You are not in Guatemala now, Dr Paulina

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Leaving Carrillo beach was difficult for the clean, clear, medusa-free water (so we were told), and far enough away from the resident crocodiles in the mangroves to not bother us and the few others there we encountered.

Alex, our trusty driver from our Rincon de la Vieja transfer, was efficient in his arrival at 2pm, and in Spanish we conversed over the 6 hours or so it took to reach Manuel Antonio.

But for the countless trucks (camiones) on the road carting local rock for shipping from the Caribbean coast, and with several slow patches of driving later until Tarcoles, eventually the scenery gave way to increasingly dense rainforest and a rich red Pacific coast sunset.

Dark and feeling tired, we rolled into our wonderful abode, Hotel Villas Lirio, by 8pm and behold, it had two pools, a well air conditioned room, a giant bathroom, and a cold drink that awaited us at the well-priced restaurant. At 100NZD/ night, I and I am sure P2 congratulated myself on choosing the Expedia bargains.

Sleeping to the sound of torrential rain, filling the paths and bird baths in seconds, we’d made a hasty plan for the next day of wildlife hiking and relaxing for our afternoon transfer to San Jose. By now, we knew the way to San Jose, P2 navigating our journey by GPS to reassure us that the driver knew his directions.

Sun up is early in these parts at 5-5.15am and the density of wildlife a treat. Picked up by Bernie and his transit van of mainly Americans, we made a quick stop for ticket collecting and toileting, and then got the run down on what not to do. Logical for us from NZ, maybe not so for ignorant ones who make excessive noise, try to feed the animals, and at all costs try to take photos. If not for the tens of guides unofficially policing this behaviour by their presence, the etiquette of what not to do was to apply.

A 1.1 mile meander took a good few hours, the sultry heat descending, shirts saturating, and me hankering for water. First up, only 50m in, was a three toed sloth high up a tree, moving at a rate of an inch a minute it seemed. So surprising it is for them to meet another sloth at this rate, mating is a rapid ritual as another sloth may be light years away from a pro creation opportunity.

Endemic and endangered, it was with luck we moved on to more sloths (2 toed variety), then land iguanas, green iguanas, Jesus Christ lizard (walks on water), bats, squirrel monkeys, howler monkeys and white faced capuchin monkeys, which were very playful and fast! Like a monkey, my favourite monkey took his memory card worth of photos, and with a little deleting there was time for more of them when we had monkeys sweeping through the trees in the lap pool area on our return to Villas Lirio.

Rinsing the sand off from our quick dip at Manuel Antonio beach, I shouted.

“Be careful of the food bag” , directed at photographing P2, monkeys swinging, swooping and carting their young poolside, but clearly crackers, mushrooms and avocados weren’t on their menu.

So leaving by group transfer back to San Jose took longer than planned. Either Semana Santa (Easter) had manifested its throngs of drivers, or the accident that occurred ahead of us to which a honking ambulance could not get to, or it was pay day, or the 6 or so cars, including a truck and a bus that broke down halted our path abruptly on the outskirts.

The toll road forced 8 lanes to 2, was squeezed harder than my packed bag, and we finally stopped at a hotel, not ours, when my strained bladder after 4 hours could be purged. Several breakdowns about one potential personal one.

Another half hour of weaving one way roads got us to our Air BnB, a high rise in Paseo Colon near the Metropolitan park. The greeting was warm, the pool muy caliente, and the Wi-Fi troubles, the Wi-Fi access we so needed, eventually were sorted by the helpful Beatrice.

Washing machine heaven, I dumped my and P2’s clothes in the capacious machine to receive warm clean and dry ones an hour or so later. Small mercy’s addressed, we ruminated on the traffic, the washing, the hacking of one’s social media profile, and slept to the sound of Japanese traffic light signalling 23 floors below us.

Come check out, and several laps done in the gorgeous pool area and our day was to blend two countries. Frank escorted us with his driver to San Jose airport, threading between illegal goods sellers that were finger wagging at P2 as he tried to capture their activity by iPhone.

A long check in, with a longer security gate experience, and we had time to be rid of colones, sufficient for us to be one of the last lots of folk on the bus. Where did the bus go to? Gate 16 of course.

Our introduction to Guatemala was with little flight delay. Marching through the modern terminal at la Aurora airport we were greeted by our first smiling official - grinning when he read my date of birth pointing with his finger, then reconciling against P2s when he'd just checked and scanned our faces for youth.

"Si, siete años distinto a mi pareja pero tenemos mucho amo" I explained. Señor smiled and hastened us through where, quite efficiently, both money exchange and bags awaited us

Stepping out of the airport to a quiet scene after going on a strawberry smoothie mission, we found our pick up spot, without our bus.

"Need help Señor?". P2 quickly friended a bystander, whilst in my more guarded travel fashion, I went to get official advice. My dilemma between integration with locals and my safety was ever present

Come check in, a señorita without smiles gave us the bad news - no Wi-Fi unless we fork out $10USD a day. So modern to have tourist amenities, shops, large pool and several restaurants, yet when it's elsewhere prevalent, we thought Barcelo hotel may well be suspended in the 1990s.

On a mission to get P2 a tarjeta de memoria (SD card), we strode and strode to reach a point of "where's the mall" only to have señor security guard at the Fontabella mall reveal its near presence

But the goose chase continued, and after 3 shops and no success, we figured big gun cameras weren't popular. P2 and his camera were unique.

To make such a shopping trip complete, I had my mule cart our snacks and breakfast supplies 6 blocks back to base, as light was lost and the streets came alive with Saturday night youth and the odd bout of begging

Our bellies so full with a buffet meal, and finally sorting out poor previous internet access, our slumber hours slipped away. By 4:30am, our synchronised alarms rousing us, it was a stumble down to an awaiting taxi. Driver at the time snoozing, for 30 quetzals we headed to TAGs terminal at the airport

" I work 22 hours a day for my family", he spoke in Spanish. No wonder he was sleeping it off

Arriving in Tikal by TAG airlines, on a Saab 340, we quickly met a lady whom chaperoned us to our van with a herd of other mixed agency booked tourists

Manual introduced himself as a guide of 25 years in Peten district, and who'd be a quiet yet very informed figure in our day ahead

After our technical tour stop, aka point of purchase stop, I created a stir by buying a wooden spoon, no doubt of use in future domestic discipline

Thirty photos or more later for P2, and we were on our way 65km to Tikal.

The low key entrance, with a scaled model of Tikal and artisan shops abounding, is aside a man-made lake with its resident crocodile and turtle.

An hour of slow walking later, Tikal started to reveal itself as a forested site of overgrown paths, temples and remains of the Mayan civilisation

Life in Mayan times spanned 1500 years, from roughly 900BC to 900AD, and reasons for exhaustion of their establishment I believe are as broad as the philosophical novel that's a recommended read

Residential zones, tombs, palatial abodes for royalty, bathing rooms, underground storage units and cool stores, and temples for worship all completed the scene, and much walking later, memory cards were well filling up.

The highest pre Colombian temple in the world, at 70m tall, was manned by a guard, ever watchful of fires brewing in the surrounding jungle

For long drawn out bouts, the howling monkeys communicated with constant distressing sounds of grunting and groaning, permeating the forest and having us wondering - were they discussing afternoon tea, or having relations ....over for dinner .....

At 20% excavated and 80% not, to wonder at the enormity of this place is as mind boggling as other UNESCO sites and worth the long day trip

Such is the significance of Tikal to Guatemala, after our brief stop at Isla Flores afterwards, we returned to the airport where they gave us 3rd degree scanning and security checks, should we have flogged some loot or illegally crossed the border from Mexico or Belize. Can you belize that?

So our day of adventure did not end there. After a delicious frozen yoghurt in Isla Flores, and Japanese meal at our hotel, we both purged our entire innards that night. First up with that worrying grumbling feeling, I deteriorated. Ladies first, thanks to P2, whom closely followed in lesser severity yet nonetheless a grave state.

Then, come 4.30am, our alarm clock sprang into action, a day after our early start and neither of us had set it. Whilst in the throes of vomiting, the sounds of Latin dance music filled the room, possibly healing in itself and a cause of much frustration as P2 struggled to shut it off. Out came the plug from the wall and relative peace resumed, before more tenuous slumber.

In a less than fresh state, we head off from our hotel on the 4^th for a day of loveliness. As lethargic and slow moving as the Costa Rican sloth, we arranged our private driver for a day at a pricey $160USD yet with the flexibility of taking our time and choosing to not have ‘technical stops’ that other tours or shared transfers wove into itineraries.

Dropped at the town square, it took a good hour to come right enough to start wandering without nauseous waves, and we found shelter from the hot sun near a 500 year old convent ruin (Iglesia y convento de las Capuchinas). Followed by extensive photography of buildings in need of painting and many ruins that appeared untouched from multiple past earthquakes, onwards we wandered, me perching, and us holding it together with anti-nausea medication.

The word from Arnoldo our driver was, on the Richter scale, that Antigua has infrequent severe quakes, but Guatemala rumbles every day. As much as our stomach status perhaps.

Come 4pm and time had evaporated. We returned via a mirador with vast views over the city and intent on contingencies for the ‘night before’. Arriving to a made bed, fresh linen, more coffee supplies and general tidiness, we glanced back at the day and our maid that morning.

It was 8.30am and neither of us had roused. A knock came at the door, and I took it modestly, poking my head and shoulders around. “Tienes ropas”? Did I have clothes? Yes of course but you knocked and I was less comatose than P2. Necesita ropas? Do I need clothes? No, but here I am justifying my rejection of her suggestion, asking for more towels given the awful night we had both had, and all she meant was did I have any laundry, rectified 15 minute later. P2 suggested he roam the corridors like Hugh Hefner and see what the senoras thought of that in a toweling dressing gown. ‘Suits you Sir!”.

So it is our last night in Guatemala and we shall soon go our separate ways for the next 3 weeks. Booking transfers tonight, ever keen to communicate in Spanish, I explained that we’d say goodbye at the airport, and “separaremos” or we will split. To bystanders, our ‘relationship discussion’ proved too funny, right up until we found out P2’s reservation was with my surname and done before he entered the picture.

Senor taxi driver, Arnoldo, was also so complimentary of the beautiful couple before him, he slapped P2 on the back, no doubt approving of the women on his arm. “Pedro tienes pareja bonita”. Couldn’t have said it better myself.













On to Cuba and come internet or high water, it shall be an interesting stage of this sojourn! Quite far from Guatemala now, Dr Ropata (a NZ joke..)

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