A Real "Survior Guatemala" Challenge

The following day we began our journey to Lanquin where we hoped to spend a day at the beautiful Semuc Champey. We left early in the hopes of reaching Lanquin in time to watch the colony of bats in a nearby cave, leave for their evening meal. Retracing our route back through Flores, we continued on towards Lanquin, with Kevin driving and Rachel and I navigating and taking in the scenery. Because we had hoped to make Lanquin by dusk, we opted for the more direct route south, instead of the longer route through Coban to the west, even though our chosen route showed up on the map as a twisting dotted line, as opposed to the solid lines representing the main thoroughfares.

By 4:30 in the afternoon, we came to a stop just south of Sebol,a picturesque little town, virtually, if not literally, untouched by tourism, where we were stopped by a man in a construction hat and vest who informed us that there was a team clearing a rockslide form the road and that we would be unable to pass until 6:00 that evening. He asked us where we were heading and when we told him Lanquin, he asked incredulously, “En este carro?” We confirmed that we had indeed planned to go to Lanquin in this car and asked him if he did not think it was possible. He thought for a moment and said that he thought it was possible, but that we would just have to drive very slowly. Giving up on our goal of seeing the bats, but figuring that an hour and a half wait was better than retracing our whole route, we purchased some drinks and snacks from the local tienda and settled down to wait.

The place where we had stopped appeared to be some sort of excavation site with huge piles of rock and heavy construction machinery. On the other side of the road, sat a traditional wooden house and a tiny tienda, the ground around which was alive with dogs, chickens and a group of baby ducks. The family who lived and worked there, none of whom spoke Spanish, was seated in front of the house and sat in silence, watching us with the occasional smile, as we fed the ducks and took in our surroundings and we waited for the road to clear.

At 6:00 p.m., I walked over to the construction office and asked the men if they thought that we would be able to pass anytime soon. One of the men pointed at a truck that I hadn’t noticed before filled with workers apparently on their way home from work, also delayed by the construction. He told me that when the truck left, we could follow. Just at that moment, the truck started up and pulled away. The man smiled at me and said that we could go, but that we would have to wait about ten minutes or so at the top to let “la maquina” pass us on the road. I thanked him and hurried back to tell Kevin and Rachel the good news.

We started the car and began our ascent up the mountain road. As we rounded the curve, we saw that the truck full of people had pulled over to the side and was again waiting, so we pulled up behind it. As we were waiting, a man in a pick-up drove past us and around the corner, which was obscured from our view. Minutes later, he was on his way back down. He paused by our window to ask us where we were headed. When we responded, “Lanquin,” he exclaimed, “En este carro?” We again replied affirmatively, “Si, en este carro.” When we asked if he thought it was possible, he said that he did not think so. He said that the roads were full of rocks and that we would need a four wheel drive to get over them, as well as the fact that the road clearing would take at least another two hours and then we would have a three hour ride in the dark along steep, mountainous, rocky roads. He said that our best bet would be to turn around and take the road back to Coban and head to Lanquin that way. We thanked him for his advice and he drove on.

The three of us were divided on what to do. Rachel was all for going back through Coban, while Kevin was more inclined to try our luck since we’d already come this far. Not wanting to be a deciding factor in what I saw as their trip, I remained neutral, but was leaning more towards staying the course. Ultimately, Kevin and I decided to get out and see what we were up against.

Walking the remainder of the way up the road and around the bend we were confronted by an immense pile of rock and boulders that the road crew had apparently blasted from the mountainside in their road widening efforts. As we approached, we could see that the pile was at least 25 feet across and was made up of rocks varying in size from about 3 feet by 4 feet to tiny grains of sand. A man in a machine with a huge front scoop was scooping up the rocks and dumping them in a dump truck, which when full, would drive down to the excavation site, unload and come back up for the next load.

The roadside was lined with construction workers watching the work progress and one of the men asked us where we were from and where we were headed. I told him that we were from the States and planned to drive to Lanquin that night but had been advised against it. I asked him what he thought. He told us that the work would be completed by 8:00 p.m. (in approximately 45 minutes) and that we should be on our way and in Lanquin by 10:00 p.m., a mere two hours later. He said we should be able to do it in our car without any problems, but that we would just have to drive slowly. Happy to have our decision verified, we sat back down to watch the work with everyone else.

The first machine was soon joined by a bull dozer which worked on one side of the pile, while the other worked on ours. Another dump truck then joined the first and just as the man had predicted, by 8:00 p.m. the road was more or less cleared, leaving a flat bed of rocks a few inches high where the immense pile had been.

As we watched as a pick-up, ready to be on its way, cross the rocks, we began to question the ability of our own tiny car to do the same. When I mentioned our concern to a man near by, he said that it shouldn’t be a problem because if we were to get stuck, there were enough men around to give us a push. Thanking him, we walked back down to the car. Rachel and I, not wanting our combined weight to further lower the car, watched from the side of the road as Kevin maneuvered the car over the rocks with some difficulty, but ultimately successfully. We then joined him in the car, glad to have the wait over with and anticipating a smooth journey ahead.

Less than four minutes later, we found ourselves stalled on a steep incline after having run over some huge rocks that sounded like they had ripped out the entire underside of our vehicle. Frustrated, Kevin giggled the clutch, but to no avail – we were stuck. My mind rewound to four hours before when we had made the decision to wait and take this route instead of turning back towards Coban and ahead to the seriousness of our situation, stuck in the middle of nowhere, our car blocking a steep one-lane road, with nowhere to stay, no way to get our car down and a rapidly approaching darkness. Just as I began to formulate possible plans, the car roared to life as Kevin got it back in gear and we lurched forward, around the bend onto more level ground where we were again stopped by road crew clearing rocks from the road.

Kevin asked me to go out and ask the men if they thought we could pass and if we would encounter any more construction crews along the rest of the route, knowing that it would be almost, if not completely, impossible, on this narrow road, to turn around and go back the way we had come. The man told me that we could most definitely pass and that they were the last crew working on the road. I thanked him and returned to the car.

For a short while after passing to road crew, we found ourselves on a relatively flat, passable dirt road with only the occasional rock scrapping frighteningly along the underside of the car. Unfortunately this was not to last. Countless vehicles before us has created a situation where the tire tracks were clear, but all the rocks that had lined the road had been forced up into a dense wall of rocks that ran straight down the middle of the road. Because of the relative lack of clearance of our vehicle, each rock scrapped along the metal underside of our vehicle with agonizing force. Because the road was so narrow, with a shear drop to our right, Kevin’s only option was to hug the cliff and ride with one tire on the rock pile, a solution that lessoned, though did not completely eliminate, the sound of rock scraping against metal as the road did untold damage to our undercarriage.

As night fell, it became more difficult to see and I found myself, with a death grip on the dash, peering horrified out the window to the edge of the road, which was frighteningly close to our tires. Each scrape of rock against metal went straight up my spine and brought with it the very real possibility that our car would not be able to complete the journey, leaving us stranded in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. With each agonizingly slow meter that we completed, I felt worse and worse for Kevin, who had been driving all day and had to have been operating on pure raw nerves. I remembered my foolish thought just that morning that God provide us with a toucan and wondered if I had used up my requests for the day.

Throughout the next three hours we crawled along the narrow windy road, each turn revealing nothing but more road ahead. The road continued to climb even though we kept hoping for a down turn to reveal that we had made it through the mountains and were on our way back into the valley. Every once in a while we would pass a small town that both reassured me that if anything happened we would have somewhere to go and frightened me, remembering all the warnings about armed bandits hijacking buses along the roads in this part of the country. Throughout it all, although frightened, tired, hungry and on edge, the three of all maintained our composure and managed to stay relatively hopeful and optimistic, something of which I was extraordinary proud and impressed given the situation we had gotten ourselves into.

At one point, we reached a point in the road where we had the option of continuing forward or taking another road to our left. With no signs to guide us and the growing fear that we would be driving endlessly lost in the mountains if we made the wrong choice, we unanimously chose to continue on straight ahead, and headed off into what could well have been the completely wrong direction.

Around 11:00 we began to see the lights of what we hoped was a town ahead and my spirit began to lighten as I envisioned houses and restaurants and a hotel with a hot shower and a welcoming bed. As we neared the lights, we saw a building, on the side of which was written “Esquela Publica, Lanquin.” Filled with relief that we had arrived and had not taken a wrong turn, I finally relaxed my tense frame and sat back to rest and enjoy the rest of the ride as the road widened and the rocks lessoned and we were able to drive along a little more fluidly. We passed groups of indigenous people on what we presumed was their way home from work and Kevin amicably wished all of the “Buenas noches” as we passed them by, leaving them staring back at the car with perplexed looks on their faces, most likely not quite sure what to make of the gringos in the strange little car driving by in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, Lanquin´s public school is nowhere near Lanquin and our relief soon turned back into dread as the road began again to climb and the rocks reappeared.

We then came to a small town which we was Lanquin to ask some policeman standing in the center of the road, for directions to our hotel. They had helpfully pointed us in the right direction, telling us that we had another 30 kilometers to go to Lanquin where we would find our hotel.

Buoyed by our proximity to our destination and sure that we were headed in the right direction, Kevin picked up speed and rocks flew in all directions as we sped (or so it seemed, since we had been averaging 5-10 kilometers an hour before this) down the road. After more disheartening climbs and countless occurrences of rock meeting metal, we finally reached a sign pointing to Lanquin. With growing anticipation, we continued on our way into the town, reaching our destination just after midnight.

Because we had no reservations, Rachel and I left Kevin with the car to inquire as to the availability of rooms. After walking down a set of steep steps, we found ourselves in the restaurant of a large hacienda, filled with loud music and loud, seemingly drunk tourists. Still in shock from our journey and feeling completely out of place, much like an alien from another planet, sober and in my dirty clothes in this festive atmosphere, I went up to the bar and inquired about a room. We were told that there were no rooms, but that we could try at the hotel next door.

Not wanting to tell Kevin that he had come all this way and still did not have a bed, I hurried to the next hotel to ask for a room, but to no avail. Because it was so late, there was no one awake to assist us.

Although sick from the last few turns in the car, exhausted, hungry and frustrated, Kevin agreed to drive us back to one of the first hotels we had passed, where finally, we were able to find a room and a hot shower and a well-deserved reprieve from the stress and strain of our four hour journey through the mountains of Guatemala.