After happily leaving the car at the rental agency in Guatemala City (after arguing with the staff about fees for an amazingly small amount of damage done to the hub caps and bumper), we boarded a bus for Antigua.
We spent the last days of their trip, touring Antigua, spending a morning hiking up Pacaya (my third time!) and another, disappointingly cloudy, day at Lago Atitlan.
On Tuesday afternoon, we parted ways in Panajachel, Kevin and Rachel off to Antigua and then Guatemala for their Wednesday flight home and me for my hotel room and to the internet café for some quality email time.
Friday, May 19, 2006
El proximo dia
We rose the next day, happy to be clean and rested and securely on the ground. After a somewhat disappointing breakfast, we began what we thought would be an easy trip to Semuc Champey. Much to our horror, the roads from Lanquin to Semuc Champey were similar if not worse in spots than those we’d encountered the night before, and again we found ourselves waiting on the side of the road for a road construction crew. When we were able to pass, we continued to scrape along the road with worrying regularity and found ourselves in a few spots where they rocks were so pervasive that the tires simply spun while the car remained stationary, enveloped in the smell of burning rubber. Finally, an excruciating 45 minute drive later, we arrived at Semuc Champey, where we happily left the car behind us in the parking lot.
Semuc Champey is a protected natural area that contains various natural caves and part of a river that flows in a torrent through one of these caves and out the other side through stepped waterfalls into pools of startlingly blue, crystal clear water. We walked up to the top of the falls to marvel at the shear power of nature and then made our way back down to the pool of our choice where we spent our time lounging in the water and seeing who could catch the most minnows with our bare hands (Score: Rachel - 1, Sharon and Kevin - 0). After our swim, we climbed up to the mirador where we had a bird’s eye view of the entire scene.
Wanting to be sure we reached the caves in time to see the bats, since we had missed them the day before, we left Semuc around 4:00 in order to give us enough time to get to the caves by sundown (figuring in time for unanticipated - or actually now pretty much anticipated - stops for road construction). As we drove out of the park, we soon found that the way back was going to be much harder than the way down because we were encountering the rocks as we ascended, whereas before were simply descending through them. After the first incident of tires madly spinning on the rocks, Rachel and I began to get out and push the car up the hill, not only to provide force, but also to decrease the weight in the car.
While we were successful in our efforts, each time it was a little frightening because when Kevin released the clutch there was a moment when the car would roll back heavily where we had to jump free to assure that we weren’t crushed and also because the tires were spinning on the rocks, anyone standing to the side of the car (to, for instance, avoid being crushed) was in direct line of the rocks shooting out from underneath the spinning tires. At one point, we reached a spot that was so steep, that we required the assistance of two (extremely nice, helpful) men who jumped out of a passing pick-up to help us. When we finally reached Lanquin and parked the car in the parking lot of the cave, we were approached by a small boy, who, tracing his finger through the filth on the windows, remarked, "pequeñita, carita."
We had arrived early enough to spend some time exploring the cave, which was immense and free of obvious tourist intervention save for the bare bulbs strung throughout on wire to light our way and a few rails to allow for safe passage over the rocks. The railings were necessary because the floor of the cave was extremely slippery, until that is, we came to the part where the floor was covered in half an inch of bat feces. While glad to have the traction it provided, once I learned what it was, I admit that it somewhat tempered my enthusiasm and I was glad when we left the cave and were able to wash all of the "mud" off of our legs, arms and shoes.
The cave opened out onto a beautiful river and since we still had time to kill until sunset, we ventured down to the shore where some Guatemalan families were picnicking. Following Rachel’s brave led, Kevin and I both eventually got into the freezing water for a brief dip.
Come sundown, we found ourselves alone in the parking lot, where we were finally able to watch the stream of bats as the left the cave in search of their evening meal.
Semuc Champey is a protected natural area that contains various natural caves and part of a river that flows in a torrent through one of these caves and out the other side through stepped waterfalls into pools of startlingly blue, crystal clear water. We walked up to the top of the falls to marvel at the shear power of nature and then made our way back down to the pool of our choice where we spent our time lounging in the water and seeing who could catch the most minnows with our bare hands (Score: Rachel - 1, Sharon and Kevin - 0). After our swim, we climbed up to the mirador where we had a bird’s eye view of the entire scene.
Wanting to be sure we reached the caves in time to see the bats, since we had missed them the day before, we left Semuc around 4:00 in order to give us enough time to get to the caves by sundown (figuring in time for unanticipated - or actually now pretty much anticipated - stops for road construction). As we drove out of the park, we soon found that the way back was going to be much harder than the way down because we were encountering the rocks as we ascended, whereas before were simply descending through them. After the first incident of tires madly spinning on the rocks, Rachel and I began to get out and push the car up the hill, not only to provide force, but also to decrease the weight in the car.
While we were successful in our efforts, each time it was a little frightening because when Kevin released the clutch there was a moment when the car would roll back heavily where we had to jump free to assure that we weren’t crushed and also because the tires were spinning on the rocks, anyone standing to the side of the car (to, for instance, avoid being crushed) was in direct line of the rocks shooting out from underneath the spinning tires. At one point, we reached a spot that was so steep, that we required the assistance of two (extremely nice, helpful) men who jumped out of a passing pick-up to help us. When we finally reached Lanquin and parked the car in the parking lot of the cave, we were approached by a small boy, who, tracing his finger through the filth on the windows, remarked, "pequeñita, carita."
We had arrived early enough to spend some time exploring the cave, which was immense and free of obvious tourist intervention save for the bare bulbs strung throughout on wire to light our way and a few rails to allow for safe passage over the rocks. The railings were necessary because the floor of the cave was extremely slippery, until that is, we came to the part where the floor was covered in half an inch of bat feces. While glad to have the traction it provided, once I learned what it was, I admit that it somewhat tempered my enthusiasm and I was glad when we left the cave and were able to wash all of the "mud" off of our legs, arms and shoes.
The cave opened out onto a beautiful river and since we still had time to kill until sunset, we ventured down to the shore where some Guatemalan families were picnicking. Following Rachel’s brave led, Kevin and I both eventually got into the freezing water for a brief dip.
Come sundown, we found ourselves alone in the parking lot, where we were finally able to watch the stream of bats as the left the cave in search of their evening meal.
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.
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.
Toucans
I left Belize City on a shuttle bound for Flores and after a pleasant four hour trip (including a stop over at the border, where the customs officer asked me if I spoke Spanish to which I proudly replied, “si,” and several other stops to rescue other travelers stranded by their malfunctioning shuttles), I found myself again in Flores, where Steven and I had spent a few enjoyable days.
My fist stop was an internet café, where I planned to quickly email Kevin, to let him know I had arrived, before heading over to my favorite restaurant for a lunch of stuffed avocado and an ice cold lemonade. Just as I had completed my email and pressed send, I heard a familiar voice and turned to see the smiling faces of my brother and his friend, Rachel, who had just happened to stop in to that particular internet café.
Kevin and Rachel had rented a tiny Daihatsu econo-car from a rental company in Guatemala City, which had allowed them to cover a great distance in just a few days. When we met up, they had just returned from a morning at Tikal and were planning to meet up with me and then head on to Yaxha, another, less visited, Mayan ruin site, nearer to the Belize Border. Again, I was treated to transportation in a private vehicle, with the luxury of leg room in a back seat all my own and the ability to stop roadside for some great shots of the countryside.
After a pleasant afternoon ride, we arrived at a hacienda close to the park where we had a simple dinner before settling in for the night.
The next morning we rose early to watch the sun rise over the lake and then headed into the park. Because we were so early, we found ourselves the sole visitors of the park and were able to watch the ongoing preservation efforts at almost all of the temples. While Kevin and Rachel had enjoyed their visit to Tikal, Kevin was still lamenting the fact that they had been unable to see any toucans, whereas on my visit, I had seen many. So that morning, we set out in search of toucans.
After a few hours without any animal sightings, Kevin’s hope began to wane and he despaired of ever seeing toucans, although by then he had seen his share of Mayan ruins. Not wanting my brother to be disappointed, I scoured the trees, hoping to catch site of the elusive birds. Finally, I spotted two parrots high in the tree tops and we stopped and watched them for a few minutes until they flew off. Encouraged by the site of any birds at all, I continued to scan the treetops.
On our way down towards the lake we heard noises in the trees and spotted a group of monkeys that we also stopped to watch as the swung off, branch by branch, deeper into the forest. Thinking unconsciously that it would be nice if God would give Kevin some toucans, before chastising myself for such a trivial request, I was elated when on our way out of the park, we spotted a pair of small, very toucan-like birds directly in our line of sight in a tree just above the path. Although they were not of the same type of toucan that we are accustomed to seeing on the cereal box, they looked similar and I suggested to Kevin that his day should be complete because we had succeeded in finding toucans. He responded with an enthusiastic “yeah!” although I could sense his doubt that these birds were, in fact, real toucans.
As we made our way out of the park, we came across another walkway that led to a group of temples we had yet to see. Although I was somewhat temple-out, I agreed to follow Kevin and Rachel down the path for one last look. While Kevin enthusiastically bounded up the many steps to another temple top, Rachel and I opted for the more level route and walked off in search of the origin of some strange bird calls that we heard in the distance. Much to my surprise and delight, when we grew closer to the calls, we encountered a large group of real live toucans. I turned to call for Kevin and saw him come running up just in time to get a good look (and a few photos) before, wary of our presence, they disappeared deeper into the forest.
My fist stop was an internet café, where I planned to quickly email Kevin, to let him know I had arrived, before heading over to my favorite restaurant for a lunch of stuffed avocado and an ice cold lemonade. Just as I had completed my email and pressed send, I heard a familiar voice and turned to see the smiling faces of my brother and his friend, Rachel, who had just happened to stop in to that particular internet café.
Kevin and Rachel had rented a tiny Daihatsu econo-car from a rental company in Guatemala City, which had allowed them to cover a great distance in just a few days. When we met up, they had just returned from a morning at Tikal and were planning to meet up with me and then head on to Yaxha, another, less visited, Mayan ruin site, nearer to the Belize Border. Again, I was treated to transportation in a private vehicle, with the luxury of leg room in a back seat all my own and the ability to stop roadside for some great shots of the countryside.
After a pleasant afternoon ride, we arrived at a hacienda close to the park where we had a simple dinner before settling in for the night.
The next morning we rose early to watch the sun rise over the lake and then headed into the park. Because we were so early, we found ourselves the sole visitors of the park and were able to watch the ongoing preservation efforts at almost all of the temples. While Kevin and Rachel had enjoyed their visit to Tikal, Kevin was still lamenting the fact that they had been unable to see any toucans, whereas on my visit, I had seen many. So that morning, we set out in search of toucans.
After a few hours without any animal sightings, Kevin’s hope began to wane and he despaired of ever seeing toucans, although by then he had seen his share of Mayan ruins. Not wanting my brother to be disappointed, I scoured the trees, hoping to catch site of the elusive birds. Finally, I spotted two parrots high in the tree tops and we stopped and watched them for a few minutes until they flew off. Encouraged by the site of any birds at all, I continued to scan the treetops.
On our way down towards the lake we heard noises in the trees and spotted a group of monkeys that we also stopped to watch as the swung off, branch by branch, deeper into the forest. Thinking unconsciously that it would be nice if God would give Kevin some toucans, before chastising myself for such a trivial request, I was elated when on our way out of the park, we spotted a pair of small, very toucan-like birds directly in our line of sight in a tree just above the path. Although they were not of the same type of toucan that we are accustomed to seeing on the cereal box, they looked similar and I suggested to Kevin that his day should be complete because we had succeeded in finding toucans. He responded with an enthusiastic “yeah!” although I could sense his doubt that these birds were, in fact, real toucans.
As we made our way out of the park, we came across another walkway that led to a group of temples we had yet to see. Although I was somewhat temple-out, I agreed to follow Kevin and Rachel down the path for one last look. While Kevin enthusiastically bounded up the many steps to another temple top, Rachel and I opted for the more level route and walked off in search of the origin of some strange bird calls that we heard in the distance. Much to my surprise and delight, when we grew closer to the calls, we encountered a large group of real live toucans. I turned to call for Kevin and saw him come running up just in time to get a good look (and a few photos) before, wary of our presence, they disappeared deeper into the forest.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Caye Caulker/Belize City
My last few days in Belize were extremely enjoyable. Andy and I spent a day in Caye Caulker, laying in the sun and snorkelling a portion of the world’s largest barrier reef. After returning to Belize City, we spent the evening with Mark, friend of Andy´s, who had started and now runs a non-profit organization called Hand-in-Hand Ministries that works on issues such as housing, infrastructure and HIV/AIDS services in the poorer communities of Belize City. We were joined by Mark´s girlfriend, who is from Guatemala working in the tourism industry in Belize, and we all went to the supermarket (much like one at home) to purchase materials for a dinner of chicken Alfredo, salad and freshly baked cookies. We spent the evening talking, joking and enjoying our meal and as I enjoyed the company of these people I had just met hours before, I was again amazed at how lucky I have been to have had the opportunity to travel, to meet such wonderful people and to have experiences I would never have been able to have otherwise.
¡No Puedo Oir!
Unfortunately, after so many days at the river, followed by yet more days at the beach, all my underwater adventures caught up with me in the form of Swimmer´s Ear. Along with a throbbing pain in my ear, I also found myself unable to hear out of either ear and a growing concern that if I did not get some medical attention soon; I might never be able to hear again. Luckily, Andy was tight with the man who ran the prison clinic, who was able to flush my ears and provide me with a free supply of both antibiotic drops and a weeks worth of antibiotic pills. Heading to yet another beach off the coast of Belize, armed with antibiotics and ear plugs, I was optimistic (and grateful) that I would soon be able to hear again. A few days later, the world was again full of sound.
Belize Central Prison
Andy had spent the past two years at the Belize Central Prison working with a program on computer literacy and so was acquainted with many of Belize´s convicted criminals in the prison as well as, much to my amusement, being able to point out many men on the street who had done some time in the past two years.
After our first few days at the beach in Hopkins we were heading up to Belize City when we past the prison vans, taking those of the prisoners on the Prison Advisory Board out for a picnic on the beach. Not being one to pass up free food and some time with old friends, Andy accepted their invitation for us to join them and we followed them to the beach. For the next few hours, we lounged on the beach and enjoyed a meal of barbequed chicken, bread and coleslaw.
After leaving the beach, we made the two hour drive to Belize City, where we stopped in Hattieville for a quick tour of the prison, where the prison director generously offered me a position working in the woman’s section, in exchange for room and board, until I could find a job back home.
After our first few days at the beach in Hopkins we were heading up to Belize City when we past the prison vans, taking those of the prisoners on the Prison Advisory Board out for a picnic on the beach. Not being one to pass up free food and some time with old friends, Andy accepted their invitation for us to join them and we followed them to the beach. For the next few hours, we lounged on the beach and enjoyed a meal of barbequed chicken, bread and coleslaw.
After leaving the beach, we made the two hour drive to Belize City, where we stopped in Hattieville for a quick tour of the prison, where the prison director generously offered me a position working in the woman’s section, in exchange for room and board, until I could find a job back home.
Una launcha llena "chips"
From Livingston the next morning, we boarded a public launcha to Puerta Barrios where we would receive our exit stamps and catch our boat to Punta Gorda, Belize.
The ride to Puerta Barrios was uneventful and we arrived with an hour in which to have our passports stamped and grab a quick meal before the next boat left for Punta Gorda. We purchased our tickets for the boat and left our bags in the ticket office while we made our way to immigration. After paying an “official fee” of US $10 for our exit stamps, we returned to the office to find that our bags had already been loaded into the boat.
When I asked the man in the office while boat he had put our bags into, he responded in accented English, “The one with the cheeps.”
Thinking that I must have misunderstood him, I asked him again and again, he told me, “The one with the cheeps. The cheeps. The one with all the cheeps,” and directed my gaze to a 17 ft speedboat at the end of the dock packed full of huge plastic sacks full of thousands of snack sized corn chips.
When we got to the boat we marvelled at the contents of our vessel and joked that at least if we crashed onto a deserted island, it would take a long time for us to starve.
The boat’s only other passenger was the a Belizean man, the owner of the chips, who had bought them for one quetzal a bag and would sell them for 25 cents, Belize, garnering a 50% profit on each bag.
Because our cargo was so light, we were able to slice through the Caribbean sea with little mishap, save a few drenching waves of seawater that managed to wash aboard, much to the amusement of Andy and I who remained relatively dry and the chagrin of those on our right.
After getting stamped through customs, a small nondescript block building, we walked through the nearly deserted streets of Punta Gorda, a lazy coastal town, to where Andy´s friend Ryan had parked his truck. Because Ryan had joined us, we had the luxury of a personal vehicle and headed straight to the beach.
The ride to Puerta Barrios was uneventful and we arrived with an hour in which to have our passports stamped and grab a quick meal before the next boat left for Punta Gorda. We purchased our tickets for the boat and left our bags in the ticket office while we made our way to immigration. After paying an “official fee” of US $10 for our exit stamps, we returned to the office to find that our bags had already been loaded into the boat.
When I asked the man in the office while boat he had put our bags into, he responded in accented English, “The one with the cheeps.”
Thinking that I must have misunderstood him, I asked him again and again, he told me, “The one with the cheeps. The cheeps. The one with all the cheeps,” and directed my gaze to a 17 ft speedboat at the end of the dock packed full of huge plastic sacks full of thousands of snack sized corn chips.
When we got to the boat we marvelled at the contents of our vessel and joked that at least if we crashed onto a deserted island, it would take a long time for us to starve.
The boat’s only other passenger was the a Belizean man, the owner of the chips, who had bought them for one quetzal a bag and would sell them for 25 cents, Belize, garnering a 50% profit on each bag.
Because our cargo was so light, we were able to slice through the Caribbean sea with little mishap, save a few drenching waves of seawater that managed to wash aboard, much to the amusement of Andy and I who remained relatively dry and the chagrin of those on our right.
After getting stamped through customs, a small nondescript block building, we walked through the nearly deserted streets of Punta Gorda, a lazy coastal town, to where Andy´s friend Ryan had parked his truck. Because Ryan had joined us, we had the luxury of a personal vehicle and headed straight to the beach.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Musica: Una Manera Hacer Amistades
Livingston, Guatemala, is the Guatemalan city closest in area to Belize´s Carribean Coast and home to Garifuna people, descendents of a shipwrecked group of African slaves, with a culture much unlike the rest of Guatemala.
After spending a hours or so touring the town, and sampling the local culture in the form of local beer, we stopped into a small local bar just across from our hotel, where two of the three tables in the small front room were occupied by the bars only two other patrons. After settling in and ordering a round of dinks, we proceeded to introduce ourselves to the men seated to our right. After a few minutes of conversation, the older of the two men asked us if we liked Country music. Both Andy and I replied affirmatively and the man disappeared behind the bar, returning minutes later humming the tune of our new Country sound track. For the next hour or so, we sung along with old Country favourites, while I unsuccessfully, but amusingly, tried to teach our new friends the Texas Two Step. After a long night, we bid our farewells, leaving me contented and marvelling at how strange life can be sometimes and how something like the simple love of country music can bridge cultures and turn strangers into friends.
After spending a hours or so touring the town, and sampling the local culture in the form of local beer, we stopped into a small local bar just across from our hotel, where two of the three tables in the small front room were occupied by the bars only two other patrons. After settling in and ordering a round of dinks, we proceeded to introduce ourselves to the men seated to our right. After a few minutes of conversation, the older of the two men asked us if we liked Country music. Both Andy and I replied affirmatively and the man disappeared behind the bar, returning minutes later humming the tune of our new Country sound track. For the next hour or so, we sung along with old Country favourites, while I unsuccessfully, but amusingly, tried to teach our new friends the Texas Two Step. After a long night, we bid our farewells, leaving me contented and marvelling at how strange life can be sometimes and how something like the simple love of country music can bridge cultures and turn strangers into friends.
El Oeste
Alter Semana Santa, I spent another week working with Cyntia, immersing myself in the wonderful world of the subjunctive. After our second week together, I was loath to say goodbye, but I was excited about my upcoming travels and spending time with good friends.
Todd and I spent the first few days lounging around Antigua, a morning climbing Vulcan Pakaya, this time awarded by a river of molten lava flowing slowly down the side of the volcano, and a day of lounging at the Lake. On our fourth day we were joined by Andy (my housemate from Xela) and boarded a bus to Rio Dulce, where we were promptly swept off to the dock to catch a launcha to our chosen Hacienda on the River, Finca Tatin. Little did we know that when we had chosen our destination that it was not IN Rio Dulce, but ON the Rio Dulce, just a 10 minute boat ride to the Caribbean Coast. Nevertheless, we paid our 100 Q and boarded a 17ft speed boat for a beautiful 45 minute ride up the river.
Rio Dulce is extremely wide and the banks are dotted with traditional wooden houses and the occasional guesthouse. As you get closer to Livingstone, the houses modernize and the wooden canoes out front become the massive yachts of wealthy world travellers. Just past Finca Tatin, the banks steepen greatly and the river narrows, creating a towering canyon of vibrantly green trees, reaching 300 feet into the sky.
We spent two days at Finca Tatin, one day spent kayaking to Livingston, and the rest of the time, lounging in hammocks or swinging into the river from the rope swing on the dock.
Friday morning, I bade sad farewell to Todd as he returned to Rio Dulce to catch a bus back to Guatemala City and a plane back to the States, and Andy and I were jointed by a friend of his from Belize (actually from Wisconsin working in Belize) and we headed off for a night in Livingston before moving on to Belize.
Todd and I spent the first few days lounging around Antigua, a morning climbing Vulcan Pakaya, this time awarded by a river of molten lava flowing slowly down the side of the volcano, and a day of lounging at the Lake. On our fourth day we were joined by Andy (my housemate from Xela) and boarded a bus to Rio Dulce, where we were promptly swept off to the dock to catch a launcha to our chosen Hacienda on the River, Finca Tatin. Little did we know that when we had chosen our destination that it was not IN Rio Dulce, but ON the Rio Dulce, just a 10 minute boat ride to the Caribbean Coast. Nevertheless, we paid our 100 Q and boarded a 17ft speed boat for a beautiful 45 minute ride up the river.
Rio Dulce is extremely wide and the banks are dotted with traditional wooden houses and the occasional guesthouse. As you get closer to Livingstone, the houses modernize and the wooden canoes out front become the massive yachts of wealthy world travellers. Just past Finca Tatin, the banks steepen greatly and the river narrows, creating a towering canyon of vibrantly green trees, reaching 300 feet into the sky.
We spent two days at Finca Tatin, one day spent kayaking to Livingston, and the rest of the time, lounging in hammocks or swinging into the river from the rope swing on the dock.
Friday morning, I bade sad farewell to Todd as he returned to Rio Dulce to catch a bus back to Guatemala City and a plane back to the States, and Andy and I were jointed by a friend of his from Belize (actually from Wisconsin working in Belize) and we headed off for a night in Livingston before moving on to Belize.
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