The road to Flores

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Saturday, February 9, early, very early:



Our alarm went off at 4:45, and we quickly got ready in the dark.



We went down to the road to catch the 5 o´clock bus - and waited.



By about 5:20 we started to worry that the owner didn´t call the bus because we didn´t prepay.



I (Brittany) was very (emphasis on very) groggy from an antihistamine I´d taken the night before for some wicked spider bites and could hardly feel my lips, let alone think coherently.



Honore suggested walking to Lanquin, about 10km away, while I sat on a rock with my head in my hands and moaned.



We debated for 45 minutes while trying to flag down the occasional random truck.



And just about 6:00, lo and behold, a bus!



As we frantically flagged it down, two people came out of our hostel... wait... how did they know it´d be an hour late? Curse not speaking Spanish...!



Then it dawned on us that we´d incorrectly set our watch ahead and awoke at 3:45 - whoops! (We´re still not clear on the mystery surrounding it, investigation continues.)



Relieved, we jumped on, knowing we had just enough cash to get back to Coban, although our final destination was Flores, in the Petén region in Northern Guatemala.



Tucked in the back corner, we realized this was a full bus - 5 per row plus standers plus a good number on the roof!



We started rumbling up the rocky river-bed of a road; we seemed to be stopping a lot, picking people up and dropping them off, more than usual.



Brittany said she was sure it was the same people, I (Honore) didn´t think so - why would they be coming all the way down the ladders from the roof, running ahead, and getting back on?



After a number of jerky, jostling corners, a whole bunch of people jumped off and the driver yoked the e-brake.



We saw his wingman (the guy who collects the money and deals with passengers) out the window putting something under the tire.



The driver let off the brake, gassed it, and we lurched over whatever was under the tire; a quick pull of the e-brake and the wingman moved the plank(?) ahead of the tire once more, another lurch, and the loud ttttttrrrrp of the brake.



This is how we climbed the hill - 4 feet at a time.



When we got going again all the passengers who had run ahead (to lighten to load, we realized) climbed back on.



The wingman was sporting his enormous grin as he hung on the outside of the bus, reaching in the window to collect the fares of riders.



It was wild and one of our best rides yet.



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Got to Coban by 7:30, found a bus to Flores, bought sunglasses and underwear, got coffee (bad) and donuts (good) and headed north.



The ride was long but pretty as trees the color of avocados led us toward the jungle.



We took a direct bus with a few other travelers and ended up in Flores by the early afternoon.

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Photos

Keeping the oil moving
Hundreds of kilometers of pipeline run along this main highway, right in the front yards of houses & shops