Look out, dear readers! Ricardo and Mandi are taking off again soon!

Dukes of Hazzard (of the sky)

Forty (nautical) miles from Tampico, we heard the air traffic controllers telling the weather to another pilot. He said there were crosswinds at 20 knots. I happen to know, and Ricardo can’t deny because it is stamped on his cockpit control board, that his plane has a maximum allowable landing/taking off crosswind of exactly 20 knots. Gulp. No report of gusting, but I was still uneasy.

So Ricardo announces – presumably to make me feel better, but OMG – that we will LAND ON ONE WHEEL!

WHAT?! Yep, he said we had to land on one wheel (sort of canted sideways, if you will) to deal with the crosswinds. At first I was freaked out, and then I was super excited.

I took great comfort in knowing that Ricardo’s home airport in Houston (Weiser) is a crappy little landing strip with permanent crosswinds. In fact, on our maiden flight together in 2008, we were blown right off of that runway and heading for the trees at 50 knots when the plane lifted off amid his attempt to abort the takeoff. I know he has been taking off and landing this plane in crosswinds at least twice a week for ten years.

I felt safe (enough) and was ready to rumble!!

By the time we got to Tampico, though, the winds had calmed somewhat and changed direction.

We had to land on two wheels, darnit.

quick update to allay any concerns...

We are hanging out in San Cristobal de las Casas for a few days. Got to meet up with some friends (formerly) from Texas who happen to be here. They are driving a VW bus around the world. They've been at it for 10 months now. Go read their amazing blog since we don't have internet at our hotel and I'm trying to divorce myself from the computer anyway. Hasta whenever, amigos!

Nominating Comitán for the loveliest town square in MX

We limped into Comitán de Domínguez last night, after about seven hours of white-knuckling it on rubble-strewn winding mountain roads, facing insane combi-drivers and overloaded, teetering pickups barreling down the pass at death-defying speeds - even when the road was constricted to one lane due to the falling boulders on our side. Ricardo definitely belongs here. He likes to drive at approximately 1.5 times the speed limit - even on the successive curvas peligrosas that singularly defined our route yesterday.

We couldn't believe our luck when the first hotel we arrived at appeared to be the most charming lugarcito ever: lovely courtyard in full bloom, quaint teensy little room (the door doesn't even open all the way because it hits a bed as it swings in) finished out in hard wood planks, a large doll-house-esque window with double doors that swing open onto the courtyard entry, complete with sill for leaning on and chatting with reception across the way.

This idyll quickly descended into the depths of Hell.

It started out innocently enough. Ricardo went into the bathroom to shower, and thus began what can only be described as an epic struggle with the shower door. Listening from my perch at the erstwhile delightful window (its fall from grace soon to be recounted below), I was reduced to howling like a hyena with tears streaming down my face. I could hear him in there cursing and struggling and doing battle for what sounded like at least a half hour. I think the door won.

It was all fun and games until I was the one who wanted to shower, though. Setting aside the shower door drama, I was most stricken by the intense malodorous putrefaction that must certainly reside in the walls of that place. We made a pact to ensure that the bathroom door remains closed at all times.

I was starting to flashback to the Amityville Horror. Anyone remember those creepy windows? And the flies? And when the toilet overflowed with evil black sludge?

The hotelcito's excellent location (right on the town square) soon proved to be a double-edged sword, as well. The square was alive with townsfolk, a marimba group, a band of Catholic fundraisers raffling off a car who had, unfortunately, gotten their hands on a P.A. system, and various other characters.

Most interestingly, the town square appeared to be a sort of rendez-vous point for every Mariachi band in town. At first we thought they were preparing for a competition since there were no fewer than 20 or 30 different mariachi bands meeting up at all spots on the compass around the square. We kept waiting for them to get out their instruments and get to it. We finally asked one what was going on and learned they are waiting to get hired and taken to a party to play. The town square is sort of a 'day labor' pickup spot for mariachis. And when not playing and singing, these guys can raise quite a raucous chatter.

The picturesque chalet window was wholly ineffectual at blocking out the din of the town square. In fact, I would swear that it somehow gathered in all sound waves from all around and masterfully directed them right into our room.

I fell into a fitful sleep - earplugs wedged in as far as they would go.

I was awakened several times in the wee hours by Ricardo's thunderous pleas from his bed, only inches from mine in these close quarters: "SILENCIO! Estamos tratando de dormir!!" These would work briefly to silence the unwitting chatters and passersby.

It was a long night for us in Budget Hotel #4.

But the truth about Comitan, though, is that its town square is the loveliest I've seen in Mexico. The square, surrounded by excellent examples of colonial architecture, is replete with art - the sculpted trees and hedges, flowers, ironwork, sculptures, fountains, musicians, multi-level cobblestone and brickwork terraces. Enchanting. See for yourself:

Lunch on the way to Comitan

By the time we finished our breakfast at Vips (the Mexican Denny's, but healthier and with wi-fi), the skies were overcast and stormy-looking again. Dammit!

We were sick to DEATH of Tapachula and Vips and the No-Tell Motel, which had by this time become a total nightmare of roof leaks and busted hot water pipes. No time to go into the details here, but we were ready to blow that joint for sure.

We had been on our way to Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, where we planned to spend a week at Ricardo's cabin. But poor Guatemala has been devastated by first the multiple eruptions of Pacaya and then the torrential rains, flooding, and deadly mudslides from Tropical Storm Agatha. The entire country has been declared a disaster area and more than 80 have died. Airports and roads and bridges are closed and/or washed away. We are just so thankful that we were delayed in Mexico and weren't already at Atitlan when the storm hit.

We made the decision to head for the mountains in our little rental car. Did I mention it is called "The Attitude?" Yep, made by Dodge - a surefire winner of a car, no doubt. Well, until we get way up in the mountains on a Sunday and all the tire shops are closed, that is. But I'll get to that.

Our intel had the trip from Tapachula to Tuxtla Gutierrez lasting anywhere from 4.5 to 6 hours. hahahahaa! SEVEN hours later, we are only at Comitán de Domínguez, which is a bit more than halfway. To be fair, we did have the above-mentioned and photographically documented mishap with the 'Tude. Further, the havoc wreaked by Tropical Storm Agatha left the winding mountain roads nearly impassable at times with rocks and huge boulders strewn about. Here are some shots from along the way:

As you can see from this shot, we did well to opt out of flying. The cloud cover and the haze / fog was oppressive. Because of the rocks and debris, the road was essentially one-way for kilometers and kilometers. At one point, we had to leave the road entirely to keep going up the pass.

Greeting the day on the beach in Puerto Escondido

We stumbled down to the beach at 6:00 a.m. on the 27th so we could watch the first surfers paddle out and see the sunrise.

We saw these two body surfers arrive on the beach and paddle out into the surf.

We thought they were the first ones, but after the sun turned everything brilliant pink for 30 seconds and then lit the sky with morning light, we saw that the far out waves were well-sprinkled with surfers who had paddled out before 6 a.m. when it was inky black outside!