We had some fun getting out of Belize. We were in hurry to get out of Belize because we wanted to meet Dom, a really nice guy who organizes volunteers in Antigua. He was leaving Friday, so rush, rush , rush! We decide to hail a cab, who whisks us straight to the border from our hostel in San Ignacio (won't go into the laundry experience except to say that when we were done, all our clothes smelled like dog breath). So, we get to the border in this 1937 toyota corolla with its doors held on with duct tape, only to find there's an exit tax, we had ZERO cash and, guess what, they don't take Visa. The nearest ATM: right where we started. Great... So begins "The Griswolds Guatemalan Border Crossing". So we take the duct-tape-mobile back to town with a different set of local hitchers, and find an ATM. We top off our tanks, and head back up. On the way, we negotiate with our "trusty" cab driver to take us all the way to Tikal, our first stop in Guatemala. He explains he hasn't been there in a while and was looking forward to going. Also says it's a long trip, so it'll cost us $140 Belize dollars (70 US). We arrive at the border and the money changers are happy to see us again. Must be we were giving off Griswold pheromones or something, because they told us the rate was 3 Guat (Quetzal) to 1 Belize dollar. The banker had told me they were reasonable, but also that it should be around 3.50. My inner Clark voice whispered "you can trust these guys, just look in their honest eyes". We changed a bunch of money. Oops. Meanwhile, our "trusty" cab driver, who I'll call Frito Lay, brother of Ken, manages to trade his car in for a newer car with less duct tape, while his 13 year old wife Fritatta stands by with a curious smile on her face. Oh, and did I mention, traded himself in as well, for a 14-year old driver and his seven year old son? Somehow, we'd been had twice in as many minutes. So he gives about half our money to the kid, and heads home with about 3 weeks pay in his wallet. Nicely done!
The entrpreneurial spirit is alive and well in Central America.
We are sad about the money, but happy to finally be on our way to Tikal, one of the most famous Mayan sites in all of Central America. It's located deep in the jungle, with monkeys, anteaters, toucans, jaguars, and other weird creatures (including more "two-steps").
When we finally arrived, we found a little snak shop and wanted to get a bite: we were ravenous. But something told me this place had Jack Nicholson waiting out back with a machete, so we just held our empty guts and tried to find a motel. We first looked into camping, but it is rainy season, and the ground is fertile breeding for mosquitos. Since we never took any anti-malarial drugs, we decided to play it safe and look for four walls.
We go to the information kiosk, attended by a solemn dude toting a sawed off shotgun who says "hay cinco hoteles". This means "all five fine hotels here feature hay for both bedding and food". We look at option five, the "HagYooAre" Inn (ok, Jaguar). It has gaping holes in the screen windows. Lisa feels certain she can't make a big enough toilet paper spitwad to plug these, so we push on.
At option 4, we find some corpulent Americans checking in. Ahhhh, home! Actually, it's a pretty nice place, if a bit barebones. Not too expensive and the packs are getting heavy, so we check in. We met a nice couple (and their mom) who have been living on a boat in Central America for the past seven years. When they bought it, they knew nothing of sailing. We feel greatly encouraged by this. Especially since they're like 70 years old. We ought to be able to learn if we give ourselves 20-30 years....
We got squared away and went to explore. A rifle-toting guard took us on a semi-private tour, since it was near the end of the day and there weren't many folks about. We climbed to the top of one of the highest temples to watch the sunset and look for monkeys. They tell us 2-3 people die there every year, by falling down over 100 steep stone steps. Lisa's right to exercise caution both climbing and returning. The view from the top was amazing (see pictures). All these ancient structures poking up through the jungle canopy and mist. We returned to our hotel had a nice meal. Alan went for a swim in the really lovely pool (in a jungle???). Lisa got to take another one of her favorite "hot-like" showers.
After our lovely border experience, we opt out of the $50 "sunrise tour" the next morning. We knew it would be foggy anyway. Who wants to wake up at 4:30 am just to start the day with a light wallet and a heavy fog?
Our self-guided tour (after a fine breakfast) was really fun. Would have been nice to have an english speaking guide, or an umbrella, or maybe an english speaking umbrella. So, armed with neither, we set into the woods. We hear some rustling in the trees. Looking up, Lisa spots a pair of spider monkeys, climbing amongst the branches and vines like skinny little tarzans. They were really cool. We'll post a picture in a while.
We climbed around a bunch of the ancient temples, occasionally hiding from rainshowers beneath the thatched concession stand roof. One temple, the tallest, has a ladder/stair combination. 143 steps. It was pretty scary, but the hand railings made it manageable.
We thought we were pretty smart in timing our explorations so they'd fall neatly between rainshowers. However, our luck ran out. Sure enough, we managed to take cover in a thatched structure that was built to protect some 1,000 year old Mayan carvings (not tourists, but hey, we're Americans!). The carvings were really beautiful, and appeared to tell a story, but without our magic umbrella, we're still left guessing. Anyway, this one turned out to be much more than a shower. We wait, and we wait, and we wait some more. It never lets up. It does evolve, however. From torrential to deluge to "where's the Ark?". So, we're out of time and we have a bus to catch, so we look at each other, perhaps for the last time, and dash off into an uncertain (well, certainly wet) future.
Neither of us have been this wet since we were kids running around in our fronts yards look for more mud puddles to stomp around in. Everything, every single part of our being, is water. Each path is replaced by an instantaneous rushing river. There's noone in sight. Are we the only people stuped enough to still be here? At least we finally got our private tour of Tikal!
We did find some other poor wet souls on our way out. They had rain gear. We're feeling pretty damn sharp at this point. Note to self: when travelling in the rainy season, expect rain.
We made it back to the hotel with just enough time to change our clothes, grab some food, and throw our soggy duds into a blast furnace. They're still wet, along with our socks and shoes (we didn't have the olfactory courage to take these off) and the bus is leaving, so stuff soggies into sacks and make a run for it.
We are delighted to see that our luxury motorcoach is waiting for us, just us, outside the hotel. So we throw our packs in the back seat and spread out with luscious anticipation of a relaxing, spacious, private shuttle to Flores. Wrong.
This must have been a courtesy stop, due to the fact they knew noone could possibly carry that much water across the parking lot. The bus stops again at the normal pickup point, and there are about 25 people waiting for it (the last bus couldn't see them waiting for all the rain, and just drove right by). Did I mention the bus holds about 23 people, when the emergency aisle seats are deplyed? Lisa and I looked at one another and reluctantly agreed: we'd have to sit together. As you can imagine, the subject of our backpacks came up at some point.
It is at that point where my inner Larry David personna emerges. You see, I'd read in a guidebook somewhere (travel in Mongolia, I think) that you should never let them put your backpacks on the roof of a minibus, because bad things will happen. This driver has obviously not read the same book, because he isn't the least bit sympathetic to our position. He says "we have to put it on the roof". Lisa, meanwhile, is cringing in the corner, looking out at the crowd of people who are still awaiting a seat.
He says "would you like to buy two seats for your luggage?". Of course, I said "Yes, I would!". This way, I get to WIN! But then he mutters the magic words "it will cost $20/seat". Checkmate. OK, so out the window and up onto the roof. About 4 seconds later, the bus starts off. In the back of my mind, a voice whispers, "how secure could they make it with only four seconds of rigging? ".
We don't have much choice other than to make a real "ugly american" scene, so we just sat there and crossed our fingers.
Next stop, Flores...
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