CENTRAL AMERICA – WEEK 3

We explored Flores on foot, circling the island town in about twenty minutes and climbing to the sparkling white church that occupies the highest point.  Then, we joined the group for a boat trip across the lake to a beach where we took a cool dip to escape from the heat.  Next, we climbed to the top of a hill and onto a raised platform for a panoramic view of Flores and the beautiful sunset on the shore of the lake.

Sunday morning, we boarded the bus for Tikal, the most famous Mayan site in Guatemala.  Our guide, Carlos, explained that barely 2% of Mayan sites have been explored.  It was a stifling day in the jungle and after four hours of listening to Carlos, we’d had enough.  Tikal is indeed important and interesting but, it being our fourth Mayan site, its story tended to be repetitive.  What distinguishes Tikal is that the site of the ancient city is located within a protected forest.  As a result, we saw many spider monkeys and coatis in their natural habitat.

The next morning, we boarded a small bus bound for the Rio Dulce, near the east coast of Guatemala, on the Caribbean coast.  Our tour guide had told us to expect the trip would take about four hours.  We’ve learned that you can multiply the expected time by 1.5 and come closer to the actual traveling time in Central America.  There are maximum speed indicators on the highway and speed zones in villages and towns, but very few policemen in rural areas.  Instead, they use reductores de velocidad, speed bumps, or what the locals call sleeping policemen.  They are formidable obstacles and require all drivers to slow to a crawl.

We arrived at the dock at Puerto Fronteras and boarded a launch bound for our hotel, the Tortugal.  Arriving there, we were reminded of a lodge we stayed in in the Amazon jungle.  The place is built entirely on stilts and sits precariously out over the water.  The outdoor dining area/lounge is topped by a palm-thatched roof but is otherwise completely open to the elements.  Our room was in a bungalow, partially open to the elements as well, but with a mosquito net to protect us from the bugs.  It turned out to be a lovely and quite romantic place and we were very comfortable there.

The younger crowd went to bathe in hot springs before dinner but Elva and I stayed around the lodge.  She had come down with a mild case of la touristique and was in no mood for traveling.  The next day was my dear wife’s birthday, and we had decided to join most of the members of the group for a two-hour river boat trip to the town of Livingstone, located at the mouth of the Rio Dulce.  It was a beautiful, sunny morning and we took our time getting to our destination.  Along the way, we stopped to look at some water lilies, and saw children paddling furiously toward us in dugout canoes.  One handsome young girl was determined to get to our boat first.  She did, so we bought a few trinkets from her.

We soon realized that Livingston is a very different place.  Home to an important population of descendants of African slaves, known as the Garifuna, brought to the region by the British to work the sugar cane fields, it is poor by Guatemalan standards, which means very poor by ours.  It’s not the kind of place I’d walk around at night though.  Even during the day, I was happy to be traveling with a group.  But, as often happens on these trips, something surprising comes along, this time in the form of a very memorable meal, a dish called tagado, a fish soup cooked in coconut milk.

We hated to leave Rio Dulce.  I watched the sun rise over the river from the restaurant deck, ate my breakfast of fresh fruit and toast, and waited for the launch to take us away.  Rather than be scrunched up in a small bus, we’d opted to pay a little extra for a coach to take us to Antigua, five hours drive away, via Guatemala City.  It’s a good thing we did because, two and a half hours into the trip, we ground to a halt.  Turns out a group of protestors had blocked the main road leading to the capital city, as well as to neighbouring El Salvador.  Trucks and buses were lined up for many kilometres.

Our guide told us we could be there for several hours as the authorities were making no move to break the blockade.  So we sat on the side of the road, trying to keep cool in the 30+-degree heat.  Hawkers came out of nowhere and walked by regularly selling all manner of snacks and drinks.  There being no toilet in the bus, we answered calls of nature al fresco.  I kept thinking: “This is still better than a day at work.”  And it was.  Sure enough, after two and a half hours, the blockaders finally relented and we were underway again.

We stopped for a bite in Guatemala City in an area of the city that looked safe.  The capital holds one-half of the country’s total population of 14 million.  One imagines that people have left rural areas for the promise of a better life in the city, only to become trapped there with no way out and nothing to fall back on.  It was frankly disturbing to drive by the slums and see armed security guards everywhere: at every gas station; at every bank; at the entrance to gated communities; in shopping mall parking lots; and in front of high-end stores.  The main thoroughfare is clogged with overcrowded buses and overloaded trucks, most of them belching black diesel exhaust.  I can’t imagine living there, and I feel genuinely sorry for people who do.  The poorest of the poor live in shacks consisting of little more than a wooden frame and corrugated steel walls and roof.

The drive into our next port of call, Antigua, was not promising.  We’ve noted that buses normally enter a city through the back door for some reason, and the rear end of Antigua looked worse than the west end of Summerside ever did.  But after settling into our rooms, we took a stroll and found a rather charming place with cobblestone streets, beautiful buildings, and an abundance of first-class restaurants and shops.  We had a wonderful meal at a restaurant facing a plaza that reminded us of Cuzco, Peru.

It’s worth mentioning here that we haven’t had a bad meal in Guatemala.  There’s a great deal of choice, better than in Mexico and Belize, and restaurant meals are incredibly cheap: a complete meal for two can be had for less than $20, and it would be difficult to spend much more than $50 for the most expensive offering on a menu.  Fresh fruit and vegetables are plentiful and delicious, and as for the coconut, I can’t get enough of it!

Our next stop was Chichicastenango.  Our bus drove across a board plain featuring lush agricultural fields, and then climbed into the mountains of central Guatemala.  The town is famous for its market, but the only thing I liked about it is its name: “Chichicastenango”.  Apparently it means the place of trees planted to protect coffee plantations.  Of course, the guy who told me that could have been pulling my leg.

In the late afternoon, we made our way to the village of San Jorge for our home stay.  The bus dropped us off in a dusty unpaved plaza in front of a stuccoed white church.  Young boys played soccer as our village guide explained how things worked.  San Jorge is a pueblo of 3,000 souls, all of Mayan heritage.  They speak a dialect called Kaqchikel amongst themselves, but most know Spanish as well.  The children learn both languages at school.

Our host, Ana, was there to greet us with her son, Jorge, a nine-year-old as cute as a button.  She led us to her modest house and introduced us to Jose, a gregarious and intelligent twelve-year-old who spoke a bit of English.  Ana’s two daughters soon appeared on the scene, having arrived home from their day’s work in nearby Panajachel.  Catalina is an elementary school teacher and Isabel works as a maid.  The house has electricity and running water but is very modest by our standards.  Elva was better able to identify than I was, having grown up on a farm in rural Prince Edward Island.  (The photo below shows Elva standing beside a well-dressed Jose, off to school.)

We dined on freshly baked sweet bread, Guatemalan coffee, black beans, rice, and tortillas Elva and I helped to make.  The head of the household, Julian, works as a gardener at a hotel in a nearby town.  He was engaging, outgoing, and quite intelligent.  With my limited Spanish we were able to carry on a conversation, and we learned many things about his family’s life.  (The photo below shows Isabel, Ana and Catalina.  Ana wears the traditional Mayan costume, which she wove on a hand-held loom.)

Although they lack many of the material possessions that have become indispensable to us, these people seem very happy.  They’re proud people.  The family unit is strong and, in the case of our host family at least, the parents are willing to sacrifice so that their children may have better lives than theirs.  That will obviously mean that places like San Jorge will change, but I suppose that’s the trade-off.  In the end, the home stay turned out to be the highlight of our trip so far and an experience we’ll not soon forget.  (The photo below shows me and my new BFF, Jorge.)

We rose bright and early to take a bus to Panajachel, a touristy town on Lake Atitlan.  The lake was formed by a tremendous volcanic eruption 84,000 years ago.  It is the deepest lake in Central America and is surrounded by three dormant volcanoes: San Pedro, Atitlan, and Toliman.  Our plan for the day was to cross the lake to the town of San Pedro, take a short drive to the start of the trail, and hike to the top of San Pedro volcano.  From the dock, the eight of us piled into the back of a half-ton truck and sped through the winding streets to the entrance of the ecological reserve that encircles the mountain. 

Then we began the climb to the top.  We hiked through coffee and avocado plantations and small corn fields planted on dizzying slopes, arriving at the halfway point not too much the worse for wear.  From that point to the top was a struggle however.  The trail was treacherous and, where there were steps, these were quite high, making for tough going.  We arrived at the summit just after noon and looked out over the lake and surrounding area, enjoying a spectacular view.

The summit of San Pedro is at 3,000 metres, or 9,000 feet above sea level.  Our climb took us from the base of the trail at 1,800 metres.  The ascent is considered by experienced climbers to be a difficult one; we’re certainly not experienced climbers.  But we made it, and the view from the top was well worth the effort.  After downing some well-earned snacks we made our way back down to the trailhead where tuk-tuks were waiting to take us to San Pedro. 

A tuk-tuk ride was on Elva’s bucket list, and we were not disappointed, as our young driver sped through the winding streets, sometimes going the wrong way on a one-way!  Exhausted, we plunked ourselves down at a café and rested a bit, taking in the lively street life of the town, before the launch took us back across Lake Atitlan to the dock in Panajachel.  The whole day cost about $60 for the two of us.  Where else could you experience so much for so little?  That night, we dined on steak at an upscale restaurant.  We figured we deserved it.

Now, it’s back to Antigua for a couple of nights.  Five members of the group will leave us and be replaced by five new ones.  We’ve become attached to every member of the group and will miss the ones who are leaving.  Today will be a quiet travel day, a well-needed break from the exploits of yesterday.