A run, erm a slow walk, for the border.

Trying to get out of bed the next morning was a chore. Every muscle in our bodies ached and bruises were starting to appear on our arms and legs. So we kept movement to a minimum by spending the day researching the next leg of our journey at another internet café (this one was air conditioned).

Our next stop was Tikal Guatemala – so first search how to get across the border and then where were we going. There were three choices. One stay at the Park. Of course this was the most expensive but it meant we wouldn’t have to travel to get to the park when it opened at 6am. The next choice was El Remate only 45 minutes from Tikal on the shores of the lake. It was the cheapest option but the con was that it wasn’t much of town. The third choice was Flores an hour and half from Tikal. It’s the popular choice because it’s a pretty little town on an island in the lake. But it meant getting up earlier to and spending even more to get to Tikal. I was torn the pros were good pros and the cons were good cons so I chickened out and let Adrian make the choice. For him it was all about money talks so we were headed to El Remate. I found a place for under $25 sent an email, looked up bus, collectivo and taxi prices and routes. Doesn’t sound like much of a day but figuring out accommodation and transit stuff takes up 25% of our time on a good day and sometimes it’s all we do. And it’s enough to be pretty exhausting. So it was early to bed after dinner and packing.

Next morning we checked out remembering to get our towel deposit and after breakfast at Eva’s it was time to make a run for the border – make that more of a walk. We were still sore from ATM afterall. As we approached the collectivo area, a taxi driver offered to take us directly to the border for $15. Since bus only goes to the nearest town we’d still have to take a taxi or collectivo to the border crossing. We weighed our sore muscles versus the convenience then bargained him down to $10. It was such a good deal that we didn’t mind when he picked up a mother and two kids along the way to share the cab.

In 30 minutes we got to the border and entered Belizean immigration where we paid the ridiculous exit fee of $18.75 US. Sure a small portion of it went to the national park ministry but not enough to make me feel good about paying it.

Then it was time to get through the the Guatemalan border where the official money changers descended upon us. Their rate from Belizean dollars to Guatemalan quetzals was spot on so we gladly changed that over. But their rate for Mexican Pesos was less than half of what it should be. We only had 120 pesos ($12), which was pretty useless in our wallet, so we changed that too.Once the transactions were complete it was time for the taxi drivers to descend. One guy offered to drive us to El Remate for $25. After spending so much money in Belize we really wanted Guatemala to be cheaper and were intent on taking the collectivo or chicken bus and tried to refuse but the taxi driver was quick to remind us that we’d have to transfer to another bus at the city of El Cruce because there was no direct collectivo form the border to El Remate.

He dropped his rate to $20 and said he’d wait for us to go through immigration which gave us time to think about his offer. It also gave us time to realize that the Guatemalan police like their guns as much as, if not more than, the Mexicans do. The guard was holding a very large shotgun. But he was smiling. Actually everyone on the Guatemalan side was smiling. It made me realize that in the past month we hadn’t seen much smiling – I'm not saying that the Mexicans or Belizeans were miserable, just that the Guatemalans seems a whole lot happier. I hoped this meant good things for Guatemala They even smiled when they asked for a 10Q entrance fee despite there being no entrance fee for Guatemala. Such official skimming is so bizarre. But since it was less than $2 didn’t care and compared to Belize’s official fees it was nothing. With that we got our our third country stamped in our passports. Bienvenidos a Guatemala. And just as promised, the taxi driver was waiting for us as soon as we turned around. Adrian and I decided that $20 for an hour+ taxi ride directly to our hotel wasn’t that bad. So we told the driver okay which made him smile even more.

Not only was there more smiling in Guatemala but there was also more English after a month of Spanish and Creole. Our driver was fluent which meant Adrian began pestering him about the temples of Tikal being in Star Wars. The first half of the ride was along a dirt road that was so dusty that the leaves and grass to the side were white. Then we hit a new paved road that took us to the town of El Remate. It was really just a road that ran along the lake lined with little tiendas and hotels. Our driver didn’t know where Hostal Hermano Pedro was but kept asking people until he got the exact directions. Now that’s service.

The hostel was good. The room was basic but had a fan, a private bathroom and wireless. The owner didn’t speak any English but she spoke slowly and didn’t laugh at my crappy Spanish making it surprisingly easy to communicate. Okay so there wasn’t going to be fluent English anywhere but I was understanding the Spanish being spoken to me which was a huge improvement from our first three weeks in Mexico.

The wireless was slow so I left the photos to upload while we went for lunch at the fancier Casa de Don David just over the road. Afterwards we walked around the town, consisting of walking down the street and back again, then took in the sights, consisting of horses mating along the lake, before deciding to just flake out at the Hermano Pedro. While Adrian lounged in the hammock and I tried to arrange the advertised shuttle to Tikal but the owner wasn’t around. And her teenage daughter and didn’t quite know what I was trying to ask for. Instead, she was trying to sell me a private guided tour and I just wanted the shuttle for the price on the poster. There had to be a cheaper way so when we went back to Don David for dinner (what can I say the food was good and the servers were super nice) I asked at their front desk. They had the shuttle we wanted for the price we wanted and even at the time we wanted (5am, gulp). He was super nice and helpful just like everyone else we’d met in the country. It was beginning to feel a bit like Pleasantville. I hoped when we woke up it would still be that way.

No one here gets out alive. Just kidding, sort of.

0800 hours: arrival at Mayan Walk Tours complete
0801 hours: team debriefing.
0806 hours: rations distributed.
0811 hours: awaiting transportation to embarkation point.

Today was really not about fun. Our guides, Martin and Patrick, were not smiling and it had nothing to do with the early hour. Nope caving was serious business and as they handed out the safety equipment – hard hats and head lamps – they made sure we understood this.

Uh-Oh. I was starting to get worried. This sounded like hard work and not being the most physically fit person I wasn’t sure I’d be up for it. I had plenty of time to get rethink our plan during the hour-long ride to the base camp in Tapir Mountain Reserve that started off on a highway and ended on a dirt path.

There was even more time to reconsider during the 45 minute hike through the jungle that had us crossing a river three times. The guides pointed out different types of plants and their uses but I just wanted to get to the cave. By the time we arrived at the base camp, we were sweaty, dirty and wet and we had barely started. But the hike hadn’t been that hard so I figured maybe I was overreacting.

Although it was only 10:30 we were advised to eat some of our food. Adrian and I had a big breakfast before leaving but picked at our hearty portion of chicken and rice ‘n’ beans. We stowed our backpacks and Patrick packed up our cameras and socks in his dry bag before giving us our final instructions.

Then it was off to the cave. The cave opening was a deep pool of water (above) that we had to swim across. It was refreshing after the hike but soon I realized why we had the hard hats and head lamps. There was no light in the cave and as we walked further in it was soon pitch black which made climbing over the rocks even more difficult.

Patrick paused while I put my shoes on tight. And good thing because the rocks were sharp, slippery and required good footing to get over. They also required a lot of work to climb with Patrick being incredibly patient and a great teacher to a neophyte rock climber like me.

“Get small. Stand tall. Get on that booty God gave you.” These were the instructions he gave to me. And I was thankful that Adrian and I were in the small group with just two other guys and the guide. It meant there was no stress about hurrying or crowding in some of the small rock ledges. It was not just physically stressful but mentally as we had to constantly be aware of where are feet and hands needed to go so we wouldn’t go crashing to the sharp rocks below.

There were a couple of times when I thought I’d have to be left behind. But with determination and Patrick’s help I got through.

“Now it’s the easy part,” Patrick promised. Thank god. And it was a relatively flat section that gave us a chance to take in the amazing limestone ceilings and walls. Adrian thought they looked like stuff from a science fiction movie. The water had dripped down in waves that were called curtains or formed lumpy piles of crystal and rock that appeared in front of us. Sometime we saw bats hidden in crevices. Then we all turned off our headlamps and sat in the complete darkness of the cave. It was creepy and calming at the same time.

Then it was off again for another 45 minute hike. And the second half was not easy. We had climb up to a rock ledge that was 20 feet off the ground. And another one. Not high but when nothing but jagged rocks are down below and there’s no stairs, it’s plenty scary. I’m not sure if I was shaking because of exertion or because of fear. But I made it up.

Once up, Patrick announced that it was time to take off our shoes and put on our socks. I looked around at the rock floor. No shoes? This was going to be painful.

“Just think of it like reflexology on your feet.” Patrick suggested. Sure it’s like a massage, if the person giving it was muscle-bound sadistic torture artist with razors for fingers. Thankfully, I was distracted by the first Mayan remains.

There were ceremonial pots lying on the rock floor left there during the last thousand years as an offering to the gods. We could see soot marks left by ancient fires as well as crystals caused by cave environment. All Adrian and I could think of was how did they get here. Patrick pointed out where to walk so that we wouldn’t damage anything. Those Mayans must have been pretty determined or had an awesome guide like Patrick.

But there weren’t just pots. There were skulls of human sacrifices, crystallized like the post making it even spookier. At the back of the large cavern, there was a 12-foot ladder precariously leaning against the rock wall.

“Now we go up,” Patrick insisted.

It was terrifying but at least there were solid and smooth steps. The ladder led to another smaller cavern at the end of which lay a complete skeleton.

This was the end of the trip and my heart started racing. Not because the skeleton was scary but because I knew that we’d have to get back out of the cave. I was tired and not sure I’d be able to make it. But I did thanks to the patience and guidance of Patrick and Adrian’s knee which I required to get over some of the rocks that my short legs couldn’t reach.

I have to admit I was happier to jump into the pool at the mouth of the cave than I was to see the skeleton because it meant we were through with the cave.

“I’m really proud of you Liz,” Patrick said to me. “You did it. Congratulations. You should be proud” I guess he couldn’t see the anxiety in my eyes nor my shakey hands as I chain smoked back at the base camp. I was so stressed that I couldn’t finish the rest of my lunch and I gave it to Adrian.

Now I just wanted to get out of there. But hoped I had enough energy left for the hike back to the truck. On the way back, there was a reminder of what could have happened. We passed a group of rescue workers carrying a stretcher towards the cave. They were doing training exercises, not an actual rescue. It just reinforced the danger and increased my anxiety.

Once back at the truck. I couldn’t be bothered to change into my clothes and collapsed in my seat trying to relax after the hike. Some of the other hikers from Martin’s group talked about getting a drink afterwards but when we got off at the tour office, Adrian and I headed across the street to our room for a hot shower, clean clothes and a celebratory nap.

We’d survived ATM. I think.

Iguana see some ruins.

The weird thing about our time in Belize so far was that we’d talked with very few Belizeans with the exception of Belize City and that’s because the expats are too scared to go there. Expats were everywhere, understandable I guess considering that only 25 years ago Belize was still a British colony so not only is there plenty of sun and sand it’s relatively stable politically AND they speak English. In San Ignacio, I thought it might be a bit different. It’s located far from the beach, up in the jungle near the Guatemalan border. But during our first day we’d only encountered expats: our hotel was owned by a Brit, the travel agency/tour company next door was owned by another Brit; even the server in Café del Sol was a Brit who came here with his Belizean wife 20 years ago but she went back to the UK and he stayed. What this meant for Adrian was a chance to get a proper English breakfast. He was momentarily disappointed by the lack of black pudding until he spied the steaming pile of baked beans. “Luvely”, he proclaimed.

Being surrounded by expats also meant that we were able to get more great tips on what to do and see in San Ignacio. And there were many things as long as you wanted to see either ruins or caves. We decided to start off with what we knew and also what was closest and headed to the ruins of Cahal Pech.

We didn’t want or expect much. After all we were now a little rusty at sightseeing. Cahal Pech was perfect. There was a little museum to start with which explained the history of the Mayans and included some of the stuff that had been excavated from the site. And the ruins were nice too. We had the whole place to ourselves so Indiana Barret was free to run around, climb over walls and explore while demanding that I take a picture of him every two minutes. Not only were there no other visitors, there was no gauntlet of souvenir sellers to navigate which made it a very relaxing and fun experience.

On our walk back to town we stopped in at the most exclusive hotel in town. Not to see how the other half lives, nor to check out the royal suite where Queen Liz stayed a few years back. No we were there to see some iguanas.

The San Ignacio Resort Hotel was also home to an iguana preservation project. And after we notified the concierge about our intentions, we were given a private tour of it, for a donation. Our guide David led us past the people lounging by the swimming pool and the tennis courts, through the perfectly landscaped forest which was actually a medicinal garden. David pulled two round fruit off one tree.

“Do you know what there are?” David asked.
“No.” Adrian and I replied.
“Well what do they look like?” he continued.
“Um they bare a resemblance to er um a certain…” I stumbled for the polite words.
“Balls,” blurted out Adrian.
David smiled and nodded in agreement. “We call them cahones de mono. You can’t eat them but the sap makes a glue which is good for bot fly bites.”
“Bot fly bites?” Adrian had to ask.
“Yes, the flies that lay their eggs in your skin. To get the maggots out you put this sap over the bite and it kills them so you can get them out.”
“Baby?!?” hypochondriac Adrian paniced.
“Let’s see some iguanas” I jumped in hoping to distract him another ailment he would soon be convinced he had.

David took us to the iguana enclosure and explained the program. Essentially iguanas are threatened thanks to their use as jungle chicken by locals. The program educates kids about the iguanas’ importance to the environment and most importantly why they shouldn’t eat them. It is also trying to increase the iguana population by gathering eggs in the wild then hatching and raising the iguanas until they are big enough to have a chance to survive. David then threw open the doors and brought us inside.

All around us were dozens of foot long iguanas. David introduced us to two long-term residents Gomez and Pedro. Both were too tame to release back into the wild although they weren’t tame with each other. When the two were brought close to each other, they put up their spikes and made weird noise. But once apart they were tame enough that we could pet them.

In the second enclosure, the young iguanas were kept and there were hundreds of tiny bright green ones everywhere. David placed one on our hands and them kept piling them on us until we had iguanas on our heads, shoulders, and arms. I tried to pat one of the little ones but he whipped his tail at me. The iguana may have been small but he was feisty.

“Oh that’s their defense mechanism” David informed me.

Thanks for the warning David. That stung. But David redeemed himself by making sure we didn’t step in any of the numerous piles of iguana shit that looked remarkably like dog turds for easy identification. It was a great experience made better by David’s obvious passion and care for the iguanas.

It was only mid-afternoon so we returned to the internet café for a bit before we went to one of the tour offices to see what we could do the next day. We ruled out more ruins (we still had to save something for Tikal) which left caving. Did we want cave tubing? Cave swimming? Cave walking? Or cave horseback riding? In the end we opted for the one that offered cave skeletons – Actun Tunichil Muknal, or ATM for short – because caves are spooky and cool and so are skeletons. Together they’d be even spookier and cooler. Of course the spooky/cool factor was slightly diminished when after handing over $150US we were handed a one-page packing list - backpack, 1 litre of water minimum, a change of clothes, sturdy shoes, swimsuit with shorts – and a brief itinerary. 1 hour hike, 25 metre swim, and 2 hour cave climb. Scary. And also exciting. Today had been fun but tomorrow we were in for an adventure.

All good things come to an end.

Thanks to Santa Semana our impression of Belize before Tobacco Caye had not been good. Nothing to do. Nothing to see. And occasionally, nothing to eat. If it weren’t for the tourist hotspots of Caye Calker and Tobacco Caye we would have left Belize after our first 48 hours. We had originally planned to head south through Belize to Guatemala but Craig and Andrew had promised us great things in San Ignacio on the western border with Guatemala. So a detour and reworking of our itinerary was in order. At 9am we left Craig and Barbara on the dock as we took the boat back to Dangriga.

This time the ride was smooth. Supposedly any boat ride is better in the morning – good to know. And even Dangriga was better the second time around. There were people on the street and shops were open – there was life there after all. But not enough to make us stick around. Within 20 minutes we were on a bus to boring Belmopan (still as boring) where we had to transfer to the San Ignacio bus.

We were glad for a little break so we could get the circulation back to our butt cheeks and we deliberately missed the first San Ignacio bus to prolong our break. The second bus was just as full as the first and sped along the Western Highway testing its limits every 10km when someone on the curb waved it down. But that wasn’t the most exciting thing. That would happen just outside of San Ignacio.

There were a few rowdies sitting at the back of the bus – it seemed in keeping with the school bus décor. One guy in particular was hassling the driver and the ticket guy. Now hassling the ticket guy I can understand. They’re usually tiny little guys which is great for squeezing between the packed seats. But hassling the driver is brave. Everyone I’d seen looked like the love child of a drill sergeant and linebacker. Since the conversations were in a mixture of Criol and Garifuni, Adrian and I weren’t sure of the details. But imagined it went something like this.
“You drive like my mother.”
“Watch what you say about my mother.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything worse than what’s written about her in the bathroom stalls.”
Or something like that.

Since no one else on the bus seemed bothered by the exchange we blocked it out. But when the loud mouth got off the bus he must have said something particularly bad because the next thing we knew, the supposed bad boy was running scared through the bushes as the wiry ticket boy waved a machete at him and the hulking driver yelled something at him from the bus. It was a tense moment until the entire bus broke out into laughter at the bad boys expense. Apparently he was all talk and figuratively wet himself when given a bit in return.

Arriving in San Ignacio was a bit anticlimactic after that. Even when we had to hit up 4 places before we found a room, our stress levels barely tweaked. We eventually found a cheap room with a shared bathroom in the Tropicool which sounds much more happening than it was. In reality just 5 rooms and two bathrooms on the bottom floor of the house. But it was clean, quiet and cool. The last point being the most important since we’d traveled inland leaving the cool sea breezes behind.