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.