Guatemala - The North

We decided to split Guatemala in two, tackling the northern interests first, then skipping into northern Honduras and later south to El Salvador before crossing back into Guatemala in the south to fill our final days before flying out of the capital. We left San Ignacio (Belize) in the morning, catching a local bus to the nearest town to the Guatemalan border, and walked the final three miles down a quiet road to the frontier. While we weren´t thrilled to pay Belize´s exit fee of around 20 bucks a person, I applaud the immigration officers´professionalism in collecting it, complete with an electronic receipt for our records. And the flow of the proceeds is monitored by an international development organization that makes sure the money gets to the right projects. As we mentioned in the last entry, Belizeans are really poor and need all the help they can get.

After negotiating a particularly corrupt border post on the Guatemalan side of the border, we hopped a collectivo (shared minivan) for the northeast shore of Lake Peten-Itza, reaching it in about 90 minutes. After a bit of searching we found Hostel Hermano Pedro, a quaint little family-run guesthouse with a double room and baño privado (private bath) for a very reasonable $12. On this trip, we aren´t holding to as tight a budget as the last and every now and then we`ll pay as much as $20 a night for a really nice spot with hot water. After getting sorted, we hopped a minivan to Santa Elena (the nearest big-town) to cash up at a cajero (ATM) and wander around a bit, before heading back to grab lunch and enjoy a beer in the hammocks at the guesthouse. Later that evening we treated ourselves to local "empanadas" (a name, we discovered, given to a great many different foods in various countries), which were more like loaded tostadas, for a whopping 12 cents a piece. The folks in this little town were really nice and we were just about the only folks around.

The following morning we caught a 5:30 collectivo to the Tikal ruins, where we arrived early enough to enjoy all the jungle wildlife on our way in. At play were hoards of wild turkeys (which had plumed tail feathers

and looked very similar to peacocks), howler monkeys (appropriately named), and a local type of raccoon common to the area. We even got to see a large tarantula up close. There was also a very wide diversity of trees in the protected area, many which we had not seen before. For the next few hours we wandered around Tikal, climbing up and down the steep wooden stairs that flank the original stone steps to the tops of the ruins. Not too long ago one could climb up the original steps, but it only takes one western tourist -as you have heard me complain many many times- taking a gainer to their death for them to close access for good --because western tourists sue.

Even after seeing loads and loads of Mayan sites over the last month, Tikal was still very impressive

and very unique in its own right. Check out the link for pictures. Thanks to our early arrival and the recent downturn in global tourism, we had very little competition that morning, which makes a big difference in the overall experience. Since we were traveling with our packs, the friendly gentleman who looks after the campground took 5 quetzales a piece to hold our stuff. We´re getting pretty spoiled this time around -normally, hefting only 15 pounds around for the day would be a very welcoming proposition.

After the pyramids we spent two nights on the lake island of Flores, a scenic little spot but not much else on offer. We took advantage of the views from the

open roof deck of our hotel, dozing in hammocks to the annoying squawks of a parrot below. We did also enjoy some really great coffee (which is surprisingly rare, as coffee-rich central america ships almost all of its beans--and bananas for that matter--elsewhere. ¨Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink¨), and a great local breakfast with a very talented little parrot who had taken a liking to coffee and could serve himself up using a spoon.

From Flores we took a bus to the town of Rio Dulce, named for the river, where we were obliged to spend an awkward night in a cheap but dreadful room-one of the worst

in our travels. So bad in fact, that we shunned the private bath altogether, saving showers for the next stop. We should have taken cue when on entering we saw the words ¨don´t stay here¨scratched into the wall. The town is a major crossroads for intranational shipping, and its pretty seedy, so we dozed to the sweet sounds of semis and all-night mayhem. The one, and only, saving grace was a one-two combo of awesome typico dinner and breakfast. The next morning we hopped a launch for a very scenic two hour ride downriver to the Caribbean coast and the Garifuna town of Livingston. It has been fun for us

to come across these Garifuna villages, populated mainly by black caribs long ago forgotten by the trade in manual labor. Unique food and music are always on offer; here we enjoyed a seafood soup called ´tapado´, filled to the brim with king crab and veggies in a coconut milk stock... Very good. We spent a day and a night watching the street action from a couple of hammocks on the upstairs veranda of our hotel, taking several trips out to wander and, of course, eat. We also finally had the opportunity to try a potent local liquor called ´guifiti´, made from rum and a number of unattractive ingredients from the swamps -including roots and bark and, I´m pretty sure, dirt. But, mixed into a freshly shorn coconut, it packs a delightful punch.

The following morning (which morning, exactly, we can´t really tell you anymore, as we have lost most sense of time and date and even day by now) we took a launch one hour back up river to a nice little spot in the mangrove jungle called Finca Tatin, one of those rare do-it-all backpacker joints that does a really good job of it. For the next few days we explored the mangrove channels in kayaks, hiked around to local villages and schools, drank quite a bit, ate really big family-style dinners, and worked constantly on all the rope swing feats we had left unmastered in our youth. In the evenings we gathered out on the dock to swap stories with an eclectic mix of backpackers while watching the sky light ablaze with stars. Lots of hammocks, of course, for dozing, and the place even had a really good sauna, made in traditional local fashion from rocks and stuff, where we hung out and spoofed on the one German guy who insisted on taking his steam butt-naked. Couldn´t quite work up the nerve to join him, in mixed and plentiful company, but I think I may be on the verge of a breakthrough in this area. Europeans really are therapeutic for the troubled and inhibited American psyche.

Out of cash and itching to move (we are cursed), we said goodbye to our new friends and caught a launch back down-river to Livingston, then on to Puerto Barrios (hole!) near the Honduran border. Another uncomfortable night of dive-bombing mosquitoes saw us cracking early at 5am the next morning to get the hell out of town. An amazing collectivo ride through miles and miles of banana plantations brought us to the border, where we caught a nice breakfast, changed currencies, and hopped a bus for the Honduran northern coast.

See this link for pictures from Northern Guatemala:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2049738&id=1009299883&l=69e46d6702