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There were a couple of options for the border crossing into Guatemala. You could do the standard chicken bus for $5 Belizean, but with 4 of us $25 bz for a taxi to the border was the better choice. In a stroke of luck the taxi driver was very helpful, full of advice about managing the crossing.
Borders in Central America can be simple, and can be tricky. They can also be as expensive as you let them be. Technically, entry into Guatemala was free, but we were aware that this was unlikely to be the case in practice. We knew there was an exit fee for Belize, and we were ready for that, but we were unsure what we were likely to have to pay to enter Guatemala.
The driver explained the process to us clearly, saving us a bit of cash in the end. Basically, when you hand your passport to the Guatemalans, the person at the counter will decide how much you should pay. The standard rate for foreigners was $5 US, and would go up if he had to ask for it. The trick with this border is to know the process before you go,
and to take as many passports up as you can at once – the unofficial charge is per transaction.
On the advice of the driver I took all 4 passports up while the others waited. As I walked up I had 3 one dollar US notes folded and just peeking out between my fingers. The bloke greeted me, and I handed the passports over, making sure I flashed the money, just a little bit. Then the negotiation.
As he stamped the passports he informed me the charge for entering Guatemala was $10 US per passport. I offered the $3 I had. A bit of back and forth and we settled on $8 US for the lot.
Negotiating with border officials was something a bit new to me, to be honest, but it proved easier than expected.
Once that was sorted, we then had to find some transport to our next destination,
Flores.
Do not let the guys at the border talk you into a taxi ride – I almost did. I showed just that touch to much interest and he followed us for a good 500 metres or so. It can be tough, not knowing what you
should be paying. I was sure that he was asking too much - I had talked him down to 250 quetzals – and I was right. Once you cross the border walk up the street, over the bridge, and take the right fork towards the market. There we found a
colectivo for 25 quetzales each.
They chucked our bags on top, and we jammed into the little 12 seater Toyota. Our first go at proper Central American transport was a good one. The trip was about 2 hours, made longer by the constant stops to pick up passengers. I stopped counting once they had managed to fit 23 people onto the 12 seater, and they would have gone for more, but simply ran out of people to pick up.
Flores is on a little island in the middle of a lake, and the
colectivo dropped us off at Santa Elena, the larger town directly across the causeway from Flores. We ended up taking a taxi from the bus terminal about 1.5km from where we wanted to go. The hostel we chose was pretty good, really. It was a bit more expensive than we anticipated, mainly because the Lonely
Planet is pretty hopeless at getting that stuff right, but Flores was supposed to be expensive anyway. Of course, expensive was relative – it meant $17 for a double room with a private bathroom rather than $10.
Flores was pretty touristy, but not in a bad way like Mazatlán. As such it wasn't simply the hostel room that was expensive – we had to pay almost $1.50 for a beer! We also went for dinner for the olds' wedding anniversary - 39th – so we went out for a nice Italian dinner. Sounds strange, but it was actually fantastic. Called El Terrazo, it was a terrace looking over the lake, with happy staff and a friendly cat, and the food was very well done. Again, expensive, which meant it cost about $11 for a perfectly cooked steak and $9 for homemade seafood ravioli.
During the days, there wasn't all that much to do, so we pretty much just hung out. Our room overlooked the lake, so we drank beer and watched the local kids doing backflips off the jetty, local teenagers walk up and down trying to impress each other, and a couple of European backpackers lie on
the jetty and increase their chance of melanoma. You can do a boat trip around the lake, so we took a walk around the island and waited for someone to ask us.
A friendly looking bloke did just that, and he turned out to be a nice bloke. We jumped onto his little boat and got chatting. A high school teacher by trade, he taught maths, physics and painting. His mate was driving the outboard - also a teacher, but primary school. They helped out their families by driving about the lake on Sundays with tourists. For all of us it cost a whole $15 for about 3 hours round the lake. It really wasn't a tour as such; basically they told us a few things about the place, then dropped us off at various parts and gestured vaguely towards various things. We got off and looked around while they chilled out in the boat and chatted.
We found some Mayan ruins, closed for Sunday. That simply meant that there was no one to take admission, so we wandered through. Climbed up to the look out, past a place I reckon I could live. This place was a
small farm, right on the lake shore, with scattered wood huts and a central common area, complete with a pool table. A dusky coloured dog opened one lazy eye as we clumped past, too relaxed to bark, and a couple of people glanced up from their beers, one giving a languid wave.
The lake, Peten, is not a volcanic lake, and it has no rivers feeding it, so apparently its existence is a bit of a mystery. It probably has subterranean rivers as the source. The water is very clean, and, about every seventy years the water rises by about 3 m for no discernible reason, and stays like that for a couple of months, a bit like Lake George near Goulburn. The island of Flores itself rests on the bed of the lake, and there is some concern that it could sink, so development has been stopped on it. The hotels and houses already there are no longer allowed to increase in size. In fact, in 1999, a hospital was being built on an island between Flores and the town on the northern shore, San José, and it sank into the water during a big wet season. The
community in San José has a population of about 60% professional, who live there and work elsewhere during the day, most driving a boat across the lake to the larger towns. It sounded like something you could get used to.
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