Four towns, one very long day.

I have mixed feelings about travel days. On one hand they are exciting – they signify a new destination and new possibilities. But on the other hand, they’re usually long and often full of frustration, especially when they require more than one mode of transportation. Today was going to be one of those days so my only hope was that we’d get to Antigua before dark since the lack of internet over the last four days meant we had no reservations lined up.

We started out at 7am by grabbing breakfast and hiking down to the ferry dock. We got the last two seats up at the front with all the luggage and hoped that the front would mean a smoother drier ride than our trip from Rio Dulce. The trip took us past the Caribbean coast, dotted with large luxury homes, a shock considering the modest farms we’d seen on along the river. Then it was out to the open sea but it was a relatively smooth ride. We rounded a small peninsula into Puerto Barrios (photo above), Guatemala’s largest shipping port which was filled with huge transatlantic tankers from all over the globe.

When we got off the boat I looked at the time and realized that we only had 15 minutes to make our 10am bus to Guatemala City. This meant we were at the mercy of the taxi drivers who were all too aware of the bus schedules and our urgency. I managed to negotiate a bit of money off the price they were initially asking but not enough to feel good. But when we started driving away I realized that the bus station was a lot further than I thought and the price wasn’t that bad after all.

The bus was sitting there fully loaded when we pulled up. I left Adrian to deal with the driver while I ran in to buy our tickets. Or so I thought. I was just about to jump on the bus when the taxi driver came running up to me – apparently Adrian had taken off and hadn’t paid the driver. Grr… where was he? Oh right having a cigarette. I yanked him on the bus that was waiting for us. But instead of the air-conditioned luxury we were greeting by a wall of hot and humid air. The air conditioning was broken so we sweated for the 6-hour ride to Guatemala City, stopping once at a roadside bus station/restaurant for cool drinks.

We pulled into Guatemala City catching small glimpses through the dusty tinted window. It didn’t look as bad as I thought. However, the bus station appeared to be in a sketchy part of town. Now we had a choice: we could either take a taxi to another bus station across town to catch an Antigua chicken bus or wait 2 hours for the luxury coach from our current location. If we waited we’d be getting into Antigua after dark. But if we took the chicken bus there was, um, well, let’s just say a certain amount of danger involved. Recently the news had been full of stories of drivers and ayudantes of local buses being gunned down in the streets of Guatemala City. And it was serious enough that these stories had been picked up internationally. Now, these were probably routes running through bad parts of town but I had no idea if those parts were en route to the other station or part of the Antigua route. You can call us whimps but erring on the side of caution, we decided to stay put. Plus, there was the promise of another comfy bus perhaps, this time with real air conditioning.

Of course when it came time to leave, it wasn’t a bus but a cramped mini van already full of very loud travelers speaking another language (that shall remain nameless) who refused to change their seats so that Adrian and I could sit together. They continued to yell over us for the entire 1.5 hour uncomfortable ride to Antigua. It should have been half as long but rush hour traffic slowed us down.

Just after dark we got into Antigua. I couldn’t see the town but I knew that it was all cobbled streets because my butt felt every one of them. The driver stopped in the main square and told us he’d drive us all to our hostels for another 5Q each. That seemed like a good idea, except we didn’t have a reservation. I consulted Lonely Planet and picked the favourite and hoped that it still existed and had a room for us.

All the other passengers got off before us and when we arrived at the Yellow House hostel, we discovered that one of them had taken Adrian’s pack instead of their own. Adrian went off with the driver to track down his pack while I went in to arrange a place to stay. The hostel only had a three -bed dorm available so I took all the beds in it. Meanwhile one of the loud girls arrived by tuktuk and said you have my bag – notice she didn’t say she’d taken the wrong bag nor did she apologize. And of course, she didn’t bring Adrian’s bag because “it was too heavy”. So not only was she loud she was stupid and rude too. I told her that Adrian had gone with the driver to look for his bag and asked her perhaps she’d like to wait until he returned. She waited silently and I could feel her glaring at me – even though it was her fault. Wow. And when Adrian arrived with his bag, she left without saying thank you or offering extra money to pay the driver who had driver Adrian around in search of her and the bag. I hope there is such a thing as travel karma because it needs to bite her in the ass.

Thankfully the Yellow House was clean and comfy and around the corner from a café where we could get forget about her over dinner and a drink. Then it was time to collapse in bed after 12 hours, 4 towns, 1 boat, 1 taxi, 1 bus, 1 minivan, 1 lost bag and zero air conditioning.

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.

Delaying reality

When we first arrived at Hotelito Perdido unannounced, the owners Aska and Chris had warned us that due to upcoming reservations, we’d only have two nights to stay with them. So this morning we expected to leave with Douglas. But when I asked Aska what time Chris would be leaving for town, she let me know the good news. She’d asked their arriving guests if they wouldn’t mind switching rooms and they agreed so it freed up the bungalow for us. Woohoo another day chilling on the Rio Dulce. But boo, because we had to say goodbye to Douglas who had already extended his two nights at Hotelito Perdido into five but now had to move on to make his flight back to Seattle in the next couple of days. As he got on the boat, we hugged and wished each other happy travels. Yes we’d only known each other for two days. But that’s what Hotelito Perdido does to people. You feel like you’ve known each other a lot longer than you actually have and you get sentimental when you have to say goodbye.

With our extra unplanned day in paradise, we didn’t know what to do. So we did nothing. Good thing too because the weather had turned and it was rainy heavily and so humid our soaked kayaking clothes were still soaked. So we decided to just chill and read. And when we were tired of that, we talked to Aska about her and Chris’s little slice of paradise. It’s really amazing what they built – by hand! out in the middle of the jungle. They had a photo album of before and after pictures that really told the story. When they bought the land, it had been cleared by the farmers who burned everything down to keep the snakes and other animals away. But Chris built all the buildings and Aska replanted the land and now it’s a lush jungle getaway complete with really pretty bugs . They’re planning to build another cabana in the next year since more people keep showing up on their dock unannounced (teehee whoops). But they don’t want it bigger than they can personally handle, after all it’s their home.

When Chris arrived with the next batch of guests, they were equally impressed. And we welcomed them as the resident old timers (after only three days there). The new guests were two girls from Germany, whose room we stole, and an older couple from Seattle and their 20 year old son. We repeated the process of getting to know each other over dinner and drinks. It felt kinda like passing the torch to the new guests because unfortunately tomorrow we would have to leave and continue our journey across Guatemala.

The end of the honeymoon.

Travelling together with your partner is a real way to test your relationship. Luckily Adrian and I have been married for more than 10 years so we have a pretty good idea of our best and worst. Even still, 24 hours a day with one person is a lot. Today was the day we would test this togetherness by going kayaking in search of some nearby waterfalls.

Understand first of all, that Adrian has never kayaked and I hadn’t canoed since I was in high school and I wasn’t very good at it then. But it started out well, thanks to Douglas who helped us get the kayak in the water and Aska who made sure we had a packed lunch, plenty of water and a map of where we were going that she drew for us. But once we got into the water, the day became very long. We couldn’t figure out how to keep the kayak going in a straight line and instead went from one side of the river to the other, running into some low hanging trees more than a couple of times and managing to fill up the kayak with water. But thankfully never sinking it. 

As the sun got hotter and higher in the sky, our tempers got equally heated until we passed a field full of dozens of cows. I don’t know whether it was our arguing or diagonal paddling, but the cows all stopped chewing their cud to just watch us until we passed. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. No scratch that. It was like that episode of South Park. And it would have been spooky until I remembered that Douglas had mentioned passing them on his way to the waterfalls. So seeing them ,we were relieved – at least we knew we were heading in the right direction but it was taking us a lot longer than the hour everyone said it would. Perhaps because we were traveling twice as far as we continued to go from one bank to the other although less than we had at the beginning.

Eventually, we got to the end of the river. We pulled the kayak up on the bank and ate our lunch and guzzled some water before beginning our hike along the path to the water falls. Armed with the map Aska had drawn for us, we followed the path certain we’d reach our destination which would make up for the horrible kayaking. Unfortunately, and I’m not blaming here just observing, I wasn’t with Adrian when Aska drew up and explained the map so I wasn’t sure what certain things meant and Adrian couldn’t remember. He did remember that if we took the wrong turn we would be walking for 3 hours and never get anywhere. Well, after an hour and a half of walking we got to little bridge. Not seeing this mentioned anywhere on the map or remembering it from any descriptions, I told Adrian we should give up. He decided to walk ahead for a bit “just to see”. And in 10 minutes he was back. I could hear him before I could see him. Adrian was speaking very loud emphatic English trying to communicate with someone who obviously only spoke Spanish. “Water. Fall.” “Shhhhhh.Water.” This was followed by a rapid response in Spanish and some laughter. As Adrian came around the bend I saw that he was accompanied by a young guy who was trying to explain something to Adrian. I decided to step in with my limited Spanish and learned that we couldn’t get to the waterfalls the way we were going. In fact we couldn’t get anywhere the way we were going. The kid had met Adrian on his way back to school after looking after some cows.

“Where are the cows?” I asked.

The lad motioned violently with his walking stick and I realized he had been slaughtering them on his lunch break. I was in shock by his non-chalance but he didn't notice. He was relieved that I understood him. Especially since Adrian continued to try to jump into the conversation with repeted “Water. Fall. Shhhh” while waterfall gestures with his hands.

“Su esposo no entiende nada.”
“Nada” I repeated for emphasis.

The lad walked us back to our river bank and then asked if he could get a lift. But when I pointed to the kayak he realized that wasn’t going to work. And he wouldn’t have asked if he’d seen us paddling in.

Now time for the trip back and it seems any skills Adrian and I had acquired on our way out to the waterfalls we’d lost during the hike. Our arguing was worse than before and only resolved when I stopped paddling and let know-it-all Adrian do all the work. It worked in that we no longer fought but didn’t work because his shoulders were exhausted by the time we got back to Hotelito Perdido. Douglas was there to welcome us back and help put the kayak back on the rack. He was getting ready to go out and search for us since we’d been gone about twice as long as we should have been. When he saw our scowls, he tried to lighten our moods by changing the subject.

“So how were the falls?” he asked.

It was then that we had to admit despite all our effort, we hadn’t found them. When I mentioned that we turned back when we got to the bridge. He, Chris and Aska, were all confused – none of them knew what bridge we were talking about. Oops, we’d obviously taken a very wrong turn. Over another delicious dinner, Aska told us that she and Chris call kayaks, honeymoon boats, because using them ends many honeymoons. How true. But no need to worry we were laughing about it by the time the dishes were cleared.

Unannounced visitors – namely, us.

The reason for coming to this part of Guatemala was to visit a jungle eco lodge on the Rio Dulce. But contacting one to set up arrangements was proving to be a little more difficult than we had hoped – the wireless at the hostel didn’t work so sending out emails relied on getting online for the public (free) computers. I’d found a couple of places in my research during the last year. One was a big established one and the other a smaller place that looked pretty fancy on their website yet completely reasonable in price. I found some pretty awesome reviews on trip advisor for the small one and not so good ones for the big one which helped make up my mind. However, my email inquiry to the small one, Hotelito Perdido, was immediately replied to with an automatic “we only check email once a week. You should phone with any urgent inquiries” but I hate the telephone and using a phone in a country where you don’t speak the language was a challenge I wasn’t up for. I decided we’d chance it and just show up on the dock of the lodge.

We booked the boat at the desk of the hostel and the boat would pick us up from the hostel dock which meant no need to go into town or over the bridge. The boat even arrived early and we were the only people on it (picture above). I was hopeful but when I asked the captain just laughed and shook his head and then headed to the dock on the other side of the river where dozens of people were waiting so many that the group was split into two half full boats. But all the space was filled up as the boat pulled into other hotels, guest houses and lodges to fill out the empty spaces. Soon the boat was full and the luggage was piled high. We continued with the trip getting a tour of the Lago de Izabel and Rio Dulce, including the old fort, small creeks. It was a tour we hadn’t really wanted when the water got really rough once we pulled out of the city. The captain pulled out tarps for us to sit under, too late for some of the passengers – the guys behind us were sopping wet.

We traveled from the Rio to the Golfete passing indigenous folks fishing from small boats. They were Mayans who don’t like getting their picture. Unfortunately, the French couple in front of us didn’t get the message even when every Mayan kept shielding their faces when they pulled the camera out. Thankfully, the French women was soon distracted by the numerous birds in the trees. She was trying to use a super zoom on the very bumpy boat ride while her husband kept pointing out other ones. I’m sure their shots consisted of a lot of waves and sky maybe even a few thumbs but few birds.

We were only on the boat for an hour but it already felt like a full day. Thankfully, the Hotelito Perdido was halfway along the boat route (leaving the rest of the folks having to sit for another hour to Livingstone). And we pulled up to small dock where a Captain Jack lookalike and bearded tall man sat. As Adrian got out two dogs appeared to happily licked my face as I got off the boat. The dogs were followed by a petite woman who greeted us.

“Hi, we hope you have room because we’d like to stay here tonight. Surprise.” I announced once I was on the dock.

Luckily they did. They were Captain Jack, I mean, Chris, a guy from East London. And the woman, Aska his girfriend from Poland. The dogs – Bernie and Bali. Together they ran Hotelito Perdido. And it really was a Hotelito. Only 4 rooms/cabins. And two were already taken – one by Douglas, the tall man from the dock. I know realized that I should have phoned ahead. Gulp. But Chris and Aska were super nice and accommodating. And the accommodations were as great as the pictures. Unfortunately, they had people coming in a few days so our stay would be limited to two nights. Oh well. Some time better than no time.

The Hotelito was more like Chris and Aska’s cottage and dinner was not at in a restaurant but at a big communal table served and made by Aska. Joining us at dinner were Douglas, and two Spanish girls, Belen and Elena, that I recognized from our shuttle to and from Tikal, and volunteers from the clinic across the river, Jessie from the US, and Anna and Brem from belgium. Dinner was delicious and vegetarian but so good that Adrian said “I don’t even miss the meat.” (his ultimate culinary compliment) I’m surprised our systems didn’t go into shock or at least cry from the blessed sight of vegetables.

Dinner was awesome not just because of the food but because of the company. Despite arriving unannounced, we immediately felt welcome and part of the small group. We learned a lot about politics in the country. Basically, the war has never ended in Guatemala. Only 14 families still own all of Guatemala (including the government, the banks, and business) and run it like the mafia. These 14 families are proud of their Spanish blood and don’t mix with the largely indigenous population of the country. In fact they are still actively working to repress the Mayan population. There are still some revolutionary forces in action. Recently some agitators nearby burnt some villages in protest and so we were advised to stay away from the manatee reserve until Chris and Aska could figure out if it was safe for tourists or at least arrange for a local guide. They assured us we were never in danger (both the government and the revolutionaries want tourism in the country – for different reasons) but they didn’t want us to stumble into the middle of any local trouble if they could avoid it. As I’d been beginning to suspect, my images of shiny happy Guatemala was a bit of an illusion.

The only mean person in Guatemala.

So far everyone we’d met in Guatemala was super nice. I was afraid to mention it to Adrian for fear that we’d jinx it. Especially today which was a big travel day. We had to get from Tikal way up in the north to Rio Dulce out in the west. Looking at the map, there appeared to be a big ol’ lake/river in the way which required us to go east before we could go west and south. It also required us to take a couple of forms of transportation. But first our free breakfast made and served by the super nice woman at the Hermano Pedro. It included coffee, juice, fruit and pancakes. Just what we needed as we headed out. We grabbed our bags and headed to the road for leg one of our journey - a collectivo heading to Flores/Santa Elena. We stood there for about 20 minutes and watched five go in the opposite direction. That’s good, I told myself, eventually they’ll have to come back this way, right? But before I could get antsy, a mini van pulled up. It was Humberto!

He asked us where we were going and when I told him Flores, he told us to hop in. He and his family were going there for the day and he’d charge us the same as the collectivo. But unlike the collectivo he didn’t pick anyone else up. So it was just Humberto, his wife, (2?3? year old) daughter and us for most of the way. Wow, the people in Guatemala really are super nice.

The ride was fast and uneventful except for the moment when we got to Santa Elena and Humberto’s daughter saw the sign for Pizza Hut. Dad had told her they were going there but forgot to let her know that first he had to drop us off. So as we zipped past the sign she burst into tears and was almost unconsolable – just like kids back home (Andrea, I’m thinking of you and McDonald’s all those years ago). He tried to explain to her but she was too young to understand. All she knew was she had been promised Pizza Hut and we had just driven past it. Thankfully, the bus station was just down the street so we jumped out paid Humberto and let him and his wife fullfil their promise to their little girl.

Humberto had told us there were two bus lines going to Rio Dulce and still trying to recover from the Belizean dent in our budget, we opted for the cheaper one. As we approached the Fuente Del Norte office, a nice man in the bus company uniform let us know that one was leaving in 20 minutes and that it cost 70Q. We got on the bus carrying our luggage and although it still wasn’t a chicken bus it was a grubby non-ac coach.

As we pulled out of the station, the nice man starts collecting fares. Another man approaches us and asks for the fare without smiling. I don’t have 140 just 200. With an unhappy look he took it and turned away without saying anything. The next thing I know he’s off the bus. I’m confused and started wondering if maybe the mean second guy was just a stranger asking me for money. I call after him politely, with only a slight hint of panic, and run up the aisle wishing I’d taken more Spanish lessons. When I got to the front, the nice man stopped me and told me that the mean guy is with the bus company and something else I don’t catch as he motioned me back to my seat. It’s only then that I noticed the mean guy is helping an old lady get her luggage from underneath the bus.

As I waited for the mean guy to return with my change, I began to feel stupid for overreacting. But as more people get on and pay, my suspicion returns. I still don’t have my change. Before charging up the aisle again, I decided to wait for our first pit stop. However, we pulled away from the stop and nothing. At this time I also noticed that everyone else received a ticket when they paid but we hadn’t – so we didn’t even have proof payment if the mean guy decided to be really mean. After 2 hours we arrived at fairly large town for another, longer pit stop in front of a bus office. I decided to make my move – after using the disgusting bathroom (tip: if you ever need toilet paper, small 5Q notes can come in quite handy). Bladder empty I approached the two bus guys and nicely asked them for my change. The mean man looked at the nice man and said something. The nice man replied by motioning him to give me the money. It seemed like an eternity before he pulled out the money and pealed off 40Q in change. However, I needed 60Q back and I think the mean guy was hoping my math was as bad as my Spanish. But I waited with my hand outstretched and a big super polite smile until he reluctantly pealed off another 20Q. Well at least I’d gotten my change. Sitting on the bus I couldn’t shake the feeling that the bus was really expensive but without a ticket receipt I still don’t know what the price really was.

Unfortunately, the nice man didn’t get back on the bus and now was just the evil man. He kept coming back and eyeing Adrian and I – particularly sleeping Adrian and his bag which made me even more nervous and I just want to get off the bus as soon as possible. It appears I have met the one shifty, unsmiling guy in all of Guatemala. I guess just thinking how nice everyone was, was enough to jinx it.

Another 3 hours and we finally get dumped in Rio Dulce. Of course the guide book says ask the bus to let you off on the other side of the 1km bridge to get to the hostel but I just wanted to get off and away from evil man. So we hopped in a cab. Good thing it would have been a long walk in the sun and I don’t think we would have found the hostel since there was no map in our guide book.

We picked the Backpackers Hostel because it was cheap and it looked its price – a ramshackle boathouse on the edge of the water. The private room was only $10 but you get what you pay for so I pulled out the silk sleep sheets once again to avoid any unwanted guests. But it was decent enough for one night. It also had a great deck restaurant. As we had some lupper (too late for lunch and too early for supper), we could hear music coming from other side of bridge and what looked like some sort of festival. So we decided to hike over the bridge to find out what was going on.

The bridge was indeed huge and offered great views of the lake and river but it also feels dodgy and dangerous with slim sidewalk and speeding trucks zooming by a foot from our heads so we didn’t stop for pictures. And once we got to the other side, the music has stopped but there’s a giant fair with lots of stalls selling treats, appliances(?!) and tempting us to try our hands at carny games as well as a few crappy rides near the stage under the bridge. The stage was still set up for a band so we decided to hang out and wait for the next act. It gave us a chance to check out the surroundings. The local beauty queens were lined up on one side and when the music they danced in a roped off area in front of stage that’s off limits to the rest of us. I couldn’t figure out why until about 40 guys in weird Viking costumes slowly danced in. They were wearing women’s wigs and mannequin face masks and it was creepy but the locals seemed to love it. Although the band was good the dancers were rather distracting. I tried to figure out what this was in honour of - the banner above the stage said something about sweet name of Jesus but couldn’t figure out what the beauty queens and dancing Vikings had to do with the sweet name of Jesus. It all ended with a local politician doing a 20-minute speech or rather, ode of thanks to everyone who performed which signaled our turn to leave.

We’d traveled across the country but thanks to a mean bus ayudante and dancing Vikings it felt like we’d traveled to another universe.