Belize & Guatemala - Human Sacrifice, Drunken Cowboys and Saddle Sore(s)!

So it's 10 days since I last wrote to you from sunny Caye Caulker, Belize. Each passing day has made the thought of writing this more onerous. Hopefully that doesn't come through in the telling!

The morning after I last wrote, we awoke hungover from a night of drinking games and illicit swimming in a hotel pool, picked up a couple of extra passengers (two British sisters we'd befriended back in Mexico) and grabbed a boat with them from Caye Caulker to Belize City, a strong contender for worst city in the world! Between the jetty and the bus station our taxi driver regaled us with tales of shootings and stabbings. Was he going to go and celebrate the Independence Day of Belize? No, he was going to stay at home where it was safe! A 4+ hour bumpy chicken bus ride later we reached San Ignacio where some other friends (two Aussie girls) had found us a hotel. Mr John the owner was quick to make us welcome and sell us on the expensive Mayan cave tour starting early the next morning. We swam in the river and then passed out as our week long Caye Caulker hangover caught up with us!

The cave tour that I was decidedly luke warm about turned out to be mindblowingly AWESOME! And you know I don't use that word lightly! We donned crash helmets and head torches, trekked through the jungle, fording a river three times in the process, swam in a fantastically cold pool at the cave mouth and then spent 3 hours or so exploring the partially submerged cave complex, getting thoroughly wet, ogling at skeletons belonging to victims of Mayan human sacrifice and ceramic pots, fireplaces used in the rituals complete with original ashes, all preserved exactly where they were found with no glass cases, de-humidifiers, or even restrictive barriers to stop us stomping all over them. We were accordingly careful, though this didn´t stop our guide Carlos from repeatedly lecturing us on the stupidity and clumsiness of Western tourists and academics who had taken turns destroying the natural environment and posing bogus theories about the Mayas. I suspect he may have had a point. The tour ended deep in the caves with us all extinguishing our torches and talking about what had moved us most, in the pitch black. It was corny beyond belief, but there was something magical about that inky darkness.

The next morning we 4 (minus the Aussies) hot-footed it out of San Ignacio in a taxi for the border of Guatemala. We crossed at 11am and promptly bought a huge swag bag of beers and snacks to celebrate our arrival in "Guat" before commissioning a taxi, piloted by the affable Rudolfo, to take us to Flores from whence we would explore the Mayan ruins of Tikal. One beer down, Rudolfo suggested we stop for more, and before we could all chorus our assent or indeed air our misgivings, he had pulled over at a roadside shack, populated by 3 drunken cowboys, several chickens, some scrawny kids, a bewildered barmaid and a slightly deranged dog. The cowboys were downing a mixture of tomato juice and Gallo beer. They were already 5 bottles down. Before we knew it they had bought us (and our driver!) a round and from there it descended into madness. Five or six beers later, having survived a run in with an angry cow (I may or may not have been coated from head to toe in cow shit), possibly the worst toilet of all time (I considered pissing against the back wall rather than entering that foul shack), the best (or worst) Guatemalan country music and accompanying dancing cowboys, we clambered back into the taxi and recommenced our trip to Tikal.

Rudolfo's driving had seemingly improved with the beers, as he piloted us smoothly through every pot hole on the 2 hour drive from the middle of nowhere to the ruins of Tikal. We arrived mid afternoon, somewhat hungover, and commissioned a guide to take us round the ruins. Abel "the Monkey Man" was worth the money, giving us not only an informative tour through some of the most beautiful ruins I have seen, but also conversing with the howler monkeys, joking throughout and successfully avoiding the park wardens who would have kicked us out at closing time had we not been treading the secret jungle paths between the temples.

3 hours later we clambered back into Rudolfo's taxi. Rudolfo had seemingly passed the time drinking more fine Guatemalan beer and as we crawled into the island city of Flores late in the evening, it became apparent that he didn´t have the first clue where he was, or where we were going. Having circumnavigated the island´s one road, three times, we got out and walked to our hotel overlooking the lake.

The next day, the four of us clambered on an 8 hour bus from Flores to Guatemala City (via a much needed Burger King, which we defaulted to after finding scores of ants seething on the surface of a slice of pizza we were considering at a shack by the bus station). We rode through some beautiful countryside as I attempted to brush up my Spanish on yet another dubbed Hollywood movie or two. We arrived in Guatemala City dangerously close to the Witching Hour. Dangerously because GC is one of the most dangerous cities in the world, close because our bus had been phenomenally slow. Needless to say we jumped out of our bus and into the closest taxi without letting our feet touch the cursed ground. We drove through the eve of Independence Day watching scores of torch-bearing rallies jogging along the main roads as we bumped our way down to Antigua, again having severe difficulties finding our desired hostel. Several missed turns later we got out and walked, argued with a difficult doorman, and secured beds in the biggest party hostel of Antigua - El Gato Negro. I was lucky enough to stay with a Californian friend I had met in Belize in a private appartment just down the road so didn´t have to suffer the bed bugs, cramped conditions, late night revellers and other associated horrors of the dorm room!

We spent 4 nights and 3 days in Antigua enjoying not doing very much at all. Day 1 (Sep 15th) was La Independencia and we celebrated with the locals in a huge parade made up of marching bands, majorettes, dancing school kids and other assorted revelries. The choice of music went from inspired (think Greece - leather jackets and ra-ra dresses) to downright bizarre (Lady Gaga), but the atmosphere was electric. Day 2 we schlumped and then threw a house party at the appartment that night. Day 3 we climbed Pacaya Volcano which was underwhelming to say the least. The highlight of trudging through miles of monotonous grey volcanic rubble, was roasting marshmallows over a hot pit. Day 4 we clambered up a local hill overlooking the city and then, as it was everybody's (and we'd picked up quite a gathering) last night, we partied like it was 1999 that evening and woke up suitably sore headed the following day. Drama dogged every minute of that last night, and it was with some considerable relief, tinged with sadness, that we enjoyed a last lunch in Antigua before grabbing a collectivo to Lake Atitlan with our Californian friend.

Any hopes we had entertained of seeing the lake that afternoon disappeared in the mist, as the "2 and a half hour" collectivo crawled into San Pedro FIVE hours later under the cloak of darkness! We had been somewhat slowed by terrible roads, multitudinous rock- and mud-slides and the driving rain. We checked in to a hotel with the rest of our bus-mates (a Portuguese couple, an Argentinian jewelry maker) and were delighted to discover that the somewhat basic rooms held a price tag of 2USD a bed!

The following day I awoke at 5:50 and strode out to the balcony, grabbing Roger and Cali girl en route, to behold one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen, over undoubtedly the world's most beautiful lake. We passed the rest of the day on horseback exploring the jungle (two hours of alternating between a gallop and an uncomfortable trot were enough to give me saddle sores the size of two fifty pence pieces) and then exploring the bar menu with our new Argentinian friend Uriel the Jewellry Maker. We were somewhat staggered to find out that the guy was just 23, had travelled all over Europe in a camper van living off handouts (unwanted supermarket food, booze, free gasoline from good samaritans), lived illegally in Barcelona - overstaying his European visa by a year and a half - and was now supporting his travels up through Latin America by making jewellry for keen gringos in hostels. Needless to say Roge and I both joined the queue for our own specially commissioned wrist bands.

The next day (yesterday you'll be pleased to know if you've made it this far!!) I woke up early again, dragged Roger out of bed and together we found a guide to take us up Volcan San Pedro. Climbing the Volcano was one of the toughest things either of us have ever done. The hangover and equine excesses of the previous day probably dind't help. We scaled it in 2 hours and 10 minutes (beating the Lonely Planet recommended time by 2 hours!) with the help of our trusty guide, Mingo. Mingo, we found out early in the climb, had lost his entire family, wife and three kids, in a landslide only this March. He didn't dwell on this for longer than the time it took to say it, and I admired his huge strength of character as we climbed through the path of destruction wrought by the very same landslide, as indeed he does every day of the year.

Whilst both Roge and I were unsure we'd ever make it to the top (Roger's back was giving out and I was having difficulty constantly shouldering our shared pack, overstuffed as it was with every conceivable heavy object we'd been able to find that morning), we did... and it was worth it. The clouds parted for brief windows to show slices of the vast lake below us, and whilst we waited for the absent view, we lay collapsed on the rocks eating and drinking the heaviest items in our bag, and posing with Mingo's vast machete.  The way down was also tough, but we raced down in an hour and 20 minutes, again half the Lonely Planet's suggested time - leading me to wonder exactly who they are writing for - and collapsed again in a restaurant at the foot of the volcano, passing the rest of the day somewhere between coma and sleepwalk!

This morning we took the boat across the lake to Panajachel, the largest town on the lake, and from there a private collectivo to "The Place to Stay" in Antigua where we will sleep the sleep of the dead! (Much needed given that we have booked a 4am bus to take us to the Copan ruins in Honduras tomorrow).

Adios.
R x