The Journal  

11 December 2005


Author: Jeremiah

Photographer: Holly


Campeche , Campeche , Mexico

November 29-30

As we made our way from the mountains into the Yucatán peninsula, Mexico became like a green Texas , with flat land extending in every direction until the point where it meets the horizon. The trees were broken up by the occasional rancho, many of which were dairy operations and the roads between ranchos were filled with walking farm hands, in their rubber barn boots and straw cowboy hats carrying machetes.

MEX 180 hugs the western Gulf coast as it nears Campeche , running right along the water's edge. We could smell the salt air as we passed by fisherman, hauling their boats ashore after a day's work. In two days we had crossed from the Pacific Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico .

Fishing boats tied along the shore of the Gulf.

Campeche was a colonial town and seaport. The central old section of town, where we spent the night, is a walled fortress, built as protection against 18th century pirates. At night, we sat on the sea wall and watched the gulf water.

  Despite our sullen appearance we were happy to be staying on the Gulf of Mexico in Campeche . We arrived at dusk and after eating, walked down to the sea wall to see the dark water.


The buildings in every town we had stayed at were always painted in bright colors, including Campeche , but the colors here had the softer pastel hue often attributed to beachside villages everywhere.

It was in Campeche that for the first time we had to park our motorcycle on the street. We stationed it directly in front of our hotel doors, covered and secured it with a disc lock and chain. Each time we went in at out the night watchman was standing by the door with his eyes on our moto. In the morning, another bike was parked beside us and its owner asked curious questions as we packed to leave.

  This was the first time we parked the Guzzi (left) on a street overnight. The hotel owner said it would be safe and he could see it from the front desk. We went to breakfast the next morning and came back to find a sport bike parked next to it with a trash bag for its rain cover.

  You know the honey is fresh when you find a live bee in the bottle. At breakfast my hotcakes were served with honey instead of maple syrup. We were unsure if the honey bee was added for decoration or if he flew too close to the open bottle.

All photographs © Holly Marcus / Page design by Robin Marcus