adios guatemala

Made a long trek down to the southeastern part of Guatemala the other day that took a long time from start to finish but didn't require a whole lot of travel. I missed a few connections by a few minutes which made me wait up to an hour and a half til' the next bus came. It also happened to be in the part of the country that is known for sweltering hot temperatures and cowboys wearing their pistols on their belts for all the honest world to see. I got into Rio Dulce around dark was pretty tired and got a lancha to my hostel. The Rio Dulce area is a very large estuary that is protected from the ocean by a long lush river by the same name. The water reminded me a bit of the Annapolis area as there was always tons of land in sight, tons and tons of sailboats from all over the world and a few large yachts. In fact, the US Coast guard has labeled this area the safest harour in the Western Carribean during hurricane season, which would account for all the nice boats being stored in the area. There are tons of things to do here, all outdoors and it was raining pretty solid all night and day so I moved on down the line to Livingston, a tiny town on the coast that is a mixture of Spanish speaking, Black Carribean and Mayan Indigenous peoples all Guatemalans. There are five languages spoken here: Spanish, the local Mayan dialect, English, Creole and Garifuna. Garifuna is the language (and the name of the people) of the African descendants that were taken here in the slave trading days who then settled and married. Creole is a mixture of French, Spanish, English, Portuguese and probably a few languages more that i'm forgetting. Linguistically speaking, my head was spinning. Regardless, the town of Livingston is nothing like any other part of Guatemala. It has a Carribean vibe but is distinctly unlike any other Carribean nation I have seen or heard of. There is a definite relaxed vibe the slightly seedy underbelly of a small port town. About a half hour lancha ride away is Puerto Barrios which was built by United Fruit Co., back in the day, to export bananas to the US. This is the seedy port town, which allows Livingston to have the seedy port town vibe without the true seediness. Perhaps a bit false, one might think, but false or not, it suited me just fine.
To get to Livingston, we took a lancha ride through the Rio Dulce estuary area and passed an old castle that protected the area from pirates, apparently poorly because it got sacked hundreds of years ago and was only rebuilt as a tourist attraction and picnic area in 1956. Here old canons keep you company as you eat your lunch.

The estuary area is fed by the river Rio Dulce which snakes inland from the Carribean through a dramatically steep jungle gorge. Again the pics don't do it justice but it was very pretty.



Once in Livingston I heard of the best tourist attraction was called something like the Seven Falls. Apparently there are seven waterfalls that feed seven pools that are great for swimming, not to mention good jumping from the rocks and rope swings scattered around the park. I was told to go straight to the beach, turn left until you can't go any further, then walk up the path along the river for another half hour til you get to the falls. There were no signs and I was told I couldn't miss it... but I missed it. I had sat on the south side of the lancha on the way to Livingston and walked for an hour in the sun and had gotten a little burned so I decide to call it a day besides, the wrong turn I took took me right back to where I started so the decision was made for me. Actually I had realized pretty quick my error, but due to the sunburn I threw in the towel to avoid further sun damage. The good side is that my left inner thigh and my right outer thigh have not only healed but have turned golden brown to contrast each legs respective other part, which is still butt white.
I had a few drinks with the kids at my hostel that night and headed out in the morning. Another half hour lancha ride and a bunch of micro and chicken buses and I was at the El Salvadorean border. Adios Guatemala, you were pretty good to me!

more semuc photos

semuc champey

Lanquin is a small, very remote town set in the mountains of eastern-ish Guatemala. It takes a long time to get there and the options for the next stop are few unless you don't mind backtracking a bit. The good side is that the small town is beautiful and is located on a good size river that shoots out of the side of a mountain, is azure blue and very clean. So clean that the locals use the water, untreated, as their source of drinking water. I suppose it is spring water, but I opted for the bottled water that has been purified. I got in around 1 in the afternoon and hopped on a little tubing tour. Not so much a tour as a hour and a half lazy river. One of the "guides" was a 14 year old named Lester. We hit it off right away, talking in Spanish about where we were from, going and been to. He was one of those kids who you meet and immediately think, this is a really good kid. Always smiling, happy to help and constantly asking everyone if they were ok and having fun. Everyon mentioned how they felt Lester was awesome until one girl lost her tube and got stranded on a shallow fast moving stretch. Lester went after the tube and the girl was left to fend for herself. I'm sure he was just doing what he was told if this were to happen, but I thought it was awesome! All in all a very relaxing start to a new place.

As we got back another group was getting ready to go to the local caves. Set right where the natural spring shoots out of the mountain, it too was very close to the hostel. The caves themselves were cool, but if you've seen a cave, they are pretty much the same. I have to say that I was unimpressed until we came back to the entrance. The guide told us to look at the roof of the cave as we sat at the entrance. We started to see a few bats above our heads here and there. I happened to catch one on film, woo hoo!


As the park rangers turned off the lights in the cave we sat near the entrance. Minutes later we bacame aware of a dull roar. The guide told us to take random pictures in the dark, and there was a flood of bats right above our heads. Actually they were below and to the side of our heads as well. It was crazy being in this opening about the size of an 18 wheeler cargo truck... and the bats were everywhere. That was pretty cool.

The next morning I got up and hopped on the pickup to Semuc Champey. Semuc Champey is a national park that has more caves and these natural pools that are surrounded by a very steep wall of jungle on either side. First, we went on the cave tour, guided by our fearless friend Carlos. Our group consisted of 17 people, mostly mid twenties and thirtysomethings. We entered the cave and walked barefoot in ankle deep water with candles in one hand, one candle per person. Most of the caves were the size of a train car, long and narrow. Soon enough the water got knee deep and we climbed up a rickity ladder. Every once in a while someone would bang their toes on a rock and laugh/wail in pain. We hopped up and over little natural stone dams where each step up, the water got a little deeper. The deepest channel was at least 10 feet deep. As I jumped in my candle went out and I spent 5 minutes trying to get it re-lit. By that point half of us were using someone elses light to find our way. Luckily there was only one path, no side tributaries or anywhere else to take a wrong turn. Some of the cavern rooms went about 100 feet up but most were long narrow passages with a few rooms where things opened up a bit. Looking up in the biggest of the rooms I saw a plastic bottle about 30 feet up wedged in between a few stalagtites. Then I realized that there have to be occasional flash floods in here and felt very fortunate to be in Guatemala, bacause there is no way this experience can be had in the States, too much liability and too many lawyers drooling on the sidelines. We went pretty deep into the cave and all of us were complaining about how our feet were bleeding and raw from hitting rocks under the water as we swam in the larger of the pools. By the time we got out into the light we were equally embarrased to see that, not only did we not have blood dripping from our feet, but we all only had tiny red marks where the flesh wounds were thought to be. I felt shame.
Then we did a rope swing and floated a small portion of the river below Semuc Champey in tubes. Then we hiked a short walk into the park wher some went to lounge in the pool and the other half of us hiked up to the mirador. A mirador is simply a lookout. We hiked a pretty steep trail and wooden steps up about 1000-1500 feet in elevation. This picture is from the mirador.


The pools were not super cool, but very refreshing. There were little spots where you could jump 5 feet or so down into the next pool. Words can't describe how beautiful this place is. Dense jungles with a high canopy, extremely steep slopes that led to the river valley and tons of beautiful pools and waterfalls. I'll post some more pics to follow to give you an idea, but they don't do it justice.

ballad of the bigote

A funny thing happened the last time I was on a chicken bus. I was trying to strike up a conversation with a older Mayan woman that was switting next to me when I relized that she spoke less Spanish than I speak. Well, i'm not exactly sure that she din't speak but that was the idea I got in trying to talk to her. She would just look out the window or stare staight forward when I asked her how she was. There was no answer and I asked a few more questions with no answer too, until I thought that I was enjoying asking questions to a brick wall a little too much. I was getting carried away messing with her and didn't even think that it may be construed as being rude. In fact, many of the indigenous people in Guatemala speak Mayan as their first language and only a little Spanish, if any at all. I have been told that there are something like 24 different dialects of the Mayan language and that many of the different dialects cannot understand each other. I was also told that many of the Mayans live in very remote areas that have no interaction with gringos and only limited interaction with Spanish speakers. That being said, it's very possible this little old lady had no idea what to do with me, I don't know. When she got off the bus a little old man that was sitting behind me tapped my shoulder to talk. This is where I enter the disclaimer that, with my limited level of Spanish, the following events are described as how I understood them, very possibly not what actually was said. Be forewarned.
The little old guy was probably 70 plus years old with wrinkly weathered tanned skin with sunken eyes from old age and a life of, most likely, difficult labor, by the looks of him. He said something to the effect that me that some people don't feel comfortable talking to strangers on the bus. I can assume that this could be due to many different reasons. Perhaps there have been robberies, perhaps they could have been insulted or mistreated. I don't know, maybe some people just don't want to talk to their neighbor on the bus. That's kind of the way I am on planes so, who knows? Back to the story, this little old man tells me some people don't like to talk on the bus and he thought it was pretty obvious I was not a Guatemalan which may have made her a bit intimidated. I chuckled at this and asked him how he knew I wasn't a Guatemalan and he stated that he picked me out right away when I got on the bus. Fantastic! Perhaps it was my fleece, backpack, butt white skin, six and a half foot frame or the constant look of confusion that I seem to sport down here, but this ol' fella had me pegged immediately. I thought I would play with him for a moment and asked him how I might be able to blend in more, you know, become sort of a local. Without hesitation he looked at my beard and told me that Guatemalans don't have beards, just mustaches (bigote in Spanish). Perhaps if I had only the mustache some people might believe. Then he squinted his eyes, shook his head side to side and said the although some might be fooled, he would still be able to pick me out as a gringo. Then he patted me on the shoulder and looked out the window at the passing mountains. The best part is I still can't figure out if he was serious or messing with me. And the teacher becomes the student... so I give you Guatemalan Brad, and it looks like he doesn't want to talk his neighbor on the bus!

the ol' shakira and george michael two step

Had a long journey the other day. I went from Pana to Guatemala City on a chicken bus. I love those things! They really aren't made for people my size, but the experience alone is worth it. Guatamala City (Guate to the locals) has some character, but can be a rather unsavory place if you aren't sure of yourself, where you are going, how you plan to get there, and the like. Me being me, I decided to just leave before I got myself hurt. I grabbed a taxi to the bus that would take me to my next destination, the city of Coban. The starting point of my trip was only about 100 kilometers from the destination (as the crow flies) but it took me from 7:30am until 5pm to arrive. Some mountain regions just arent passible and you have to go clear around them, constantly going up the sides of mountains, around hairpin curves, down steep ravines and more hairpin turns on roads no wider than a tiny two way road with no shoulders, all while in a 50 foot bus whos driver loves to pass other cars on blind curves. And those are the major highways and thouroghfares, we don't even want to get into the side roads. Exhausting, to say the least. It makes me want to buy a motorcycle and use the back back roads to get around. Just kidding, Mom!
Coban doesn't necesarily have tons to offer visitors, but it's a very cool little city, nonetheless. Probably around 50,000 - 75,000 people live in the city and the tiny municipalities in the surrounding area. I really didn't do anything here to speak of, but walked the city and stumbled upon a great little Italian restaurant and ended up ordering 3 plates of food before the meal was done. Given, it was a celebratory birthday dinner so I was splurging a bit, but I was a glutton! Definitely the best meal i've had so far on the trip. Great little antipasto salad, house cured smoked meat and local cheese plate, and a delicious linguini carbonara. I couldn't have been more impressed by the food and embarrased that I had eaten so much.
Coban wasn't so much a destination for me as it was a jumping off point for the next place, Lanquin. The next morning I found a collectivo (mini bus) and headed off. Lanquin is ony 60km from coban (on the road) but it takes about 3 hours to get there.

I hope you all are picking up on the theme of troublesome travelling that i'm laying down here. These minibuses are almost better than the chicken buses... almost. The mini buses are basically a VW bus/van with extra bench seats put in. You sit 4 across for the back 3 rows and 3 across for the front row with the driver and two passengers in the front seat. So that is 15 people who fit inside the cab. But wait, we are not even close to being done yet. Since some people only need to go for short distances on these set routes, about 4 or 5 more people hang on to the hand rails and bulge out of the side of the open (sliding) side door. 20 people and we haven't even gotten to the roof yet. Each roof is equiped with a durable luggage rack where the helper person (they work in twos just like the chicken bus workers) secures any luggage or belongings to the roof. Any space that is left is open for seating. On this trip there were 26 people at one time on the mini van. I am not kidding. Unfortunately for this trip, most everyone went the duration. Tons of people shoved into a tiny space, i'm 6'7" with very long legs and I was happy as a pig in shit! I can't explain why because I was extremely uncomfortable with no space, but I had a window seat with the wind in my face, it was a beautiful day and I found the particular radio station that was on hilarious. Usually I would be in pain, but I couldn't help laughing out load at the bad Spanish versions of Celine Dion songs, Popular Latin favorites, lots tons of Shakira and random John Fogerty and George Michael songs all mixed together. I was smiling ear to ear looking at the countyside creeping by and passing very short farmers walking on the road with machetes that were bigger than they were. I am pretty sure the next time I hear, "never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhytym, thought it's easy to pretend, i know you're not a fool" i'm gonna start laughing and craving Chicklets.

the guatemalan black market and the rules of life

The last couple of days I visited Panajachel (Pana, to the locals). It is, perhaps, the most developed of the towns surrounding Lake Atitlan but definitely not the most atmospheric. It does have its charms though, lots of sightseeing excursions, tons of expats, very interesting stores that include health food supplies, a grocery store consisting of things one can't get in Guatemala, and a specialty meat shop with a small selection of salamis and proscuitto type meats. It is very easy for one to speak only English here, as most touristy towns. In addition to that, Pana has some petty crime that also comes with well touristed areas. At this point, you might get a little idea where i'm heading with this story.
So, upon entry into Pana from a nearby quaint little village, I arrived by lancha (water taxi/shuttle). As I boarded the vessel, the captain was kind enough to grab my backpack and put it on the roof, so as to not over exert myself. We arrived at our destination 30 minutes later, I disembarked and made my way to my new home for the next two nights. After unpacking I found it strange that I couldn't find my ipod. I looked in all the pockets and all the wierd spots, but no ipod. Strange, I thought, because I was sure I had packed it, in fact, it was near the top of my backpack. Hmmmm. So that was why the captain wanted it on top of the lancha, so he could get his hands on anything of value without anyone noticing. I phoned the previous nights hotel, just to make sure I hadn't left it in the room. They were extremely nice during my stay and I had no doubts to their honesty. They asked me if I had put my bag on the top of the lancha, which I did, and that made up their minds that that was what had happened to my ipod. Apparently, it is a well know fact among locals, that if you want to buy something on the "black market" on the lake, the lancha boys are where you go, they can get their hands on anything you need, if they don't already have it.
It had only been 45 minutes since I arrived, so I thought I would go down to the dock and see if I could buy my Ipod back. I'm here for another 4 months so having music would be very helpful on those long lazy nights in the jungle. I made my way down and introduced myself to the boys, telling them I misplaced my ipod on the lancha and if it had been found that I would happily pay the person handsomely. They immediately were suspicious of me and said they had not heard of anything but I should talk to Alejandro because he was "the man" on the docks. Alejandro turned out to be very helpful and felt confident, with the information I had given him, and the fact that I was willing to pay a "reward" to the finder, my electronic device could be found. Money makes the world go 'round, right? He told me to return to the docks the next afternoon and he would see what he could do. I sweetened the deal telling him I would give him, personally, a bottle of Jack Daniels simply for locating the thing. I had heard that Jack was hard to get down here and that it was worth a boatload per bottle. Besides I have been dragging around the extra weight for the previous 4 weeks and have not had the opportunity to rid myself of the extra weight, yet.
The next afternoon came and I returned to the docks with the small hope that I would not suffer in musical silence for the next four months of my journey. Unfortunately, Alejandro told me that no captains had found any ipods of any sort and that it was "bad luck". I'm not trying to paint an unrealistic picture of ol' Alejandro here, he seemed like the kind of guy that lived by the mantra, 'nothing happens on these docks without me knowing about it'. A Guatemalan mafioso, if you will. Regardless, I was shit out of luck and started my short walk home when, lo and behold, an amigo tells me he has seen this mini computer machine of mine, and that he could get it back for me for a mere 400Q ($50). He told me, and I quote, "a junkie sold it to my narcotrafficer buddy for coke and he would be happy to sell it back to me for the 400Q ($50) of product he traded away for it". I was truely amazed (insert sarcasm here) that this random amigo would know exactly where it was, how it had gotten there and how much it would cost to get back my beloved ipod. I was waiting for him to lead me to the basement of The Alamo where it was right next to Pee Wee's bike. I was feeling rather adventurous so I said I would go with him and pay the randsom. We hopped on his motorcycle and were off to the town center to make a call. He talked to his friend for a minute, then gave me the phone where I agreed to pay the 400Q if he, indeed had my ipod and we would meet in the town center, next to the church (I am not making this up, here's a picture of it) to make the handoff.

Back on the bike and we sped to the church, only we took a wrong turn and ended up on a small dirt road. The funny part was that my new found amigo told me his name twice on the journey and both times they were different names. First Armando, then something like Lionel. I asked him which it was, and he said his name was actually Armando Lionel Hernandez. Some friends called him Armando and some called him Lionel, just to clear up any cofusion. This is the exact kind of stuff that any person with an ounce of street smarts would tell you not to do, go off with a stranger in a strage town. This is how people get hurt. Possibly so, but I had less than 50Q on me, nothing of value and, like I said, I was feeling adventurous. But not adventurous in the American Hero, 'i'm gonna take on the whole town and karate chop my way to glory while retrieving my ipod' kind of way, but more in the English 'slightly drunk in the afternoon, amused at the trouble someone would go through for $50 (27 Quid), let's see where this tom foolery takes us, nonchalant' kind of way.
Back to the slightly deserted dirt road. Oh, and before there, as we were driving to his friend the narcotrafficers' house, he said that that house was right accross the bridge. But before we made it to the bridge, we did a 180 and he said that another way was faster. This was the moment I found it hard not to laugh. Now, on the dirt road he stops and tells me to get off and wait here, give him the money and he'll be back in 5 minutes, licketysplit. I said I would happily pay for the ipod when I saw it but i was not gonna pay until I saw it. He stated that I couldn't go to the narcotrafficers house because then I would know where he lived and then I could, conceivably, tell the police. Again I said no. Then he said to give him half the money and he would return. I declined. OK, 100Q then the rest on return. I said no, only when i see my ipod. At this point, I think he saw that I knew what was what and he sped off. It took me 5 minutes to walk back to my hotel, laughing the whole way. Now, it sucks not having music and I hate getting ripped off like that, but the whole experience of the Guatemalan dock working mafioso, my all knowing amigo on the motorcycle and his reclusive narcotrafficing buddy was definitely worth losing the ipod. I mean, if I could have had those experiences and still had the ipod, I would defintely prefer that, but all things considered, it was a pretty hilariously foolish day.

This is totally disconnected, but when I got to my hotel, these rules were posted. #2 is priceless, my favorite, by far!

a few chicken buses

As previously promised these are, but a few, examples of the infamous chicken bus. The one above says "God, help me!", but not in the "Oh my god!" kind of way, more like, "Lord give me strength!" kind of way. The one below has the name "Virgen del Carmen" which is a patron saint, I can only assume. I make this assumption due to the machismo of the chicken bus driver, as a mythical figure, who would never admit that he had not done the deed with his loved lady friend, so loudly on the front of his steed (so to speak). So, girls and religious figures seem to be the themes here. I think my new hobby is collecting photos of chicken busses. Many more to come!