Gallon Jug to Livingston to Rio Dulce

Published: February 23rd 2010Central America Caribbean » Guatemala » Caribbean Coast » Livingston
January 1st 2010

Livingston dock

Gallon Jug to Livingston

The same pilot flew us to Punta Gorda, Belize, turning a twelve hour bus ride into a 90 minute flight. She flew between cloud layers, average altitude of 3500’, and over paved roads “just in case.” Along the way she talked to other pilots about changing weather conditions and listened to other pilots chatter to each other so that we could fly around micro weather systems that normal airliners just plow through. One cloud bank was not so micro, too wide to fly around and too tall to fly over. We plunged into a squall, pitching and yawing, buffeted in almost total darkness, until one instant, through an invisible door, plopped into clear sky and still air.

Luckily, we arrived at 10 am, just in time for 10:30 ferry. This border crossing seemed to go pretty easy, though the officials were not happy to be working New Years Day with hangovers. Mo’s passport is almost full. He made us pay a surcharge “because it was a holiday you know, overtime.” Yeah, sure, whatever excuse you can invent. The 10:30 ferry did not depart until noon. The captain reassured us by explaining that he was

Crocodile

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In a big ditch a block from the dock.

only late because he had to repair his steering. On the way Maureen read [I]Lonely Planet to scope out places to stay in Livingston. It said “be sure immigration stamps your passport in Punta Gorda.” He had not.

Arriving at Livingston, Guatemala, we were greeted by the customary dock vendors and guides, like gulls feeding on bait. “Taxi? Where are you going? Taking tour?” Cheap hotel? Change money? Good price!” Secretly, I wanted to visit a health clinic, just so I could say “Doctor of Livingston, I presume.” The town was a teeming pit, colorful, not restful. We did not want to stay there, as planned.

Rio Dulce

Talking with tourists we heard that Rio Dulce was more than a spot on the river, a whole town actually, not mentioned as such in Lonely Planet. A Chilean turista had stayed at “Backpackers Hotel; it’s fine.” We wanted a water taxi, but had no quetzales. No bank was open—I visualized Brendan watching the Rose Bowl—and the local ATM didn’t work so the captain let us exchange currency at the destination.