Sleeping with Bjork

Our last morning at Hotelito Perdido and we were in no rush to leave. The new guests were all going on a hike and visit to the clinic on the other side of the river. So we said goodbye to them and once again it was hugs all around and we’d only known them for 12 hours. (Told you Hotelito Perdido was like that.) That gave us an hour to pack up our stuff and pay our bill. When Chris returned from dropping the others off it was our turn to get in the boat. We said goodbye to Bernie & Bali and of course Aska, forcing her to pose for an Adrian Was Here photo before heading off to Livingston.

The boat ride was much more enjoyable than the one on the way in. Chris took us down the river through the river canyon with its limestone walls and more great views of the rio before pulling out of the mouth of the river to the Caribbean. Around the bend we got our first glimpse of Livingston.

Chris docked the boat at Casa Rosada which he and Aska recommended as their favourite place to stay in town. We said goodbye to Chris thanking him and Aska for their awesome hospitality. He posed for a photo with Adrian imitating Adrian’s signature thumbs up pose. We were really sad to have to move on but now began the next leg of our journey.

The Casa Rosada consisted of the pink main house where the owners lived and ten huts on the grounds facing the sea. We picked the hut next to the immaculate shared bathroom – there were towels and bath mats and flowers in it. What luxury. Then I began the process of signing in. As I entered my info into the guest registry I glanced over the names and nationalities above ours. The one just above mine stopped me – Björk Gudmundsdottir, Islandia. How many Björk’s are there in Iceland? Was it the Björk staying here at this simple $20/night place? I showed Adrian and immediately he turned into a groupie, asking the desk clerk a million questions about Björk. Yes it was really her. She had been staying there for the last week. Unfortunately we had just missed her as she had checked out only an hour ago. Adrian started inquiring about seeing her cabana but I reminded him that not only was that creepy it was kinda unnecessary since they were all alike – two single beds and a ceiling fan. Still the clerk humoured him and answered all his questions – What did she eat? Who was with her? – while I settled us in our room. It was clean and comfy but still basic and definitely not the fanciest place in the small town. Hard to believe Björk stayed here and had stayed here quite a few time over the last couple of years.

Adrian was still hoping to run into Björk as we headed out to check out the town. I was hoping to check out the Garifuna Museum. Yes, Livingston was another Garifuna town with another Garifuna museum, supposedly. But once again the museum no longer existed. In fact, there wasn’t much in Livingston, and much to Adrian’s displeasure there was no Björk. There were some weird murals that seemed Bjork-like (picture above) but mostly it was tiny guesthouses, and small shops. So we walked down to the thin strip of beach and watched the wind whip the waves before heading back to Casa Rosada to escape the scorching sun.

The power went out and the hotel clerk told us it was out in all of Guatemala, so we couldn’t escape to a nice air conditioned internet café. Instead we just pulled up a comfy chair overlooking the dock and read. The power came on in time for dinner and we treated ourselves to delicious a seafood stew, supposedly Björk’s favourite, before heading to bed. We slept where she slept. We ate what she ate. We walked where she walked but her signature was as close as we got to Björk in Livingston, Guatemala.