Raise your hand if you're Sure. And if you're not, don't get on our shuttle.

I don´t like to take tourist shuttles. They´re usually more expensive, are known in places like Thailand as scam buses, and often try to get you to stay at overpriced but underperforming hostels. But in Guatemala, it seemed like they were the method most gringos used to get around. So after 2 months on the road we were finally going to take not one but two. The first leg would be two hours to Antigua and the second leg all the way to Copan in Honduras, another 6 hours away. At the tour company, we met our shuttlemates for the first leg: two other Canadians, two Germans and one very smelly Spanish speaking guy, no really he had the strongest BO ever, made worse when he took his jacket off and stretched out his arms to air out his pits. Anyone who would get on an enclosed vehicle without showering or using deodorant must really hate his fellow humans. Thank goodness it was only two hours to Antigua, not just because the mini van was cramped but also so we could sit as far away from him as possible.

In Antigua, the two German girls headed off to Rio Dulce in their very own empty mini van. But we had no such luxury. Our mini van was soon to be filled with the two Canadians from Panajachel, three Swedes, an Aussie, a guy from Quebec and yes, the smelly man. Sigh. Yet another reason to not take the shuttle.

Soon we had another reason. We had all been told that we were going directly to the Honduran border, however, when loading up the minivan the rep from the agency began loading us up by destination. Forcing all of us going to Copan to sit at the back. This did not please the other Canadian girl, until I pointed out that the smelly man was in the front row, albeit by himself. So we were going to be making some stops but where?

In an hour we were in the middle of Guatemala City and for the next hour we were driving through it seeing such sites as the red light district (no I did not take a picture), police shakedowns, and finally the airport where the smelly man was deposited – yay! No smell. More room. But boo! because it was obvious that this little side trip had added another 1 or two to our voyage and rather than taking 6 hours to get to Copan it was going to take more than 7.

Back on the highway and we drove and drove and drove. The sun was beating down on the non-air conditioned coach making us all lethargic. At least this van was more comfortable than the first. But when were we going to take a break? We were all getting a little hungry and thirsty. Unfortunately, the driver didn´t speak English and I spoke the most Spanish out of everyone on the bus (kind of scary). And just as I was about to put my week of lessons to use, we stopped in Rio Hondo. The kids (the 7 other travellers in the van) figured we only had 30 minutes left and celebrated with cold beers. I looked at the map and figured it was probably another 2 hours to Copan so Adrian and I responsibly grabbed some snacks and water. Sure enough it was 1.5 hours later that we arrived at the border and now it was pitch black. But not dark enough that the money changers couldn´t find us as we stood in line to get our passports stamped. Country number 4 here we come.

We were then piled back into the van only to be driven to the next door (?) for our swine flue clearance. We were all confused why we weren´t just told to walk the 10 metres. Oh well, it was quick and we were all getting quite fast at loading and unloading the van. The last leg of the journey was a half hour drive on very curvy roads to the tiny town of Copan where we were dropped off at the tour office.

It was 8:30 at night and there was no traffic in the streets. Without a cab, we started walking the steep hills of Copan towards our hostel. It was much hotter here than we´d been used to for the last few weeks in the highlands of Guatemala and soon the sweat was pouring off us. Of course the hostel where our room awaited was on the edge of this (luckily) small town but as soon as we got to the top of the hill, a tuktuk appeared. We grabbed it but not before asking the price. Diez Lempiras. I repeated the price in Spanish for clarification and then we were off. As soon as we got to the hostel he told me it was 10 Lempiras each. But I wouldn´t back down and he left swearing at me under his breath. Finally, the Spanish lessons pay off. I know, we were arguing over 50 cents but it´s the principle I tell you.

The hostel was very quiet. There was no office or desk instead the night watchman unlocked the door and let me us in. Despite the huge machete he was carrying he was quite nice, unlike the owner who later appeared. He showed us the room, gave us the key and then left. Good thing the place was nice or I would have thought about staying elsewhere.

The nice watchman gave us some directions on where to find some good cheap food. But in the dark in a new town Adrian and I couldn´t find it and ended up in the first place we saw called Twisted Tanya´s. It was very expensive ($60 for both of us) but it was a delicious three course meal. And we were entertained by the crazy 22 year old from Cambridge running the place. She was posh but quite sarky so she and Adrian entertained me by taking the piss out of each other. But after 10 hours on the road and another two in the humidity of Copan, I pretty sure we had become the smelly ones now and it was time to leave.

Happy Mother's Day. And Awesome Sister's Day too.

A private bathroom plus a nice clean room equals a deep sleep. But we still woke up a little groggy. It could be because we were sleep deprived after our week in Xela. Or it could be the firecrackers and M80s that the kids in the neighbourhood started letting off at 6am to celebrate Mother's Day. That´s right. Who needs chocolates or flowers to show Mom you care when loud explosives are readily available. I wonder when Hallmark will get in on this. Um, never I hope.

Since no Keebler elves showed up with my bank card overnight I went online to make sure it was still lost and not stolen. Nope, no missing money from our account. No weird transactions. Nothing. Time to cancel it and put our contingency plan into action. Our crappy bank (which starts with Scotia and ends with Bank) only gives cards out in branch or so we were told the last time we were there. So much for making banking easier. But expecting a bank card to get stolen, lost or eaten in our year on the road, we had added my sister onto the account so she could get a replacement for us. I emailed my sister to let her know that her services would be needed (albeit a lot sooner than we expected). Thank goodness for family. Although the hard part was still to come. We had to find a phone to call to cancel the card. And find a way to get a new card into my hands. FedEx doesn’t have many shipping options for Guatemala or Honduras. And it was going to take 2-7 days to get here. Adrian wanted to panic I reminded him that he still had his card and we still had our credit cards and traveller´s cheques. And frankly what's done is done. So let's move on.

Maybe breakfast would calm him down. We headed through the gauntlet of tourist tack towards the lakefront (picture above), stopping for an obligatory photo op with the worst souvenir we could find – a three foot tall sombrero – which seemed to cheer him up. With the sun out today, all the touts were out. It reminding me of Khao San Road in Bangkok (minus the prostitutes and lady boys, as far as I could tell). Plus there were plenty of gringo hippies with their homemade necklaces and silly devil sticks walking shoeless through the dirty streets. The lakefront was full of even more touts so we headed back up the main drag finding a place where Adrian could get an almost proper English breakfast but first stopping to book our seats on the Copan shuttle for the next morning. It’ll be 8 hours of transportation but that’s fine and not too expensive and I need a break from the chicken bus.

Then we went to the phone centre. Despite being gringo central, Panajachel had the worst phone connections. I cancelled my card (i think) and was then asked when they could mail a replacement (i think). What they now mail cards? Great, mail it to my sister´s place. Nope for some reason they only have our old address on file (i think), despite having changed the address to hers before we left. The customer service rep was getting really confused by my questions (i think) so I just told her to cancel it. My awesome, wonderful, amazing sister was already on top of it all anyways.

Now it was time for the most important part of the day. We called my Mom and through the static wished her a Happy Mother´s Day because, as we discovered today, family is pretty darn important.

Lost and found.

Oh yay another travel day. Despite wanting to get out of Xela, we weren’t looking forward to a day of chicken buses. So we didn’t get to the terminal until noon. Luckily there were regular buses to Panajachel and we were immediately ushered on to one that was leave “now”. Of course this is Central America and time is relative. Now actually means anytime in the next hour. Soon means today. And later means never. But as we waited for departure, we were entertained by a woman who blessed the bus with a 15 minute sermon and recitation of Bible passages. She was so loud that I was glad we were sitting in the back row. Once she was done the bus finally pulled out and headed to Salcaja (photo above) where we got stuck in weekend market traffic for 30 minutes. Then it was back out on the highway which was still being resurfaced and incredibly bumpy. My butt felt every rut and crack in the blacktop. Although the speed bumps were the worst as the driver barely slowed down sending myself and the little boy now sitting beside me flying up into the air. And with every bend and twist in the mountain roads my butt got sorer and sorer.

As we finally cave around the top of the mountains, I was distracted from the pain in my butt by the view. Lake Atitlan is surrounded by mountains and volcanoes having been formed thousands and thousands of years ago when a volcano collapsed. The bus traveled through the pretty town of Solola where I finally got to see what Mayan men wear – a rather funky ensemble of plaid pants and clashing shirts. Then it was all the way down to Panajachel. The bus let us off and we tried to figure out where we were and where the hotel we wanted was. We were approached by what I though was a tout but he was the owner of the hotel we were looking for and he had a room available. For less than twenty bucks we had a big clean room with a private bathroom. Yay privacy and convenience once again.

Now it was time to explore the town and see if we were going to stick around. Well, it was really just one main street full of tourist stalls, hotels, hostels, tour companies, and restaurants. I can see why the locals call the place Gringotenango (place of the gringos). We weren´t bummed. It was actually kind of nice  because we wouldn't feel any guilt for leaving in a day. Afterall, the reason we were here was the promise of an easy shuttle all the way to Honduras. So we went to the tour company only to discover that their website was wrong; there was no shuttle to Copan. We’d have to go back to Antigua and stay overnight then catch another one to Copan. Now I really like Antigua but the price of an unnecessary overnight stay wasn’t so appealing. The agent tried to convince me that it would be the same with all the shuttle companies. And then he tried to sell us on a tour of the volcano or day trip to the other lakeside villages. No thanks, I think we´ll check out our other option.

But first a bank machine. I stepped inside an airconditionned booth and opened my wallet. Where´s my bank card? I took everything out of my wallet. Nope not in my wallet. No need to panic - it must be in the pocket of my pants... I hope. Luckily Adrian had his card. Unluckily, this bank machine was out of money. Grr. However the next machine on the strip did work. Now it was time to find my bank card. Just then it began to pour – I mean really pour so much that the storm drains overflowed and the water ran down the road like a river towards the lake. We stood in the doorway of a store and waited for 30 minutes until it let up just enough for us to cross the street to a restaurant without getting drenched.

Over dinner, I took the opportunity to thoroughly search my hand bag for my bank card. Nope not in there. Adrian then went over it himself doubting my searching abilites but of course he came up empty handed too. As I mentally retraced my steps, I began to get the feeling that I´d left it in the bank machine in Xela. I distracted myself by heading across the street in the now-drizzle to check out another tour company. They had a morning shuttle to Copan that stops in Antigua on the way but arrives in Copan the same evening. One good thing, we´ve found our escape route from Guatemala. Now it was time to find my bank card. Back in the room, Adrian and I began a piece by piece search of all of our belongings. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Zero. We also didn´t discover anything else missing so it was pretty clear that it had not been stolen just lost or more accurately left in that bank machine in Xela.

School's out.

The longer we spent in Spanish class the more I realized that setting aside just a week for lessons was a bit unrealistic. I was able to motor through the lessons but in a week we managed to get to just the past preterite. And Adrian, well, he was still speaking English to his instructor. In fact, Kat and Misha the Estonian and Dutch couple, had both approached me about the fact that Adrian was only speaking English in his class. They were concerned that he had a bad teacher. I had to explain that Adrian was very English. While he had been learning the three regular verb endings (ar, er, ir), he was still trying to get a basic vocabulary. There was no way he would have been able to understand a lesson in Spanish. But it did make me get on his case a little a bit about trying harder to speak Spanish.

With trying to cram so much over the last 2 days, Adrian and I had a lot of homework which didn’t leave much time for any more sightseeing. Luckily, Xela didn’t have a lot of sights to see. Instead, it was hanging around the school and chatting with the other people staying there. And trying to avoid the owner of the school. Of course this was impossible on our last day when we had to have a pot luck meal with the owner, staff and our Spanish teachers. Our contribution to the potluck a typical Canadian cuisine Domino’s pizza (it cost about the same as it would in Canada which made me wonder how the places stay open when wages are so low). The staff had made us tamales and jocon, another chicken curry type of dish.

The awkwardness continued when Adrian decided to steer the conversation to weird things like gross horror movies and why you can’t eat with your left hand in India because it’s used for the toilet. Charming dinner conversation. Good thing the staff understood very little English – although Christian translated some. Thankfully, we were asked about our next stop and future travel plans. The owner gave us some good recommendations about continuing to study Spanish. Ecuador is supposed to be a good place so maybe we’ll do some more there. After all, Adrian still can’t order his own food.

Afterwards I talked to Karina for a bit. She told me how hard it was to find a job in Guatemala and how she was hoping to go somewhere else. She’s trying to learn English, which is about as good(bad?) as my Spanish. I told her she was a good teacher. She told me I was a good student. Yay. She also told me she could make me fluent in 8 weeks. Tempting but we have to keep traveling unfortunately. We exchanged facebook info and said goodbye.

There were a lot of goodbyes over the last 24 hours. It seemed like everyone at the school was clearing out and heading to Lake Atitlan. Kat and Misha were going to climb a volcano overlooking the lake. Jeff was heading to San Pedro where he’d meet up with Kat and Misha. It was tempting to join them but we were only going to Lake Atitlan to get us closer to Honduras. And there was a 4am shuttle minibus but it was leaving from Panajachel about 2 hours away from San Pedro. So we decided to go our separate ways – but that doesn’t mean we won’t bump into each other elsewhere.

Then it was back to researching a place to stay in Panajachel. Our out dated guidebook was proving useless. The only place I could find now charged $40/night. A little luxury would be nice but that was just too much money. Kat and Misha lent me their guidebook which was only a year old and jotted down the cheaper options in Panajachel. I also lined up a room for our first stop in Copan – if we were going to be on a shuttle for 8 hours I didn’t want to be searching for a room in the dark.

So was the week of Spanish worth it. Definitely, but two weeks would have been better. Adrian was just getting some vocabulary down and I was just beginning to get comfortable with my speaking skills. Xela is a good town for studying because there’s not much there to distract from homework and stuff. But it can also be a bit boring. As for the school, our accommodations were rustic but for the rock bottom price they were sufficient. Our teachers were great. But there was a bit of disorganization. For example, I really liked the outings but it would have been good to know what they were before hand and how much things would cost. Now it was time to put my Spanish skills to use in the real world.

¡Buen Provecho!

(Photo courtesy of http://www.perladelasflores.com/ because we ate ours before I could take a picture.)

Over our first dinner at Hotelito Perdido in Rio Dulce, I learned a new phrase. Buen provecho. It’s what Spanish speakers say when they serve food or before eating. The Spanish girls Elena and Belen then asked us how to translate it. Thanks to Jesse and Aska’s amazing Spanish, I learned that translated buen provecho means something like good benefit but that doesn’t make sense in English. So we began to discuss English alternatives. I offered up Bon Appetite but that’s French. How about Dig in? Rub a dub dub thanks for the grub? Not the right sentiment. For Spanish speakers saying Buen Provecho before eating is like saying Hello when answering the phone. It’s a polite greeting as well as a warm invitation to enjoy your food. On my 3rd day of Spanish lessons, I got my first chance to use this phrase.

After 4 hours of verb tenses, vocabulary, reading and speaking, Karina gave me a lesson in Guatemalteca cuisine and how to prepare a dish called Pepian – a sort of chicken curry. But before we could start cooking we had to buy the ingredients. We headed to the market and I watched her pick out the ingredients (many of which I'd never used before), bargaining with the women to get the best price. I was a little worried about how I was going to pay for all the food. Due to our bank machine problems I only had about $3 but it covered all the spices, veg, rice, and chicken. Wow, I think I should try the market more often for shopping.

Then it was back at the school to start cooking. It was fairly easy to make but required a bit of time and thanks to something the owner of the school said to Karina she was stressed and trying to hurry which meant she did most of the cooking. And then when she was done, we laid out three servings which I thought were for her, Adrian and I. But one was for the owner of the school not Karina. Who wished us Bueno Provecho before leaving. And that made me feel weird. I wanted us to sit down and enjoy it together instead I felt like I’d just had a staff member cooking for me. Poor Karina. Thankfully, Adrian and I didn’t have to awkwardly eat with the owner so we got to enjoy it. And it was truly delicious. Better yet, we had enough for left overs.

But once we were done, the uncomfortable feeling came back. Not with Karina or anything to do with the classes – they were great – but with the owner and the way she treated the staff like her personal servants. She left post it notes were left around the school with a to do list and at first I they were complaints about us. And then there was what I can best describe as a shaming chart in the kitchen which listed things that hadn’t been done and who had forgotten to do them. The staff weren’t children in fact they were super nice older women who acted like mom and secondary Spanish teachers to all of us students. The owner however, was a woman in her 20s from a wealthy local family and I think her actions said more about her immaturity than the staff’s. It really bummed me out and made me want to leave the school.

So we decided to get out for the afternoon. Plus we still had no money. So armed with our emergency traveller’s cheques, credit cards and most importantly, a Spanish-english dictionary we headed back to the parque where all the banks were clustered. And if that didn’t work Karina had told me that there was a bank machine just for foreigners up near the bus terminal. But we needed to take a bus there and I only had 25 centavos in my pocket after the market trip. Before we could worry about that we’d try all the bank machines. The first bank machine didn’t work. But at the second bank there was success. Yay, no crappy credit card accepting restaurant food for us tonight.

We rushed out excitedly to celebrate our new solvency by picking up some more groceries and a new notebook for Spanish class. Then we went out for dinner at Royal Paris – a restaurant and jazz bar up near the theatre. Of course there was no band that night but there was some really good food, almost as good as Karina’s Pepian.

And because I know you’ll ask, here’s a link to the recipe with a great instructional video. Give it a try and Buen Provecho. http://www.uncorneredmarket.com/2009/04/guatemalan-pepian-please-try-this-at-home/

Let’s go on a field trip.

I wasn’t crazy about our accommodations but on day two our Spanish lessons took us out of the school for a field trip and just getting out was enough to make me feel better.

Karina and Christian, Adrian’s teacher, took us on the local bus out to the small town of Salcaja. Then helped us navigate the biggest grocery store I have ever seen. Okay so it was the local market and considering you could buy everything and anything there, it was better than a supermarket. And it all looked so good – even the meat hanging in the sun. Everywhere there were Mayan woman balancing huge baskets on their head. Each woman wore a different-coloured blouse, particular to their region – Guatemala, Honduras, even Mexico and El Salvador. Karina explained that these women spend most of their day on the chicken buses just to come to this market and do business. It was amazing but no pictures because I know the Mayans don’t like their picture being taken but also because it was so cramped I didn’t have room to reach into my bag to pull out the camera.

We then went to the home of a man who made some of the traditional cloth that the Mayan women were wearing. I assumed it would be a woman but the cloth, called corte, is so important to Mayan culture that men are honoured to do the work. He explained the colours and patterns are symbolic and then tried to show me how to weave the thousands of threads on the loom. I did three rows before giving up and I’m sure he had to redo them once we left.

Downstairs his wife introduced us to the local homemade liquor. Now that’s my type of field trip. Caldo de frutas or rompopo, is kind of like a fruit punch if fruit punch was made by moonshiners in the deep south. Rather than take a sip I opted to eat some of the cherries and other fruits from the bottom of the bottle. Oops they’re actually stronger than the liquor but super tasty. It packed quite a punch, pun intended. Karina and Christian laughed at us. Adrian liked it so much he bought a little bottle from her.

On our way back to the bus we stopped in at the oldest church in Central American. It was closed but Christian fetched the caretaker who gladly showed us around. It was small but interesting because the inside was built like a boat using old boat timbers that the Spanish brought with them. Karina was very proud of the church and reverent too. It was obvious that her religion was very important to her. We started talking about the difference in relationships between Guatemalan and North American culture. I think she was a little shocked by the fact that so many people in North America live together outside of marriage. Then I blew her mind by telling her it was rare for Quebecers to get married and they’re Catholic.

When it was time to head back to Xela, tiny Karina worked her way through the crowd of women (photo above and that´s Karina in the green jacket ducking under and around the Mayan women) to get on the bus and save us some seats. And good thing because it was soon packed. We continued to talk about beliefs on the way back to Xela and I discovered that Karina believed in ghosts and Bermuda triangle. She tried to convince me but I tried to explain in Spanish that I want to believe but first I need some proof. Tomorrow she said she’d do her best.

In the afternoon, Adrian and I decided to continue our sightseeing by visiting some of the sights of Xela. We started in the Parque Centroamericano and popped into the Municipalidad. There was no museum but a guard motioned us into the council chamber. As we were looking around the head of and assistant manager of public relations popped in and introduced themselves. Good thing they were there because they were able to explain the symbolism in the weird painting depicting the founding of the city. It was the view of the city and surrounding volcanoes. In the middle was Mother Nature accompanied by the moon god and the god of music – two very important gods to the city – and surrounded by the food grown in the area. They told us to check out the museums across the park for more about the history of Xela and then shook our hands and said goodbye. I felt like a visiting dignitary for about three seconds

After such an official invitation, how could we refuse to check out the museum in the Casa de Cultura. The building was once the town jail but now housed two museums both not allowing photos. On the first floor were exhibits relating to the history of the town, including an odd display of ancient office equipment (typewriters, Photostat machines, mimeographs). It was more like an old storage room than a museum. And upstairs it got weirder. This was the natural history museum. It started off with pots and ended with room full of ancient moth-eaten mounted animals, including a 2-headed calf, 8-legged lamb, and a foetus or two for good measure. It was all just a little too creepy and we were happy to get out.

We were starting to run low on cash after paying for half of our Spanish lessons so it was time to visit the bank machine. But the Plus system was down and all 5 of the bank machines denied us any money from both our bank card and visa card. It was too late to get a cash advance or cash travellers’ cheques. This was not good – we had only $3 and were hungry. Time to find a restaurant that accepts credit cards and hope that their machines were still working. We ended up at a Tex Mex place but unlike our great experience with Indian, it was bad. Which just goes to show you that price is no indicator of quality. We probably would have been better off with the stuff from the Salcaja market. Amazing that the most adventurous part of our day wasn’t the field trip to a small town but western dinner around the corner from the hostel.

School’s in.

I am a geek. I love school and learning and all that stuff. I know, I know, what can I say. So you can guess, how excited I was about starting classes. But before that fun could begin I had better get some work done. Yes, that’s right – this blog. So I spent the day at a nice hostel around the corner using their wifi and managed to get a week’s worth of photos uploaded and postings up and which was enough for one day. Of course, spending so much time at the nice hostel made our attic room at the Spanish school look like something from Flowers in the Attic. Adrian replied that for $5 per night our room was good enough and clean enough and it had a kitchen. I suppose.

So off we went to get groceries to put that kitchen to use. Unfortunately the closest grocery store had a rather limited selection. I guess most people buy their fresh goods at the market but after hearing so many tales of amoebas and other unpleasantness we decided to skip the market and loaded up on breakfast and lunch stuff. At least we’ll cut down our eating out to just dinner. And tonight it was Indian food (yes Indian food in Guatemala) which was enough to put me in a food coma despite the crappy room, and chilly night (that’s right it was quite cold in Xela).

Good thing I went to bed early because I got up early and had a shower only to be greeting as I was walking out with my hair in a towel by my Spanish teacher, Karina. Gulp, classes started at 8am. Good of the school to let us know some of these important details. I excused myself for a moment and then ran up the stairs to wake Adrian.

Then it was to work. We started with a test and I did well. Yay, a gold star. But Karina took this as a cue to speak nothing but Spanish with me. And worse yet, forcing me to speak Spanish too. And to make it worse I could hear Adrian speaking in English to his teacher in the other room – no fair. Yikes this is going to be a long 5 hours.

Actually, it wasn’t too bad. And the five hours were full but when class ended at 1, I already felt like I had learned so much.

As we made lunch, we met some of the other folks staying at the school. There was a Dutch and Estonian couple who were here for a month while she learned Spanish and he wrote his dissertation. An American pediatrician about to start a volunteer stint but first trying to learn some Spanish. And another guy from Rochester, who was just finishing up three weeks of advanced study. It will be nice to see the same faces for a little while - maybe I'll even manage to get their names.

It would have been nicer to go out and put some of our Spanish to practice but Adrian was taking his lessons very seriously spent the entire afternoon doing his homework. I hope some of it sticks - maybe then he’ll be able to order his own food or at least read the menu. A girl can dream can’t she?

Then the power went out and not just in Xela but the whole country once again. It was soon dark and after two hours it didn’t look like the power was going to come on soon. So all of us struggled to make dinner in the kitchen using one candle and my headlamp. Of course once we were all done, the power came back on. Seeing what we had managed to make with no light was scary but we all did all right. I hope our classes turn out just as well.

Moving out but not necessarily up.

Almost 10 years ago, Adrian and I went on our first big trip abroad. The destination? Buenos Aires. Way back then I figured growing up on American Sesame Street with it’s basic Spanish lessons and my 10 years of French would be enough to get by. As soon as I got in the cab at the airport I discovered just how wrong I was. Not only are Spanish and French as different as English and French, but Argentina Spanish sounds nothing like Sesame Street Spanish. It’s Spanish pronounced like Portguese by Italians. If you’re confused, you have an idea of just how painful my attempt to communicate with that taxi driver was.

After that trip I resolved never to travel without a basic grasp of the language. Before we went to Peru five years ago, I did a series of language tapes and that helped a bit. At least I could read a menu, order food and buy bus tickets. But I still had no idea what peope were saying to me. So in preparation for this trip I spent the last year teaching myself a first year university textbook. However, I still hadn’t done any speaking classes so now I understood what was being said to me but I had no way to answer. To fix that Adrian and I decided to take some Spanish lessons. We could have stayed in Antigua to do our lessons as many do, but we were ready to move on. Plus, I had read that they were slightly cheaper in Quetzaltenango,(aka Xela, pronounced Shay-la). And since I love a good bargain, Xela it was. But how to choose a school? Easy – only one responded to my email inquiries. For $150 each, Adrian were going to get a weeks accommodation and 25 hours of one on one instruction at the Miguel Cervantes Spanish School. But first we had to get there.

Once again I got up early and was treated to another hot shower. And once again I had the computers to myself. I found a great website that detailed the bus schedules and connections we’d have to make in order to get to the school before it closed at 1pm. It only required two buses and would take about 4 hours to get there. So as soon as breakfast was served we wolfed it down, said goodbye to Jesus and headed out to catch the chicken bus to Chimaltenango. We didn’t have to carry our packs far, as soon as we stepped out of the hostel, an almost empty bus drove by with the ayudante calling “Chimi Chimi, Chimi”. We flagged it down and got on carefully trying not to whack any of the other passengers in the head with our packs.

Chicken buses in Guatemala are similar to buses in Belize – uncomfortable old American school buses. But unlike those Belize, each driver has painted his bus in bright colours and christened it with a religious name. Our bus was called “Gracias a Dio”. I guess they hoped that a little religion let them safely navigate the mountain roads without using their brakes. Luckily, the road to Chimi was relatively flat and it was just over an hour to the Pan- American highway in Chimaltenango where the driver stopped and the ayudante pointing across the street to where we could catch our next bus to Xela. We followed two other gringos who seemed to know where they were going across the bridge and down the road where a slightly nicer bus was waiting. It looked like a regular coach but unfortunately for my bladder there was no toilet on board.

The highway to Xela was being widened or resurfaced making for a rather bumpy ride through the mountains. But at least that meant the driver had to slow down. Sort of. It was still three hours to Xela where we pulled into the main market/bus terminal full of crazy buses, crazy taxis and crazy stalls. Before I could deal with the craziness (photo above), I had to deal with my crazy bladder. I had to go so badly that I didn’t care about using the local market stall which was dark damp and stinky and without toilet seats let alone toilet paper (once again thank goodness for my stash). Then it was into a cab to the language school.

We got to the language school 15 minutes after 1 but the someone was still there to let us in. The school was an old colonial house around the corner from the central park. It had a communal kitchen, shared bathroom and about 9 bedrooms on two floors organized around an open courtyard. We were given the attic room at the top of a very skinny rickety staircase and the air was thick with dust. From one of our favourite hostel so far to this? Good thing it was dirt cheap and had wifi or else, actually I don’t know what else. We could have chosen the homestay but I don’t think staying with a local family would have improved our accommodations much. on to explore our new location and get some dinner.

Xela is the second largest city in Guatemala but it’s only about 150 years old so it was completely different than quaint little Antigua. The architecture was more ornate but still set up like every other Central American city with the central park surrounded by a cathedral, city hall and a couple of other important buildings. As we walked through the park, we were surrounding by a parade of Mayan women dressed in white and carrying signs for churches around the world like cairo and Athens. Oh wait that’s Athens, Georgia and Cairo, Ohio. So I guess they were from all over the US. I still have no clue what the parade was about.

After dinner, it was getting dark. And it was then that we noticed another difference between Xela and Antigua. It was actually cold enough for a sweater or, since I had forgotten to pack anything with long sleeves, a jacket. Oh boy, this was going to be along week. The combination of the cold and the dark, skinny, rickety stairs to and from our room has me worried that I may damage my kidneys from holding it in unless we get a room with a private bath soon.

Fighting the urge.

Antigua is Spanish for old. And the full name of the city is Antigua Ciudad de Guatemala, because until an earthquake wiped out most of the city it was the capital of the country. Now it was home to lots of 20 something backpackers and Antigua had a double meaning for us, as we were beginning to feel old. Antigua’s was not a backpackers heaven so much as it was a procrastinators paradise – although some people would argue they’re the same thing. And I was beginning the pressure to do nothing or fight it and do something.

I started by getting up at 6am. This paid off because despite all the signs saying the best time for hot water was between 9-3, I had the first truly hot shower since we’d arrived. And let me tell you it was glorious. I also got to use the computers uninterrupted so I was able to send out some enquiries to Spanish schools in another town. I tried to share my newfound knowledge with Adrian but Mr. Cranky Pants just wanted to sleep. He was lucky that most of the other guests had been out late the night before and were still sleeping when he eventually got up.

Jesus was up however. I thought he and Stefania were both from Italy but Jesus was from Honduras. And he was a super nice friendly guy. He asked us why Adrian and I hadn’t gone out the night before and I told him that we were too old for that. Nonsense he replied, he was old too but it didn’t stop him. Old is how you feel not how old you actually are. True but old is also when hangovers get so painful that the fear of them stops you from drinking. That he understood, as he was in a lot of pain that morning. And he wished he’d remembered that the night before.

I told him we were off to see the rest of the sights of Antigua. He was off to do laundry but said maybe he’d see us in town if he could get rid of his headache. The other non drinkers from the hostel – the pregnant couple from Quebec appeared so I filled them in on our volcano experience. I told them perhaps might be too strenuous for pregnant woman but they could get a second opinion from some of the other folks who, like the couple, were in much better shape than us. But after talking to us and the tour operator, they’d decided not to risk it.

Finished with being old at the hostel we set out to see the old of Antigua. We started with the ruins of an old church and convent at the end of the street (photo above). They were a lot like the Cathedral, fallen pillars, collapsed roofs, piles of stones – except the admission price was ten times as expensive. The ticket looked like it was good for the other 5 church ruins but when we went to the next place on the map, we discovered nope the 30Q was per ruin per foreigner. Locals paid just a 3Q. It was time to get Adrian some Spanish lessons. With his tan he’d been continually mistaken for a local until he opened his mouth. Too bad, we could save a bundle on entrance fees. Until then we decided to pass on seeing any more ruins.

Instead we walked through the market. It was split in two with one side being the artisans market (i.e. for the tourists) and the other side being the local’s market (i.e. where you could by everything from appliances to zapatos). We ignored all the vendors trying to sell us wooden trinkets and trash and headed for a tiny barber shop so Adrian could get a trim. For $2.50 he got the most thorough haircut of his life, including all the old man hair that grows in places it shouldn’t. If that wasn’t enough to make him feel old, the guy giving the hair cut looked like he had yet to hit puberty, although in Guatemala that probably means he was 45.

By now we were realizing that most of Antigua’s sights were either ruins of churches or restored churches, with the rest of the places like the main museum and colonial house closed for renovations. However, we stumbled upon one old church or convent that had been recently turned into a cultural centre/art gallery and better yet it was free. An exhibition had just opened called “Painting after painting”. I couldn’t tell you what that meant as I didn’t really see a theme and I couldn’t translate the signs – frankly, I can’t understand most art gallery description even when they’re written in English, too much talk about versimilatude, motifs and thematics. But the art was intriguing. Adrian was particularly fond of the anonymous tacky tourist art made more commercial by the addition of sesame street, star wars and other cartoon characters. I really liked the series of paintings of close ups of people biting into pastries. The video of a woman putting an entire tube of red lipstick on her lips was oddly disturbing. The building was pretty stunning as well.

And that was it for Antigua’s sights, so headed back to the Yellow House so I could pick up my computer and find some wifi. Rather than head back to Kafka for the third day we tried to branch out. Unfortunately, the Rainbow café wifi wasn’t working and the only other place I could find was McCafe – that’s right, we were in Guatemala and their McDonald’s not only have the fancy McCafes they also have fast wifi. It was good until the staff started to make our orders. It took tham least 20 minutes to make two lattes and I think they broke 5 dishes while doing it. In fact, every time someone ordered something it took forever and was accompanied by an orchestra of crashing crockery. As it got closer to the end of the work day that meant more people, more orders and more noise.

I managed to get some blog posts up and arrange for Spanish lessons in the town of Xela. But I had to call it quits when the noise began unbearable. It was time to move on not just from McCafe, but from Antigua too.

Liz and Adrian versus the volcano.

Antigua was an easy place to do nothing. There were no ruins to rush out to see first thing in the morning. There were plenty of cheap places to eat and drink. And there lots of people to keep you company while you did that whole lot of nothing. So on our second day we embraced the culture of nothing, except I cheated by spending the day catching up on the blog using wifi I found in a restaurant while Adrian watched the Man United v. Arsenal football game on the tv. We stayed there until it was dark and by then the lightening storm started over one of the three volcanoes that surrounded the city (photo above). It was a productive day but not in a particularly remarkable way. So on the next day we decided to make up for it by visiting one of those local landmarks – Pacaya, an active volcano where lava flows freely and you’re invited to roast marshmallows.

Booking the trip was easy – the Yellow House had an in-house travel agency. And just like ATM once we handed over our money we were given a list of things to bring and a brief description of the trip. 1 hour drive. 1.5 hour hike. 1 hour on the volcano. 1 hour back down. 1 hour trip home. It sounded fine except for the 1.5 hour hike up the volcano. The woman at the desk told me it was easy. We’ll see.

As we were fixing lunch I chatted with a Quebecois couple who were thinking about doing the hike. However she was pregnant and wasn’t sure she was up for the challenge. I told them I’d let them know how it was when we got back that evening. Inside I was beginning to doubt whether we’d make it to the top. But it was too late to back out.

We waited outside the hostel for the mini van to arrive, quickly popping into the bakery across the street to pick up some snacks for the long journey. We were joined by two other couples from the hostel: the first was a girl from Victoria and her American boyfriend, the second a girl from Barrie and her Germany boyfriend. I guess Canadian girls have a thing for foreign men.

The mini van pulled up and we jumped in amongst a bunch of frat boys from Vanderbilt U. They were on an 8-day rush trip through Guatemala – it was supposed to be Cancun but swine flu had thrown a wrench in their plans. They were relatively well behaved for frat boys as the van took us through crazy curvy roads, through small towns then up a rocky road to volcano entrance. By now my bladder was going to burst and as soon as the door to the van opened I ran to the use the washroom but glad I had a stash of toilet paper in my purse (don’t leave home without it). Back outside I was pounced upon by dozen of kids trying to sell me walking sticks they’d made from tree branches. And then men trying to rent me a horse for the walk up the mountain. I shooed them away – really how hard can it be to get up the path?

Our guide gathered us all together and told us our group was call Panteras and that we had to always follow her and listen to her instructions. We walked around the corner and started walking. Straight up. Uh-oh. After 10 minutes of climbing, my lungs were aching and my legs were like jelly. I asked the guide how much longer. “una hora y media,” she replied. There was no way I was going to make it another 20 minutes let alone another 90 minutes. Just then two men with horses appeared. And I didn’t even bargain when they said $12 each for the ride. But once on the horse I wasn’t feeling much better.

We pulled ahead of the group and now the path was very steep and very narrow and very uneven and seemed far more dangerous than trying to crawl up. As I leaned backwards and forwards to stay on the horse, I kept picturing the horse losing its footing and sending me hurtling down the mountain to die a horrible death. Of course, that didn’t happen. And soon we were in dense clouds so I couldn’t see the path or what was on either side which helped to distract me from any impending doom. Behind me I could hear Adrian once again trying to communicate to someone who spoke no English. “Football. Yes? Dallas Cowboys. Denver Broncos. Football good.” When he didn’t get a response, he moved on to improving his Spanish vocabulary. “Rojo. Azul. Negro. Amarillo.” I guess he was pointing to things and repeating the colours his guide was saying. This went on for the rest of ride up. It amazed me that Adrian continues to attempt these long one-sided conversations. I have to give him credit for persevering. But also felt a bit sorry for the guide.

Eventually we got above the clouds, revealing a lunar landscape of loose black volcanic rock and the smoking peak ahead. At this point I got of the horse joined a few minutes later by Adrian. We took in the sight and waited for the rest of the Panteras to appear. 10 minutes later they came through the clouds, sweaty and panting after the climb. And then it was up the path to the lava flow.

Although just a short walk, the rocks were razor sharp and they were not completely stable making it hard to keep your balance without a place to put your hands unless you wanted to them shredded on the rocks. Ahead of us another group of guys had decided to up the ante and roast not just marshmallows but a whole chicken over the lava. I didn’t think it was possible until I got within 5 metres of the flow. The heat was unbearable, like standing in front of a blast furnace. Unfortunately we never got to find out if it was possible to roast a chicken as their stick gave way under the weight of the bird sending it rolling down where it was pounced upon and devoured by a couple of stray dogs.

I wanted to continue up the path but at that moment another tour group made up of more of those loud rude travelers stormed the lava flow pushing their way past our group. They blocked the path and refused to move to let people up or down. As I balanced on my tiptoes in the small square I still had, I felt my legs begins to buckle. I though for sure I was going to tumble backwards on the rocks so I pleaded with them to move - one said where. I motioned back down the path two steps but they ignored me and refused to budge. When I realized I was either going to end up fried in the lava or cut to shreds on the rock I decided to retaliate by pushing them back and out of my way. After all that effort to get up the mountain (well, the horses effort) I now just wanted to get back down and away from this group. I started to walk back down the path well away from the crowd and was soon I was joined by some of the others from my group who couldn’t take the pushy crowd anymore either.

Rather than hang around up at the top, Adrian and I continued walking down to get a head start on the rest of the group. We may have been heading down the mountain but I knew there was a whole lot of up along the way too. And the men with the horses knew this too and followed us like vultures waiting for us to call upon their services once again. But in actuality the climbing up part of the trip down proved to be less of a problem than gravity. It was pulling me down the hill almost faster than my legs could keep up and occasionally I had to run over to a tree and hang on just to stop my descent and catch my breath and stretch my legs.

The man with the horse asked me again if I wanted the horse, for free, he said, honestly concerned for me. No, I replied, I want to do it myself. He walked with us and lit the path with his flashlight as it began to get dark, pointing out tree roots and rocks so we wouldn’t trip over them. Finally we made it down safely and the man with the horse congratulated me. Okay, so I didn’t make it up the mountain and I didn’t get to enjoy much lava. But making it down the mountain was a victory I cherished just as much.

Housekeeping

Hello out there... out there... out there... out there. Just testing the echo.

We're in Antigua Guatemala and have access to regular internet - notice I didn't use the word fast. I've just changed the dates on all the posts to reflect the dates they were written on. I don't know if these means they'll be re-sent to email subscribers or re-posted to the rss feed. Apologies if this happens. You'll also now be able to tell exactly how far behind I actually am. Gulp. I hope to fix this over the next week. Feel free to harass me. Or leave any sort of comment. If I know people are reading this, it will help get my motivation up. 

But enough of that. Just wanted to let you know we are alive and well and that new posts are coming.

(Apologies for all the spelling and grammar errors and typos. I'm going for quantity not quality at the moment.) 

It’s like we’ve died and gone to backpacker heaven.

In the morning, Yellow House continued to live up to its promise from the night before. After a week in the heat, Antigua had been cool enough for us to get a good night’s sleep. The spotless showers had plenty of hot water (a luxury) and breakfast was a big spread of not just fruit and toast but eggs and beans and... spaghetti? (for the vegans, I guess). It was easy to understand why so many of the guests had been there for weeks and sometimes months. Some were studying Spanish, some were working in pubs but most were just hanging out. Like the two Italians who checked in just behind us last night after doing a visa run to Mexico since they’d already been in Antigua for 30 days.

The only negative things about the Yellow House? Their wifi didn’t work and the two free computers were limited to 10 minutes of use when there was a line, which was all the time. Nonetheless, we decided to stay and switched to a now free private room. It wasn’t much different than the three-bed dorm except it had a tv with 100 channels and was further away from the noisy street.

Eventually, it was time to escape the backpacker heaven. Not to explore the city but to get rid of some of the library we’d, well actually Adrian had been carrying around for the last month – and the reason his was so heavy. We consulted the Lonely Planet for the list of used book stores and headed to the first. Unfortunately, Lonely Planet got it wrong and this place only sold new books. So we headed to the other end of the city to the second one listed. They wouldn’t exchange our books but they would buy our old ones for a pittance – barely enough to buy two new ones. Adrian was unhappy until I reminded him that we’d actually picked up one of the books for free so we didn’t lose any money. But it was a good lesson that we should keep an eye out for book exchanges rather than used book stores.

The book store was attached to a cheap but tasty café so we stopped for lunch. Then it was off to retrace our steps back through the city only this time we’d actually take it in. Because Antigua deserved our full attention. It was one of the prettiest if not the prettiest towns on our trip so far. Every street was cobblestones and all the buildings, old colonial ones. It was like something off a movie set.

And that comparison was especially true in the plaza mayor. On one side was the city hall and on the other the beautiful old cathedral which we decided to explore only to discover that it was just a façade (photo above ) – just like a movie set. The original cathedral had been destroyed by an earthquake in 1773, leaving the interior exposed to the elements but still cool to explore.

Across was the museum in the old university but it was closed for renovations so we headed back to the square. The vibe was backpacker-friendly without being too touristy, thanks to a healthy local population who lived and worked in the city. It kept the number of tacky souvenir stores to a minimum but it also made the street vendors a bit more aggressive in their pitches. However they were still easy enough to get rid of. And it was even easier to shake them by slipping into one of the museums around the square. We passed on the old book museum and popped into the Palacio del Capitanos instead. It was a disappointment for the price and just a collection of old maps, weapons and other old things related to the history of the local government.

That was enough sightseeing for day one so we decided to do what all good backpackers do – call home. And being in a backpacker friendly town, it was easy. For the first time on the road, we saw numerous places advertising cheap overseas phone calls. So Adrian phoned his parents and I phoned mine. After 6 weeks on the road we figured they were due for a check in and we were due to hear the sound of some friendly voices.

Afterwards we decided to add a taste of home to our day by heading to the grocery store to get some stuff for dinner. Although believe me, I tried to find something else to cook. But without a decent spice section or collection of President Choice Memories of Wherever Sauces or an even an oven back at the hostel, it was hard to figure out what else to make. However, when in backpacker heaven one should do and eat what backpackers do.

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.