and this time I had taken the precaution to set up my tent a little further away from them than in my stay in Palenque. Witnessing so many demonstrations of love made me ask myself when would be the hour when some of it would come my way, so I decided to go and search for a little of emotional containment. As things occurred, I ended up spending a day flirting with two girls, one from the Basque Country and the other from Norway, but as the saying said “Jack of all trades, master of none”, I only obtained a feet massage from the Spanish girl (very relaxing by the way) and I robbed a kiss from the Nordic. Keep Playing!!

With the fire volcano expelling smoke whiffs as drop curtains, we left cool Antigua to descend to the exhausting heat of the Guatemalan coasts. We decided to continue until Monterrico and thus to enjoy some moments on the Pacific Ocean. We went into a road immersed in a gallery formed by the trees that protected the sides of the road passing by cowboys moving their cattle, infinity of people moving in bicycles with the classic machete attached to the frame and some others resting next to the road with the typical style of the hot zones, with the t-shirt raised over their big bellies that continued with their gradual and constant increase thanks to the beer ingestion. What we thought would be a brief crossing of a river on a ferry became a tour though a delta jammed with mangrove swamps, on a wood platform that served as transport to vehicles, to finally with the last rays of sunshine, arrive at the beaches we longed for.


The sea was more than brave, the mosquitoes had a feast with our legs, but the effort was worth the trouble to know this distant corner of Guatemala in which the indigenous ethnic groups had stopped being the predominant part of the landscape to be replaced by the ladina culture. We were about a day away from crossing into El Salvador. 







El Salvador

The crossing of the border by the city of Alvarado was direct and simple. A road in impeccable state welcomed us to this new country that did not have a very good reputation on security matters. Would it be as such?

Immediately the colors that upholstered every light post, highway guardrail and bridge that was in  the area called my attention. Blue, white and red… Had I gotten into the wrong country? I was sure that the Salvadoran flag was blue and white! Asking around I was told that they were the colors of the pro-government political party, ARENA, founded by Robert D' Aubuisson, who ordered the murder of Monsignor Romero in 1980 in what was a dark period of violence and repression in the country. With such a prelude let’s say that we could not travel too relaxed…

The first town that we crossed, Carasucia, gave us a glimpse of what we could expect in the future. The central streets were jammed of mobile stands in which anything could be practically bought. The deafening noise of those that promoted their products with loudspeakers or the sale of pirated music was deafening and amazing. The dirt was common currency and the transit a total chaos.

People were little receptive, with serious glances and rare time we obtained an answer to our greetings. To obtain a smile as a retribution to ours, it seemed a challenge beyond possible. A somewhat hostile atmosphere was perceived, like if we were in the wrong place.

Our first incursion in a supermarket reminded us that eight years ago the economy of El Salvador had been converted to dollars. Initially it took us a while to get used to handle this currency again and it even turned out simpler to me to think the prices in quetzals to know if the products were expensive or no!
 

When we got to Sonsonate the moment arrived for us to say so long. Japhy went in the direction of Costa Rica to be with its sister Karla for a few weeks and went towards the local SOS Children’s Village. After a touching and full of affection reception, I spent a whole day sharing the experiences of the trip with the kids in an atmosphere that was the exception to which we were observing on the highway. Also we celebrated my 16,000 kilometers on the road.

I continued riding on the coastal highway with course towards La Libertad, a beach area where one had the sensation of being in a surfing region of Brazil than in El Salvador! The road was wide and with little transit and went playing along with the folds of the cliffs that fell towards the coast. I even had to cross tunnels that I did not know of their existence, but without the usual tension by the passage of the trucks. As if it was synchronized with the relaxed personality of its inhabitants, a tranquil atmosphere was breathed which seemed out of context.
 

I found a campground where to set up my tent and I led myself to try body surfing the waves a little. I quickly understood why everyone had a surfboard: the violence whereupon the waves would crash was unheard of and in my first attempt I almost break my spine! As I did not want to lose the occasion, I improvised a new system to enjoy the water. When it saw that the wave was about to break, I threw myself to side on the water as if I wanted to demolish a door and the shock plus the impulse of the wave pushed me as if I had been expelled by an explosion. Perhaps it was an orthodox method, but fun without any doubts!

There, I met a German girl that got hooked with my trip story and it was most interested in knowing the details of my traverse. But soon I realized that the local boys had been working for days in monopolizing her attention and they let me know quickly with their glances and attitudes that I was not welcomed. In the morning, very early and before they realized it, I continued riding before I would appear with a surfboard as a tombstone over my head…
 

The landscape that was accompanying the first kilometers of the day was dotted with great woods that interlaced over the road, making a spectacular tunnel of vegetation under which it was possible to take advantage of the coolness of the shade that it offered for a while. Intermingled with the cars I could see vehicles with wood wheels pulled by oxen and sometimes people appeared at the side of the road just to offer live iguanas just trapped in the nearby woods. It was a little impressive to see how they had them tied up and with their mouths sewn so that they wouldn’t bite or escape. Something painful to see.

After crossing the Lema River, I went into in the east zone of the country, the most affected by the bloody civil war that shook to the country in the 80’s. My “gringo face” was not very favorable, especially if we consider the ominous influence of the United States in the massacres that took place in those years and the consequential and comprehensible resentment of the locals towards whatever seemed to be American. Accompanied by this dense and hostile atmosphere, the landscape turned drier and warm, desert-like, desolate.

I arrived to the city of Usulután and I impressed to see how the urbanization was. The streets were a chaos of stands, the dirt reigned in each corner, and the traffic was crazy. But what mainly hit me was to see that in all the roofs there were walls of barb wire and in many cases, electrified. It seemed like the city was still in war. I looked for a safe place where to spend the night and the lady from the hotel recommended me: “Do what you must do, but early. By 5 pm the all the stores will close and after dark it is not good to walk around”. Certainly, passed 5 pm the people started to disappear and when it got dark it seemed as if a self-imposed state of siege had been dictated by the population. It was really scary to walk by those streets and not a single soul outside the houses was seen. The night belonged to the gangs and people knew it very well. .

Well early in the morning the people already jammed again each corner of the city. Loudspeakers that hung from light posts blasted the local radio with its roaring music and everything returned to life. For me it was time to continue riding to get to the border with Honduras.

The tracks of war and natural disasters that had whipped this region, like the 2001 earthquake, were evident on what I could see from the side of the road. People survived in precarious structures, a depressed economy and based in street commerce can be felt, and the skepticism glances followed in my path.

It wasn’t easy to find a place where to rest for a while and to take refuge of the hot sun. It was necessary to be in the lookout and mostly when considering that when chatting with people the first question was always if I had already been robbed. That gave an idea of the ruling social situation. The places that offered certain tranquility were the gas stations which contrasting with the rest of the near constructions, were ample, luxurious, with air conditioning and armed guards. And of course, as they were expensive, they were generally empty. In one of those stopovers I had the opportunity to talk to some men who told me of the scourge that were the “maras salvatruchas” gangs.

“They have control of the country and are hand to hand with the government. If you have a more or less profitable business, you have that to pay the “vaccine” (bribe) or they would simply kill you and nobody will move a finger on the matter. Here the taxes are paid by duplicate: to the government and to the maras. Stay away from them. Do not go around at night”. It was beside the point to try to clarify it, wasn’t it?

I arrived to Santa Rosa, few kilometers from the border, with a heat stroke and a stomach ache that forced me to quickly look for a place to take shelter and rest. It was late to try grabbing something to eat, a reason why I simply crossed the street to have some “pupusas”, a typical national plate, and again I perceived the tension in the atmosphere. While it was there some cars began pass by with the music to the max and whose passengers had unfriendly faces. And they made me notice it with the glances that they directed me when seeing me seated there. It was a brief supper and somewhat indigestive. Leaving the plate unfinished I chose to return to my room and lock the door well.

Although the war had finished and the people were fighting to come out ahead, the impoverished economy and the sociopolitical situation of the country made it difficult to cross these lands. Perhaps it had been worse or impossible a few years ago; I hope that in the no so distant future it would be possible to do it in a more pleasant and relaxed way.
 

Honduras

The crossing through Honduras was brief and intense. I only had something more than 160 kilometers to cross and in the middle I had a new visit to the SOS Children’s Village in Choluteca. The images of extreme poverty everywhere I was circulating since I entered this new country were immediately heart breaking: dogs, hens, pigs, cows… including people, they all seemed to be competing to reach an extreme thinness. The slums in which they had their homes were really frightening by their precariousness and the dryness of the landscape intensified the sensation of anxiety that it had.

This region had been struck hard by the passage of the hurricane Mitch in 1998 and the profusion of posters announcing the projects of international assistance gave a clear idea of the destruction sequels that it had left behind. Nevertheless, people were again friendly and smiling. Now they responded to the greetings and my perception of the atmosphere was more relaxed and calm.

I arrived to the town of San Lorenzo in the middle of the noon extreme heat and I set myself to look for a place to spend the night. Looking for the center of town, I stopped to ask where it was and I was surprised when they said to me that I was in it. “Are you sure? Is it here?” My disbelief was based on the sleepy atmosphere that can be breathed, without stands on the streets, with little people circulating, like a ghost town.
It was weird to me not to have the disorder which I was already accustomed to in the previous countries and it was an oasis to recover a little bit of energy. Even at night, people seated at their doorways taking advantage of the relative coolness that offered the atmosphere after the sunset.
 

On my way to Choluteca I had an unexpected encounter in the highway. A huge mass on two wheels that came in the opposite direction turned towards my path and with smiles to from ear to ear I was greeted by Anita and Stefan, an Austrian couple that was traveling in a fully loaded tandem, with a route that already had taken them almost everywhere. We were under the merciless sun, sharing experiences for a good while and later we continued with our respective itineraries. They looked happy and fulfilling their life project. I hope to have given them the same impression!

After visiting the SOS Children’s Village in Choluteca, where I spent all day long on April 25th, I continued to the land of Sandino, Nicaragua. On the way I saw an enormous woodpile that was moving in front of me and I could hardly distinguish the legs that propelled the heavy load. It was a man who in order to survive, made three trips on his bicycle to the woods every day, in order to be able to sell the precious fuel for a few lempira. When I asked how much weight he took with him, he responded naturally: “100 kilos”. Ours bikes would have looked very similar by weight and loads, although the realities in which we lived were so different. I left very touched.

As a goodbye from Honduras I was witness of an image that will be always recorded in my memory. I was riding on the road when I suddenly saw four children leaving a very fragile construction made out of woods and fabrics. Somewhat used to kids approaching me to see me pass through the highway I did not pay them great attention. But something caught my interest: these children were dressed in rags, they were barefoot on the dirt and they were so thin that they looked like walking skeletons. With a glance loaded with sadness and distress, the older kid extended one of his arms and with a plea gesture asked me if I could give him something. Perhaps my passage by his side lasted a few seconds, but for me the time stopped and in those eyes loaded with necessity and uneasiness I saw reflected the hard reality of the countries of Central America. It’s something that someone does not forget easily…
 

Nicaragua

The entrance to Nicaragua did not change much the extreme poverty panorama where I was circulating through. Even a huge poster with the image of its president, Daniel Ortega, it expressed with great letters “the poor men of the world on top”, in clear reference to the categorization of this nation as the second poorest in the Americas after Haiti. 

As soon as I crossed the border, the road became an interminable succession of potholes and trenches that defied all my abilities to maneuver, avoiding those mortal traps and the trucks that insisted on passing me as close as they could.

Some wood structures called my attention, with black bags as roofs, in which a hammock hung generally on which somebody rested and that was surrounded by drums of fuel and oil cans. In one of them Adam signaled me to stop since he had seen me stopped meters before. “Have you been robbed”. “No, I was only refilling my bottle with water”. I took advantage of the occasion to ask to him what those places were and he told me that they were clandestine selling points of diesel fuel for the trucks that happened that way. He was so enchanted that I lent my ears to listen about his enterprise that he told me all the secrets his business, including how he cheated the amount fuel that he sold with his false-bottomed tank. “Well, one has to earn the bread somehow. Thing are hard around here”

The heat was mining my energies and my body was screaming for me to have some refreshment. I stopped at small bar to the side of the road and I sat to drink some Gatorade. The son of the owner was excited to know that I was Argentine and he said that he had something special for me. He came back with a DVD, placed it in the player and on the television appeared a musical with the complete discography of Leo Dan from his beginnings in the 60’s! It could not believe it! Of the so many things with which I have seen Argentineans identified with, the last thing that I expected was this retro show!

I arrived at the outskirts of Chinandega along with the night and wanted to find a safe place to sleep as rapidly as possible. Asking for an economic lodging I ended up at the doors of a motel, but although I explained to them that my intentions were only to sleep with the bike and that it wasn’t an extravagant sexual fetish, I wasn’t able to get a good discount to close the transaction. Sorry Maira!

On Sunday, April27th, I entered the city of Leon, where the children of the local SOS Children’s Village were waiting for me… my third visit in one week! Passing by downtown allowed me to appreciate the marks of the hard legacy of Nicaraguan history. The dark years of the Somocismo, the Sandinista revolution and the “contras” civil war pushed by the American government were visible in the landscape. The ruins of the detention centers of the old National Guard, the bullet holes in some buildings that attested the crude confrontations and the Sandinistas murals in favor of the revolution were a reflection of the turbulent political and social past of this nation, also struck violently by the effects of the hurricane Mitch in 1998.
 

After two days in the company of the people of the Children’s Village I continued with my way towards Granada, crossing the plains covered with areas of crops and pastured strongly guarded by volcanoes that constituted part of the Pacific fire belt. Their cones stood out perfectly on the blue firmament and offered a rest to the sight in a ride that had become very hard due to the hot headwind which wouldn’t give truce.

As the most direct route touched the suburbs of the capital, along with the people of the Children’s Village we implemented what I called “operation Managua”. The idea was that someone from the institution would escort me with a vehicle so I would not put myself into some dangerous area without knowing it and to have a little support in case of some incident. Better safe than sorry. Thus that’s how I met Pedro, a collaborator of the SOS Villages, who stoically accompanied me with his motorcycle until practically leaving me in the neighboring town of Masaya.

In Masaya I was immersed in a very relaxed atmosphere and I was even surprised to see that there was a night life! The central plaza was the forced meeting point and people walked calmly or tasted some food in the stands that were located in the place. It didn’t last long until I added myself to this last group.

Granada was the tourist epicenter of the country, where the restoration works stood out to give back its old colonial enchantment to the city. Although it was attractive, the great affluence of foreigners turned it an expensive place with respect to other cities and less traditional value by far. It was a problem that I generally saw anywhere that had been so intensely exploited at that level.
 

Form there I boarded small ferry to cross the lake of Nicaragua and to arrive at Ometepe Island, the largest island in the world located inside a lake and that is practically constituted in its totality by the cones of two volcanoes: the Conception Volcano and the Maderas Volcano. While we sailed towards the port of Altagracia I met a very particular character called Moon. The guy was also crossing the continent by bicycle, but with an objective of greater reach, to go around the world in five years. Originally from South Korea, his English was quite bad and his Spanish almost null. I shared a pair of days with him in the Magdalena Ranch and I was convinced that this guy arrived there just by a miracle! sHe seemed to be in a perpetual confusion, like a version of Mr. Bean on a bicycle. To see him taking out his portable computer or taking photos with his sophisticated camera in the middle of the main deck catching everybody’s attention gave me an idea of his somewhat atypical common sense. He nevertheless was good guy and I cannot deny that I had fun during the moments that we shared there. Hopefully the good fortune continues to guiding him in the roads that wait for you!

Although the ranch was a good site to face the ascent the Maderas Volcano, the fact that everything was in dollar prices and in English took away the local enchantment of the place. It was a meeting place for international travelers and with several of them we shared the long walk through the cloudy forest until the crater of the Maderas. We climbed dreaming about taking a good bath in the lagoon that was in its interior, but my attempts were frustrated by the abundant mud with moving sand consistency in which I submerged up to the waist. Definitively the best thing about the place was the wonderful views of the neighboring Conception Volcano which every day offered a new show for our eyes, changing its presence according to the daylight 

Along with Ines and Daniel, a couple of Austrians whom I befriended those days, we decided to take a fast descent and we run down the slope in an “Eco Challenge style”, which cost me several days of muscular pains by the lack of use of my legs in that form… on a bike it would had been easier!

Riding towards Moyogalpa to cross the lake to return to the continent I met surprisingly my third time during the trip with Ralph and Pat, the American couple that is riding the American roads towards Patagonia. I had no idea that they were in the area and I reaffirmed the fact that we live in a very small world.

The boat crossing to Rivas was somewhat more rudimentary than the first one and I got to think that the captain sadistically enjoyed facing the waves sideways so that we shook ourselves to the maximum. Maira was simply resting on the roof of the boat and I had to hold on with nails and teeth so that I did not finish in the bottom of the lake. Once recovered from the anxious crossing I returned on the pedals and I covered the kilometers that I had left until the border with Costa Rica. The wind blew intensely against, as it had been the constant in Nicaragua, and a cloud of small flies that flooded the atmosphere smashed against my body while I slowly advanced towards a new stage.

I was leaving the Central American Countries that were historically more convulsioned by dictatorships, civil wars, extreme poverty and natural disasters; societies hit hard by a reality that affected me and moved me during my ride in which I could feel and sense the sequels that still last. There were towns with desire to change and hope for a near future with better possibilities of development and a better life quality. A very intense experience due to all that I lived in just a short time, a mark that will be always with me.
 

 

Until next time!

Good trials!

Damián
 

Something worth not missing!!

This film, which has recently premiered, is a movie that I consider valuable and important to divulge, since it is an artistic work with a high degree of social commitment. I have the luck of being friends with the producer, François Prévost, after having shared with him eight months in Antarctica during in my previous experience to this trip. It was in those remote latitudes where I had the opportunity to see for the first time this production which affected me and moved me with its content. This is the best moment to call the attention to world-wide level about the situation in Tibet, and for that reason I invite you to know this material that simply is impeccable.
 

“What remain of us, a unique documentary which follows a young exiled Tibetan woman bringing a taped message from the Dalai Lama to the people of Tibet, finally will be released in DVD format and television at world-wide level.

Filmed in a concealed way during a ten year period and completely filmed within Tibet, What remains of us defies the Chinese repression presenting/displaying for the first time an internal vision of occupied Tibet. The screen and the camera become instruments of resistance when Kalsang, a young refugee who has never been able to see her own country, crosses the Himalayas taking herself a message of hope from the Dalai Lama.

From its presentation in Cannes and Toronto during Kalachakra 2004, the producers have chosen to carry safety measures and to restrict the distribution of the documentary. Consequently, during four years, the film has been shown only behind closed doors, to movie enthusiasts, activists, political figures, United Nations personnel, Human Rights fighters, Tibetans, people of Chinese origin form Hong Kong, Taiwan and the Diaspora

Now, after a long decision process that has involved consultations with Tibetan leaders in exile and some of the participants of the film, the producers have arranged for the documentary to be accessible to the greatest possible crowd, with the collaboration of Seville Pictures, and the coming of the Olympic Games of Beijing 2008.

Silence and indifference are, without no doubt, the worse enemies of the Tibetans since the Chinese invasion. We think that the moment has arrived for launching the film to the greatest possible scale, without restrictions, with the purpose of breaking with the silence imposed by Beijing. The risk Tibetans suffer will have a less real meaning if it is taken by most of the people with the potential of taking action in their defense, says François Prévost, producer and director.

The producers hope that the massive distribution of What remains of us will allow for a better understanding of the situation in the Tibet and that it would help to get to that a pacific solution in the conflict.

Seville is proud to premiere this stirring film about the people of Tibet in DVD format DVD, says David Reckziegel, Co-President of Seville Pictures. We applauded all the involved people, in front and behind cameras for their courage in telling this part of the history of Tibet.

What remains of us participated in the Official Section of the Cannes Film Festival 2004, gained the Public prize as the better Canadian Film in the Vancouver Film Festival 2004, the Best Film and Public prizes in the Atlantic Film Festival 2004 and Best Medal in the Documentary Category one in the Hollywood Film Festival 2004. The documentary was designated as one of the 10 Best Canadian Productions with the prestigious Sergio Viera de Mello award at the Human Right’s Festival in Geneva of 2007.

The DVD will be available for purchase from August 5th 2008. A percentage of the sales will be automatically donated to help the promoters of a nonviolent resistance in Tibet.
 

The DVD can be purchased online by clicking in the following link.

Another way of helping

The situation that is lived in the Tibet is critical and for those who feel moved by that hard reality I invite you to collaborate with a small contribution. The organization “Tibet Aid” has several programs of aid in which it is possible to participate as a sponsor of a child of school age, adults and young ones that live in remote zones, monks and Tibetans nuns. The monthly contribution is small and nevertheless it generates a radical change in the quality of life of these people. What is for us to have a “less luxury” in favor of improving the “day to day life” of those in need? I assure you that the reward does not have a price… THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

Acknowledgements

To Mario Morales, director of the SOS Children’s Village Quetzaltenango: for helping us in avoiding riding the bikes out of the city.

To Dora Vlaskovits, Rosario Bullrich, Alexis Gonstaw, Julián Fernández and the rest of the gang with which I spent a few days resting and having fun in Lake Atitlán.

To Jackie Bustamante: for the demonstrated interest about the social aspect of the trip and for promoting it in Antigua’s local press.

To Eider: for that unforgettable message and your good vibes… and to Siri: for your incomparable Nordic craziness and the kiss that you let me take from you.

To Amit & Hagar: for the exquisite shakshuka that you cooked at the Antigua Hostel.

To Sonja: for showing interest in my trip, even when it almost cost me my physical integrity!

To Anita & Stefan: even when our encounter was for a few minutes, I was able to see the magic that you carry after such an intense and full trip. I wish you all the best for the months that remain on the bike.

To Pedro Duarte Montalbán: for the motorbike escort in the outskirts of Managua, making sure that I get to my destination without trouble. And to the Children’s Village people in Nicaragua for coordinating everything!

To Moon: for those bizarre and fun times that we shared together in Ometepe. Have a good trail in the rest of the world!

To Inés and Daniel Rippe: for the good vibes and the company during the days I spent in Ometepe.

To Amparo Francés: for your interest in the trip and the social Project that is carrying it.

To Verónica and Iván: for the exquisite lentil stew and the mates shared in Ometepe.

To Pancho Borda and Silvia Rodríguez: for the warmth of our encounter in Moyogalpa and the invitation to Puerto Viejo in Costa Rica.

To François Prévost and Amelie Breton: for sharing with me this high compromise with Tibet and for letting me share it with others. Your work is commendable and I’m proud of being your friend. Namaste and good trails!!

 

Some Statistics

During this stage
Days on the road: 27
Days riding: 17
Kilometers done: 1,314 km
Average kilometers done per day: 77.3 km
Hours on the bike: 73h24m (3d01h24m)
Average speed: 17.9 km/h
Meters climbed: 8,711 m
Maximum altitude: 3033 msnm, Alaska, towards Quetzaltenango, Guatemala (08-Apr-2008)

Since the beginning
Days on the road: 336
Days riding: 200
Kilometers done: 16,766 km – 1,500 on gravel
Average kilometers done per day: 83.83 km
Hours on the bike: 1.009h06m (42d01h06m)
Average speed: 16.62 km/h
Maximum speed: 81.5 km/h, descending from Sunwapta Pass, Canada (15-Aug-2007)
Meters climbed: 158,393 m
Maximum altitude: 3033 msnm, Alaska, towards Quetzaltenango, Guatemala (08-Apr-2008)

Times when my heart was broken by the poverty that I was witnessing: more that I had wished for.

Induced smiles with passing by greetings: many….