Jan 2

We shared the ride to Zihuatanejo with Kelly and Chuck from San Diego. They had taken buses to Nexpa, one of which was a barf fest with half of the bus sick from the windy road plus children sleeping and sliding over the floor.

Zihuat seemed so big, that finding a camp site seemed impossible among the hundreds of small cobblestone streets filled with shops and hotels. We decided to back track about 20 clicks (km) north to the surf break called Troncones. By dark, we wound up on a long dirt road, without any free access to the beach. So, we pulled into Manzanillo Restaurant (N 17°47.693 W 101°44.633) to ask if they knew of any camping spots. The waiter, and son of the owner, said we could camp in their parking lot. In exchange, we bought a tasty fish dinner and woke up the next morning to a trio of roosters cockle doodle dooing simultaneously at 7:00 am. No waves plus the roosters motivated us to get moving, so we hit the road.

Jan 3-4

Acapulco was the next major city on the map. When we parked Rover, a Canadian fellow asked if we were looking for a trailer park and gave us directions to Playa Suave (above, left). Nestled in the middle of shops, markets and hotels, Playa Suave (N 16°51.664 W 099°52.971) was packed with RVs from the States and Canada. This was the nicest place we had stayed so far, as it had private showers and running water for each parking space. We liked the luxury and our great neighbors so much that we stayed an extra night.

On our way to San Cristóbal, we crossed yet one more tope (enormous speed bump) and heard a sound like we were dragging a big piece of metal. Although we couldn't see anything wrong, the dreaded sound, which seemed to be coming from the rear left wheel, haunted us into the night. By 8:30 pm we were still 200 km away from San Cristóbal, so we decided to pull over and spend the night at a Pemex gas station (a great deal, as we were charged a mere 15 pesos or $1.65 and there were clean bathrooms to boot). That night Marty broke out our British Atlantic Defender Manual and learned our gear box was dry the next morning. A mechanic just down the road helped us fill it up with the right type of oil for no charge. We gave him 50 pesos anyway for his help.

We drove straight to Antigua, Guatemala, assuming it would be a much nicer place to get stuck for a while if Rover needed major repairs. Antigua is a beautiful little town, filled with cobblestone streets, nice shops, helpful people and lots of tourists for good reason. Finding a place to camp seemed impossible, as most hotels had courtyards and parking space for maybe one small car. Marty heard a local yell "Camping?", so we turn back and he pointed across the street to a huge wood door (N 14°33.328 W 090°43.606) . In deed, the owner of the apartment complex had plans to build a trailer park, and could fit Rover right in his doorway/driveway surrounded by trees and hanging plants, and let us use a spare bathroom with hot water, for only 25 quetzoles a day ($3.70). As soon as Rover was locked in, the security guard brought us a table and two chairs, and then the owner followed with a small pot of coffee and a basket loaded with breads and pastries. I felt like I was in a four star hotel.

That night, Marty took apart the left rear wheel to find the inner bearing broken into about 50 pieces. So, we took the local bus to the nearest Land Rover dealer in Guatemela City. They directed us to Reyca, S.A. (10a. Avenida 3-20, Zona 4, tel:3313318) which had everything we needed. Mechanico Marty replaced the inner and outer bearing, plus switched out all four Old Man Emu shocks, which were well needed after thousands of kilometers of killer Mexican speed bumps called topes.