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Published: November 2nd 2009
September 17
We crossed the Honduran-Guatemalan border headed for an overnight in Antigua and then on to Quetzeltenango aka Xela to do a three day hike with Quetzeltrekkers (same organization and purpose as in Leon, Nicaragua, fosters and educates street children) among the mountains, volcanoes, and Maya villages. Thanks to some excellent bus driving including one driver flagging down our connecting bus amidst rush hour Guatemala City traffic, and a team of excellent drivers and navigators on the resulting bus to Xela, we just made it for the briefing the night before the hike. This was the most impressive bus driving I had seen in Central America, where bus driving is virtually a contact sport. Our four man team (two spotters who spent the whole time yelling which shoulder to pass on, a ticket taker and the driver) got us through the extremely curvy mountainous road by disregarding the ever present road construction and driving half the time in the left lane passing the other buses and trucks who to their fault actually considered driving laws and safety. Dinner this evening was served home style in a ladies kitchen, which is also her store, where for $1.50 we got a
heaping plate of chicken, rice, beans, tortillas and beer and maybe the only thing better than the food was the environment of the family and the regular customers filtering in and out while our hostess continued to prepare food.
From Xela we headed off towards Lago Atitlan where we finished the hike three days later. We hiked through remote corn and coffee fields catching cloud shrouded views of Volcan Santa Maria while sharing the trail with locals carrying huge loads of firewood on their backs and strapped around their forehead. The strain on their bodies is so much that they can't even look from the trail when they mumble something as they pass which I have to assume is "Good morning" in Quiche, the local Maya dialect. We hiked through fields of colorful wildflowers and passed through the village of Xetinamit which was relocated after being destroyed by Hurricane Mitch in 1998. Xetinamit and the villages of this area are little more than encampments of scattered small one or two room houses surrounded by corn, cattle, chickens, and the women and children who come out with a smile and wave to the funny looking gringos carrying big packs. Just
beating a downpour, we arrived at our first overnight in the town of Santa Catarina where the mayor arranged for us sleep in the dilapidated municipal building. A respite from the chilly and rainy mountain air came in the form of a traditional Guatemalan spa, called a temascal, which was like a small doghouse with hot coals, bowls of warm and cold water, and a small bench for three tightly squeezed people. The intense heat of the spa was perfect after a long day of hiking and a quick bath with the warm water was the perfect reminder that this lifestyle (backpacking and Guatemalan village living) is not necessarily a clean one.
Day two of the hike started off with more villages and cornfields overlooking stunning backdrops of mountains and valleys. By midmorning we came to a river at the base of our steepest climb of the hike where someone decided that this would be a good place to test yourself against the clock and your peers. We were told that 15 minutes is a very respectable time to climb Record Hill, and 12 minutes is a phenomenal time, so already I am wondering where I stand, and realize
this is a chance to prove what I already know, that Melia and I are in the best shape of anyone on this hike. A respectable time just wouldn't cut it, so a wager of a liter of beer was decided on between Melia and I with her getting a 1 minute handicap. We took off in 3 minute increments, and I hadn't covered but a few switchbacks till I was breathing from the bottom of my lungs with my hands on my hips. I never stopped, but had lots of time to ponder why running miles at time could be so easy, but walking up this hill with my pack seems the hardest thing I have ever done. Thinking about that liter of beer the whole way got me to the top in 13:15, and Melia came in at 15:30 meaning I got to maintain my pride and a beer in the process. The rest of the group made it in 20 minutes and beyond, which also meant I was right about our fitness compared to theirs. We hiked back down passing through the town of San Juan Cotzal sharing the trail with local farmers and women complete with
extraordinarily colorful dresses and warm smiles. After lunch we were free from the lead of group, who chose the bus instead of more hiking, (Why pay to hike and then take the bus? Weird huh?), we continued through my favorite section, which was a ridgeline overlooking the valleys and mountains of coffee fields below. Soon we came to a section where we followed a river, crossing it some twenty or thirty times, however it soon began to downpour and the enjoyment of nature and hiking was all of a sudden a chore to get to our overnight destination. This section was done with a nose to the ground in ankle deep water, which the trail had now become. And the number of times crossing the river? Well it’s hard to tell since the whole time seemed like we were hiking IN the river. Eventually we made our destination home around dusk, where we were treated to a warm fire and hearty dinner.
We woke at the ungodly hour of 3:30 AM to pack up and hike one hour in the dark to our sunrise viewing spot over Lago Atitlan arriving with plenty of time to watch the brilliant early
morning stars under a clear sky in a sleep deprived state waiting for the sun to come up. We enjoyed hot chocolate while taking in the extreme array of colors of the sunrise against the black sky, the glassy smooth lake, and the erupting Volcan Atitlan in the distance. After a nap in the warming sun we hiked up La Nariz, a point overlooking the towns of Santa Cruz, San Juan and the entire lake, after which it was down, down, down, to San Juan where we had an amazing chicken lunch at the women’s cooperative before boarding the bus for the long and curvy ride back to Xela. With Melia sick in bed, I was on my own for dinner, and since I ate too healthily on the hike, I had to go for the greasiest tacos I have ever eaten, in the park.
September 22
After the first good nights sleep in a while in the strange international hippy hangout of Casa Argentina in Xela, we took off for Fuentes Georginas, hot spring pools set in a lush mountain surrounding. Thankfully it was not over touristy, and on this day there was only a handful of
Guatemalan families enjoying the springs with us who laughed and took pictures of me when I went to the source of the pools where scalding hot water dripped down from the cliffs above. Back in Xela we ate at our favorite ladies kitchen once again, where for a nice change of pace we got pork roast with rice and beans but with the same great hospitality.
September 23
We headed back to Antigua where we spent more time exploring this colonial city of such elegant architecture and its strangely clean atmosphere you might think you were in Europe. Definitely not Guatemalan, Antigua is the real Gringolandia, but despite its overly clean and touristy feel, the city and its surroundings are beautiful. Missing though is street vendors, for a late snack or mid day ice cream bar. The main reason for coming back is to climb Volcan Pacaya, where on most days lava oozes out the side and we were both keen to poke it with a stick. With a large group of less than fit travelers we headed up the volcano and got continuously asked by the local children if we wanted walking sticks or taxi rides to
the top on horses. When we got above the tree line and still more than 30 minutes away from the top, we see that we are in luck since she was definitely going off, spewing a stream of orange lava down her side and I couldn't wait to see it from up close. Despite the intense heat and the realization that my shoes were melting I watched from just a few feet away lava flow out of the ground and down the side of volcano. I also enjoyed watching my stick that I had been carrying all the way up the volcano float down the lava in flames. As dark set in it was time to head back down the volcano, very happy to see flowing lava with a burned face from being so close to the 1,300 °F liquid rock.
September 25
Our next destination was Lanquin and Semuc Champey in central Guatemala, an 8 hour bus ride from Antigua. Our accommodation here was a lodge on the river that was like an international summer camp, complete with activities, bunk beds, and communal buffet dinners, which must appeal to some since it seems there are quite a
few people who forgot they could leave. We took a pickup to Semuc Champey, a beautiful natural limestone bridge where most of the rushing Rio Cahabon is diverted underneath the bridge, and on top are a series of natural pools and falls perfect for swimming. The setting of the pools deep within the jungle creates a tranquility that is hard to match, and it’s hard to imagine the torrent of the Rio Cahabon beneath. Although the setting may exude a religious feel for some, I had to kindly turn down being baptized by a native Guatemalan now living in the Bible Belt, and opt instead for another pool without the presence of religious persecution.
September 27
Tired of the hourly cigarette breaks and being herded like cattle we took normal buses towards Flores instead of the direct shuttles. This meant connecting on three buses and a launcha to cross a river to get to our destination, when at one point I counted we were among 28 people jammed into a 15 passenger van. It was pretty uncomfortable, but actually much more enjoyable than being in a tour bus full of Israelis and their ever present need of cigarettes.
Flores was our base camp for a few days to relax and visit the ancient Maya city of Tikal. Set in Lago Peten Itza, the city is actually an island, seemingly created for tourists, and when we ventured off to the neighboring town of Santa Elena we got looks from its citizens and taxi inquisitions that said, "You don't belong here, go back to your island." Flores is a small and peaceful place which can be walked across in five minutes and the surrounding lake provides an excellent place to cool off and watch the sunset.
With much anticipation we headed out at 5AM for Tikal to beat the hoards of tourists and afternoon thunderstorms. Quickly it became apparent that we were being cattle herded again and ditched the group for breakfast outside the park. However since I dismissed Melia's numerous inquisitions about our money situation, this splurge of eggs, rice, and beans left us with not enough to enter the park. However thankfully and shamefully I tracked down a fellow backpacker I recognized to loan us enough to get in, least our day would have been ruined. The generosity of the backpacker cult allowed us to have a
wonderful day touring the massive temples and the jungle surroundings at our own pace, however not paying for a guide lead to many unanswered questions and missing information about the fascinating Maya culture. Tikal is mostly amazing for its size; of the city itself, which topped 100,000 in the Late Classic Period around 700 AD, and its towering temples, five of which top out above 100 feet, the tallest of which is Temple 4 at 229 feet. Eating my lunch atop Temple 5 allowed for contemplation as to what Tikal would look like in its prime. Maybe much like the Central American cities of today with their mazes of markets, business, and homes connected by roads and paths underneath the shadows of churches, cathedrals, and palaces.
October 1
We crossed over into Belize, where I needed to get my passport stamped since my visa was running out, and Melia was to meet a friend, and it was immediately apparent we were in a more modern country with better infrastructure and actual bus schedules. Also all of sudden we were in the Caribbean with its completely different culture, a more racially mixed population, and English spoken almost everywhere. We
made it to Dangriga and headed straight for Val's Hostel where we were treated to great Caribbean hospitality, and treated ourselves to some Belikens overlooking the sea. After one night in Dangriga, I for the first time in one month found myself navigating the road alone and headed to the beach village of Placencia to the south, which I quickly realized was desolate. After an extremely quiet walk around town stopping to talk to painfully uninterested scuba dive shops, I found the only bar that might get busy for happy hour where some Canadian expats told me October is the slowest month of the year and that most restaurants and hotels are closed till mid November. Although sitting on a beautiful spit of beach between the Caribbean and mangroves, I decide that since no one else is in Placencia, I don’t need to be either and took off after one night of sleeping on the beach. After a ride in the Hokey Pokey water taxi to Mango Creek, I caught a bus to Punta Gorda which is the end of the road in Southern Belize. I found my accommodation for the night again desolate; but as luck would have it
I stumbled upon a full moon party overlooking the Caribbean. The night continued with some friendly locals who shared some Belikens and I unknowingly ate chicken foot soup from a street vendor, but thankfully my free spirited mood did not deter me from having a good time when I finally found the rubbery contents in my cup. As the night wore on I discovered my newfound friends were going to Guatemala the next day for some fishing supplies and said they could drop me off in Livingston for a small fee. I figured this would be more interesting than a proper ferry, so it was decided we would leave for Livingston in the morning, although I wasn’t convinced it would actually happen.
October 4
I was awakened by my friend, who practically pulled an all nighter, ready to gear up for the boat trip across the glassy smooth Bahia de Amatique for Livingston, Guatemala. After visiting with customs officials we learned that I would have to pay the $20 to get an exit stamp, and an addition $25 ferry charge to the government even though I wasn't going on the ferry. Fed up with Belize and how it
nickel and dimes tourists I decided to screw it and take off with my new friends without "officially" leaving Belize. I don't plan on going back anytime soon and was happy to put my required 3 days in Belize behind me. Upon entering Guatemala I got my entrance stamp no worries and found the once again empty Hostel de Iguana, which was a pleasant place to relax except for the pet raccoon that strongly favors human flesh. In less than 24 hours I was attacked twice, leaving me to walk the streets of Livingston with a trail of blood behind, and upon return use extreme caution on the raccoon infested grounds of the Iguana. Getting no sympathy for my deep flesh wounds from the staff, I left after one night on a boat up the beautiful Rio Dulce (the only way to get to Livingston), to the city of Rio Dulce where I found my accommodation of thatch roof cabins on an inlet from the Dulce extremely tranquil, if not boring. To keep me company was a very chatty aspiring photographer from Germany who also went with me to Finca El Pariso, an amazing hot spring tumbling over a 40
foot waterfall in a lush forest surrounding. This allowed for a rare hot shower but with no need to worry about water usage and lounging in the contrastingly cool water from the adjoining stream was equally as relaxing. When the place was invaded by Israelis, Frank and I knew it was time to head up the road to the quiet town of El Estor on the shores of Lago de Izabal where we dined in a fine comedor before heading back to Rio Dulce. By 6AM the following day I was on the bus for Guatemala City where I found a hostel with friendly accommodation and conveniently located just a one hour walk in the pouring rain from the bus station.
October 8
After one night in Guate I was on the bus again back south towards Managua, Nicaragua via San Salvador. But before I left I starred in a photo shoot organized by the owner of the hotel for its website. I credit his intense enthusiasm for wanting to improve his already great hotel, and increasing its marketability, and hope it works out for him. The bus I took to San Salvador was a first class coach
complete with such preposterous features as air conditioning and comfortable seats. After traversing most of Central America in old school buses from the US I thought maybe I won a contest to travel in such luxury. It felt foreign and extremely distant from the cities and countryside that it traveled through and I immediately missed the interaction with the local people and environment that the chicken buses provided. However soon I was in San Salvador after the sundown which required a heightened awareness and good instincts to avoid trouble. I gladly agreed to stay in the grungiest hospedaje yet across the street from the bus terminal since I had to continue on to Managua at 4:30 the next morning. Unable to remain in the grim covered room, I risked the Saint Bernard sized cockroaches taking off with my backpack and set out wandering the streets of central San Salvador. I quickly discovered my purpose for being there: PUPUSAS! I quickly downed three, and ordered three for the following day, and continued through the markets and central plaza before making my way back through the smelly streets to my hospedaje, where I just wanted to get the night over with and
be back on the bus.
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larry
non-member comment
We have a few days on our own after a 10 day tour of Guatemala. Our Guatemala trip is first and we have March 2,3 and 4 2010 to visit. Maybe Belize is too far away. There will be 2 of us. We are farmers and need an affordable rate.