Mi viaje ha terminado

This post will be short. I have packing to do, and the very nearness of my return has knocked the wind out of my blog-writing sails. Basically- I am exhausted. I won´t attempt to do a "summing up" post- not yet. That will come later, after a few days or weeks of processing. Right now I am still in the thick of it and could not be quite objective.

I may post tomorrow if I have time. I have class in the morning, a massage after lunch, and a trek planned to pick up my boots in Pastores at 4. After that is my final dinner and a last night excusion on the town. So- it is possible you will not hear from me again until I am back in the States.

I want to say thank you to everyone who has been reading. The feeling of obligation to post has been very valuable in my ability to proccess and present much of what I am experiencing. It is so easy to just get into the blur of a trip and expect you will remember it all- which you never do. Now I have a tangible account of my time here- although in all honesty my posts only scratched the surface of much of what I saw, learned and expeirnced. However- I have to save some stories to tell you all when I see you in person.

Ultima semana Molly

Well devoted readers, I currently have three days left in Guatemala (well, really two full days and two half days) which means a state of being I call "last week Molly" has set in. "What exactly is last week Molly?" you may ask. And I would say "good question" because I belive it is a term I coined last semester in regards to one of my professors and his tendency to have a major personality shift in the final month of the semester (aka "last month ___"). I chalked this up to the finish line being in sight which lead to a sense of relief, and a much cheerier professor. So "final week Molly" is where I am now- dashing towards the finish line upon which lie my bed, California sunshine, hot showers, lettuce, and a more calm normal routine. The effect of having the finish line in sight is a shift between my normal cautious conservation of energy (i.e. going to bed earlyish becasue I know I have long school days ahead), and a new "caution to the wind," cavalear attitude towards how I spend my time (i.e. going out and staying out because "whateves... I only live once!!!"). It is a phenomenon not only reserved for trips or semesters but one I frequently fall into any time I switch from being in any kind of a long trudge to nearing the end. Namely, if I know I can sleep in in the near future all bets are off.
Now I dont want it to sound like I have been counting the days my whole time here. It has actually really flown by. I wont say there werent times I wished I could just head home- but in all it has been a really amazing, fantastic expeirence that lead to many adventures, new friends, and a new perspective on life.

To finish off this blog I would like to do a top ten list of things I will miss about GUA:

10. The weird, broken, cobblestone streets that give the city an endearing personality
9. Cool ruins everywhere
8. Catastrophic adventures
7. Super cheap stuff at the mercado
6. Super cheap alcohol at the bars
5. Super cheap everything
4. The sense of joy when I manage to hold up a, albiet wobbly, coversation in espanol.
3. Having my meals prepared for me
2. Meeting new people all the time
1. The food

And my things I will NOT miss about GUA:

10. The weird broken cobblestone streets upon which I constantly trip
9. People trying to sell me stuff in the street
8. Catastrophic adventures
7. The spiders
6. The rain
5. The rain and the spiders
4. The sense of panic when I cant quite manage to hold wobbly conversations in Espanol
3. Having all my meals prepared for me
2. Having to tell my life story when I meet new people...ALL..THE...TIME.
1. The food

...needless to say, Guatemala and I have a rather complicated relationship.

Pastores: El Pueblo de sola botas

Yesterday a group of people from my school went to Pastores- a small town famous for only making boots. That´s right, everyone in the town makes boots. Main street is nothing but boot shop after boot shop. Mostly it is cowboy boots- which are not exactly my style- but a few of the places have adapted their styles to appeal to the non-cowwrangling portion of the world. And this is how I came to buy two pairs of boots.

We rode the chicken bus there. The chicken bus is the name for the general bus system around Guatemala. It is a massive fleet of former USA schoolbuses that have been overhauled to run on bigger motors that get them up the steep mountain passes, and also emit large noxious clouds of black deisle smoke (usually right at the moment I decide to cross behind one). Up until yesterday I had never had the oportunity, or the need, to ride on one. However it is Q3 to get to Pastores on one so we all jumped aboard for our first bumpy, hectic, to the tune of the blaring spanish radio, ride.

Five minutes later we hopped off in Pastores. As I said, it is one main street with nothing but boot shops. It was an odd sight. We decided to start on one end, wander up the street and then wander down on the opposite side. However, as fate would have it, the boots I bought happened to be from the first place we went into.

I was looking for something with a rounded toe, a flat sole, and a little style. Something that will keep my feet warm but still adorable on those cold rainy days in Sonoma. I saw one pair of boots that were closer to what I was invisioning. They had motorcycle boot-esqe detailing, and a nice rubber sole. I asked if he could make them in brown- and when they could be ready. After a little coaxing he said he could make them by Friday. However I said I still wanted to look around.

So we wandered from shop to shop- as I searched shelf after shelf of boots made of everything from cow hide (with the hair still on) to aligator, and in colors ranging from generic brown to brilliant sky blue. However there were none that came close to the style I was looking for. After reaching the end of town and looping back we ended up in the original shop.

I pulled down the pair of boots again, tried them on, and asked him (as best I could in my limited Spanish) about a half dozen or so tweaks I wanted. He said they were all possible. He measured my foot, I gave him the money ($50 for a custom made pair of boots...) and we made plans for me to pick them up on Friday. That would have been the end of it had my classmate Natalie not also been ordering a pair of boots.

As I waited for her I looked around the shop again and picked up a pair of beautiful fawn colored tall leather boots with a medium heel. I hadn´t tried them on previously because I was looking for a more practical boot- and the thin stilleto-esque heels on these would not do well to get me too and from class on a daily basis. However, they were gorgeous and I figured I might as well try them on.

My foot slid in without resistance, and the nearly 2´ long zipper pulled up with a smooth motion. I looked at them in the mirror and it was all over. I had to have them. I asked the guy how much. He said they were the same as the ones I ordered. At first I balked at the idea of spending $100 dollars on boots in one day. However then I thought about what they would cost in the states: knee-high, fawn leather, hand-made boots. Those would be at least $200 dollars. Right? Well that logic was undenyable and so I bought them. Two pairs of boots.

Hopefully when I go back on Friday I make it out with only the pair I already paid for.

Viaje de Semuc Champey: dia dos=el bueno día

*Note: I was planning on adding more pictures to this post but Blogger has decided it doesn´t want to cooperate and I am tired of fighting with it, and even more tired of sitting in this internet cafe so there will be some parts sadly devoid of photographic assistance.

So as I said at the end of my last post, we woke up the next morning, with the sun streaming through the many spaces between the boards that our walls were comprised of. We were pleased to be relativly unharmed by the insect population, however, after the horrific first day I was a bit stressed about how our day at Semuc Champey would go. We had booked a tour through our hotel- but what that entailed was questionable. We were told that it left at 10:30am so we got up, had breakfast and waited around to see if a shuttle would come, and where it would take us.

The night before, after we had headed (reluctantly) to crash out in our room, another guest had arrived- a Spaniard (is that PC?) named Miguel. We chatted as we waited for the shuttle and he told us how, upon entering his room for the first time, he found a large terrantuala on his bathroom wall. I felt extra lucky that I had not been bit the night before. Or that I hadn´t woken up with a terrantuala sitting on my face.

The shuttle finally arrived around 10:40 and we had to wait as all the people on board came into the hotstle to use the bathroom. Then we all boarded the shuttle and headed to Semuc.

We got into the park no problem, and started the hike. Those who had told me about Semuc failed to mention there was an hour long assent to a view point. Instead I had been told that I just needed shoes that could get wet. So I had bought a cheap pair of converse-like shoes. Good for water- not so good for hiking. However, I had no choice but to do it and so I scaled grueling, slippery staircase after grueling, slippery staircase. I had also only brought a sling style bag I had bought in the market here. Perfect for a chill day at the river. Not good for carrying a lot of weight up a mountain. Halfway through the hike I realized a second problem with the bag- the dye was running. My palms, and the line across my body where it hung were bright yellow.

Finally we reached the view point. It was just like the pictures I had seen online- turquoise pools set in a deep valley of green. I could see people swimming and couldn´t wait to get down and do the same.

So down we went, and reached the water a half hour later. First our guide lead us to the waterfall that leads into the pools, so we could take pictures with it. Then it was lunchtime. The lunch our hostile had given us had been smashed to oblivion. In Guatemala they don´t seem to belive in anything but super white bread. So the two slices of unsubstantial white bread had become soggy with the mystery sauce, and the shreaded iceberg lettuice (because good lettuice is also a rarity) were slimy and limp. I picked out the pieces of chicken and tossed the rest. Luckily I always bring snacks and so I had a cliff bar and some nuts to satiate me.

And then finally, it was time to swim. We were all confused as our guide directed us to not bring anything but our swimsuits. However, it soon became apparent why.

Semuc Champey is made up of a series of five limestone pools that the river water flows into. Each pool is a step below the one before and so our tour consisted of swimming through each and then jumping into the next until we reached the massive waterfall at the end.

The water was the perfect temperature. Cool enough to be refreshing in the hot, humid jungle weather, but not too cool. It was clear and calm. I floated along in each pool looking up at the blue sky, and the dense jungle foiliage that framed it. Small rivuletes of water spilled over the limestone wall from the pool before and so the tranquil caucauphony was the mingling sounds of trickling water, buzzing jungle insects, and birdsongs. I could have stayed in there for hours.

However we did not have hours. Eventually, after we made it to the fifth pool and back up again we had to head back to the shuttle- we had caves to explore.

We headed back, past the stunningly blue pools, past the thundering waterfall that leads back into the churning brown river, and through lush jungle trails. Jamil, Miguel and I somehow got back long before the rest of the crew. Besides us it was mostly familys and so there was a lot of picture taking and slow trudging. We just wanted to get to the next thing.

On the way back I had my bag on my lap. A days worth of sweat, wet towles and other moisture had made the enire thing damp- and the running dye had gotten worse. When I got out of the van my entire front and side were tinged with yellow- and a large yellow stain had appeared on the seat I sat on. Ooops.

By the time we reached the caves it had begun to rain. I put on my headlamp and pulled my wet, muddy fake converse back on- grimmacing as the sand inside rubbed against the blisters that were the inevitable consequence of hiking in new, cheap footwear. However, walking through caves in flip-flops seemed like a poor life choice so I cowgirled up and limped towards the caves.

Inside the caves was hot and humid. Massive textured ceilings dripped down into towering formations. There were formations with specific names- the skull, the eagle, the curtain, the elephant- because of their uncanny respemblance. There was a mayan alter- formerly used for human sacficice- that was tinged black from years of smoke from offerings of burning alcohol, oil and herbs.

The ground was incredibly slippery and Jamil and I struggled to stay upright. Finally, on the way back, I lost that battle and while standing still, adjusting my headlamp, my feet slid forward and I landed square on my bottom in what I can only assume is several centuries of guano mixed with mud. Yummy.

Tired and dirty we headed back to the hostile. This time it was full and so after a shower I hung out in the dining area with Jamil, Miguel, a woman named Sandy from Oregon we had met on the tour and a cool dog named Supe who I would have kidnapped and brought back to the states if I thought I could make it through customs.

At 10 or 11 Jamil had passed out in the hammock and I figured it was time to head to bed.

The second night was not so scary- perhaps because the day had gone so well, or because I had survived the night before. I tucked my sheet around me a little less tightly, and fell asleep much more quickly. It was yet to be seen if we would make it onto the shuttle the next morning- considering our luck it was still possible this trip could end disasteriously- but at that moment I was very happy we had come to Semuc Champey.

The next morning we left the hostile early, had breakfast at El Ritero, and after an anxious half hour or so managed to connect with our shuttle. When we made it back to Antigua, around 3 that afternoon I felt that we had finally, for the most part, had a successful trip.

Viaje de Semuc Champey: dia uno=el malo día

Another epic weekend trip. So epic in fact I will have to write about it in two posts. The positive news is that Semuc Champey is, in fact, amazing. Well worth the trials and tribulation. And belive me... there were trials... and tribula?..tribuli? Tribils? I guess it wouldn´t be a Molly and Jamil trip without some kind of crisis. So without much more ado- day 1.

Traditionally the shuttles for trips tend to hit the side of town Jamil and I live on first. So we had intended to snag some prime seats and sleep a lot on the shuttle. In preperation I had not slept a lot. I need to stop doing that. Instead of the shuttle hitting us first it failed at finding where we live, calling us at one point to say "we are waiting outside" which we knew they weren´t because we were waiting outside. By the time it finally reached us it was almost full- leaving us with the least prime seats. It was the begining of an awesome day.

I was grumpy, and just wanted to sleep. While I attempted a dozen different sleeping positions (involving the window which was a foot away from me, a lot of leaning and bracing, and my squishy airplane pillow) the people in the seat behind me talked rapidly and enthusiasically. I wanted to slap them all.

As we drove I alternated by attempting to sleep, and watching out of the window. Once we were out of Guatamala City (which is dirty, ugly and smells like filth and gasoline) the landscape quickly became rather breathtaking. We wound up green, lush, rolling hills and down into deep canyons. At one point, as I "lay" wedged against the window, the hot wind whipping against my face carried with it a familiar scent. I opened my eyes and was surprised to see-thrusting skyward out of the rich green underbrush of tangled vines and green feathered banana plants- bushy pine trees. It was an odd mix of tropical and coniferous- but the smell made me a little homesick for mountinous California.

After seven hours of driving we reached Lanquine, which is the next town over from Semuc Champey, and the home of the El Ritero lodge where many people had recomended we stay. Most of these people also insisted that reservations were not needed, in fact one person assured us that even if we tried to make them it was usually impossible to get through. However, Jamil and I do not have good luck with traveling. They had nothing available, and we did not know where else to stay. The shuttle driver took us back to the center of town where a guy who worked for the tour company tried to find us another place to stay. However, I suddenly found myself in a very unnerving situation. My Spanish is still fairly limited, especially in a stressful situation, and suddenly we were faced with someone, who I didn´t know or trust, who benifited by getting our money, trying to shuttle us off to some hotel far away from town that may or may not have rooms. Luckly there was one other english speaking couple- Australians- who spoke a little more Spanish than Jamil or I. They determined that there were only dorm type rooms available there and we all wanted to at least have a room we could lock our things in.

Another guy came up to us and said he had a hotel that did have rooms available. At first I thought he was also connected with the tour group and so we all jumped at the chance to get rooms. However, when he lead us up to a sketchy jeep and tossed the Aussies´packs inside I started to worry. I clutched my bags to me and climed in. Jamil mocked me for not puting anythign in the back but I was suddenly very nervous about where we were going and wanted everything close to me.

As we started up the hill towards Semuc Champey I contemplated what we might have gotten ourselves into. I imagined the driver takeing us to some remote road and robbing us- or worse. I contemplated what the most important thing I had on me was and then silently slipped the photocopy of my passport and drivers licence I had in my purse into the back of my underwear. Although it occured to me that in the worse case scenerio, that might not be a particularly good hiding place. Luckily, it did not come to that.

We pulled up to the Casa El Zapato, which was not near anything else. The campus consisted of several thatched roofed buildings, and the property was backed by the jungle. We were lead to our room- a very sparse room that housed two beds and a lightbulb. The room was "screened" but that term only applied to the window. The room itself was made of slats of wood, between which there were small spaces- none of which were screened. But what do I know? Maybe jungle bugs only like coming in windows or doors.

At this point the Aussies decided to bail, and I started to panic. We were alone and isolated, with a questionable room, and were at the mercy of what transportation, food and other resources could be provided by this hotel. Dinner, we were told, could only be a sandwich because the woman who usually cooks dinner had bailed early (the boss was out of town). However, it was almost five and the prospect of attempting to find something else was equally bleak as the prospect of staying. Well maybe a little more bleak. At least here we had beer.

And so we made the best of it. The 16-year-old who was working the front desk/bar/kitchen brought us some rounds of beers, I busted out the playing cards, and we taught the kid 21- or "ventiuno". As the night wore on we continued to sip on beers, snacked on some sad sandwiches, and I practiced my spanish with the 16-year-old while he practiced his english pick-up-lines on me. Sadly, "I like your smile" and "do you like my country?" were about all he had.

Finally we gave in to the inevitable and headed to bed. We pulled our beds away from the wall, and I tucked my sheet around me, leaving no opening for a rogue spider to wander into. We put in our ipods to drown out the corse buzz of the jungle insects, and, maybe more so, to pretend we were somewhere other than helpless in a poorly constructed room in the middle of the jungle.

Around 2am the roosters began to crow. And again at 4am. I know I slept at some point but it was strained. I woke up at 7am with a headache but also a sense of relief that it was daytime again and I had not been bitten by anything fatal.

Laberintos, ríos y cuevas

This post is going to be short and features pictures I snagged off the internet rather than took because I just spent the time I usually devote to blogging navigating the dark and twisted tunnels of the Antigua indoor mercado. The indoor market, which is in the center of the giant outdoor mercado, is a dimly lit maze of booths selling off brand clothes, poorly preserved foodstuff, and the occasional treasure hidden between. I was on a quest for some sort of Teva or Chako like sandal-since I left mine at home- to take with me to Semuc Champey tomorrow because Lisa, who is currently staying in my homestay, has been there and highly recomended not relying on flip-flops to make it through the cave tour without slipping off and floating downriver- never to be seen again. I, unfortunately, found no such thing. I did, however, find a pair of knock-off converse for Q25. That, for those of you who don't divide by 8 as quickly as I have learned to do, is just over 3 dollars. Score.

Anyway, tomorrow morning Jamil and I are heading to Sumuc Champey. It is another long trek to the more northeastern part of Guatemala. This time in a shuttle which may or may not be better than the bus. However I have heard it is absolutely amazing and not to be missed.

Evidently the big thing about Sumuc is the river with limestone pools. In all the pictures I have seen the water is a light turquoise- absolutely beautiful. Common activites include cave tours which take you into caves that have waist deep water in them, tubeing, and swimming. Hopefully it is sunny and I can get back to my freakishly tan state before I get back to California.

Since I am leaving at 8am tomorrow I will likely not post again until Sunday night or Monday. Lets hope this trip is not destined for catastrophe like our last two.

*Note- All pictures for this post are courtesy of the websites I stole them from, all of whom have no idea. I claim no ownership, but will still use them shamelessly. Also, I hope my pics of Samuc are equally awesome. We can play compare-and-contrast when I return.

Musica y Cafe

Today we went to the museums of Mayan Music and of Coffee which are both housed in a beautifully landscaped complex outside of Antigua. I immediately recognized the smell of coffee roasting. My first house in college was across the street from a coffee shop, Muddy Waters, which roasted their own coffee every morning. However at the time I didn`t know the smell and I just thought they burnt a lot of toast. Becuse that is what it smells like. Burnt toast. However it is also now very nostalgic for me and so as we walked into the museum, for a moment I was ninteen again and walking to school on a foggy Arcata morning. Sense memory is funny like that.

Anyway- my ability to repeat back to you what I learned is minimal as most of it was in Spanish. However, the main gist of it was that the Mayans had a lot of instruments made from everything from porcilin and wood, to tortise shells and jaws of deer. Here are some cool shots from the music museum. The coffee museum was more boring and was mostly short videos- which do not make for good pictures. However, it ended with a free cup of coffee so that was kind of awesome. And delicous. Plus, I think most of us know how coffee is made so I don`t feel like I am really leaving you in the dark or anything.

Un día en la vida

Because I know many of you are thinking as you read my blog "I am so tired of reading about Molly`s awesome adventures, misshaps, and self realizataions. All I really want to know is what she is doing every second of every day" I am conceeding and providing a breakdown of my average action-packed day in Antigua.

I wake up in my single bed, to a small beam of light streaming onto me from the "window" above the door. I put window in quotation marks because it is really just a hole cut in the wood with a swatch of green mesh streched across to let the air in and keep the bugs out. Also filtering through the green mesh are the distinctly tropical sounding birdsongs that pierce through the otherwise quiet twilight of 6:15am. The birdsongs remind me of those I would hear pouring over from the San Diego zoo when I would walk past on my way to working at the Old Globe Theatre. That is how I know they are tropical. They were in a zoo! After a few minutes of accepting my state of awakness I get up, grab a towel and walk across the two-foot walkway to my bathroom. As I mentioned previously my bathroom is a five by five makeshift "room" that encloses all the nessisary acutrements without the usual space between.

For my shower to be hot it needs to be at a trickle as most showers in Guatemala are heated not by a water heater but by an electric shower head. (I have heard stories of people being shocked. Not me...yet.) Thus my showers are brief and to the point.









After my quick shower I throw on clothes and trot into the main house for breakfast. Most mornings this involves eggs and toast or pancakes. There is often a spread of fresh fruit which I greatly welcome. Breakfast may be my favorite meal because it is consistant and almost always something I enjoy.


Post-breakfast I snag my bag out of my room and head to school. This involves a fifteen minute walk through the main portion of downtown Antigua.

My walk usually takes me past the central park,














under the arch














and past the La Merced church.

At 7:30 the city is bustling with families heading to work/school, my fellow students making similar treks to other schools throughout the city, and many street peddelers already in hot pursuit of a sale.

Class goes from 8am-10am, then a half hour break and more instruction from 10:30-noon.

At noon I usually do small errands or pop into an internet cafe to check my email before heading back to my homestay for lunch.

Lunch is at 1pm. In Guatemala lunch is the biggest meal of the day. It usually involves some kind of meat (carne, pollo, hot dogs...) a grain and maybe a vegtable. With the occasional exception much of what we are given is dissapointingly American. Spagetti, potato salad, pizza. This, however, does not mean it is not authentic. Guatemalen fair has appropriated some odd pieces of American cuisine. I just was expecting more tacos and less pasta.

After lunch it is another fifteen minute trek to school for the remaining three hours of class.












By this time it may have begun raining. If it has not it will by the time I leave school so I carry my large umbrella I purchased here after my other one was stolen(...or missplaced...but I am going with stolen).









After school I head to an internet cafe to write a blog entry, check email, chat with whoever is on line, and then head home for dinner.










Guatemala is on the far Eastern side of the time zone. Which means that while back home it stays light until 8 or 9 here it is already fairly dark by seven. I am saddened by this fact since between that and the constant rain I feel like I have been cheated out of a month of my summer.


Dinners are frequently odd. Rolls, a plate with blocks of cheese and bolognia, hot water for tea. Sometimes there is soup.

After dinner I usually end up studying for a bit and then passing out. Occasionally Jamil and I go somewhere for a drink or I meet up with some classmates.

My life here is jam packed with excitment.

Faltó el autobús, ahorrado el viaje

Perhaps it was the obvious lack of other people waiting at the bus stop, or the sad eyed old hispanic man who told us "nueve y media el autobus fin", or the fact that it was now 10:40 and we had yet to see what was supposed to be a 10 or 10:30 bus- but we all quickly came to the horrifying realization: we had missed our bus back to Antigua and there wasn´t another bus for 12 hours. Even worse- it was another night bus which meant 9 hours of cramped, strained, vain attempts at sleep as the crowded bus rumpled along the uneven roads. We knew the awfulness of the situation well as we had just done it less than 36 hours before on our way to Flores/Tekal.

With no other option than to accept our fate we purchased new tickets and wandered back out into the sticky hot morning. I followed my two travel companions through the hot pungent air of the market that filled the streets area several blocks from the bus station. I clutched my sole token of Americano- a cold can of redbull- as if it would somehow create an invisible barrier between me and the smell of rotting fruit, the cuts of meat hanging from makeshift racks covered with flies, the old woman who held a chicken from its feet large enough that its lifeless head brushed the ground, and the frustration of being stuck here for another twelve hours when I was tired, grubby and my ability to keep down solid food was still very questionable.

Our trip had started Friday night at 7:30 when Jamil, his two friends Chandni and Jessica, and I all boarded a taxi for Guatamala city. There we would get on our overnight bus which would get us to Flores around 7am and from there we would head to Tekal- a national park full of large Mayan ruins. As you may remember from my last post I had not been feeling well on Friday. However thanks to a puke and a nap I seemed to be on the upswing by the time we headed out. I had skipped dinner but was sipping on some orange juice with protien powder in the taxi thinking it would be a safe source of nutrients to get me through the night. However, as we stood in the crowded bus terminal I began to feel incredibly irritable and anxious. It was hot, there was no where to sit, a baby was crying, a man was tapping his keys on the bench and the bus kept honking its horn. I stood in line but we didn´t move forward. We just stood there. Baby crying. Man tapping. Bus honking. Hot. Unmoving. I felt weak and wanted nothing more than to sit down. I began to feel clamy and suddenly felt a familiar tightening in my jaw.

"I´ll be right back." I said and darted across the station to the bathroom. I guess orange juice was not so safe after all.

We boarded the bus and I once again was feeling much better. I decided I would just not eat anything again until we reached Flores. Jamil had made one request of me "just don´t puke on me". It was a reasonable request. I was determined to honor that request.

As it turned out nausea was not my problem. I felt just fine for the rest of the bus trip. However the seats were small and not made to sleep in. The foot rest was too far away for my short frame to comfortably utilize. I shifted frequently- trying to find a position that allowed me to drift off while cuddling up to my backpack because I was also afraid of someone snatching it away as I slept. I did manage some sleep but when the bus reached Flores we all stumbled off groggigly and stiff. We managed to rally and found a cheap hotel and a shuttle to take us to Tekal.

Tekal is a National park in North Easter Guatemala and is the site of some of the tallest Mayan ruins in Central America. Achiologists are still working to uncover many more ruins that lay burried under centuries of earth and flora.

It was raining when we arrived and so we bundled up, paid for a tour guide, and followed him into the dense green Jungle. Our guide was very knowledgeable, although we frequently found ourselves lost by his long winded diatribes about Mayan number systems and the work being done by Nasa to find more ruins. Regardlessly he lead us from plaza to plaza which held an increasing number of impressive and awe inspiring ruins.

At one point in the canopy above you could spot the small swinging bodies of spider monkeys. We also came across this guy rooting around in the dirt. Our guide warned us to not get too close though. Evidently he can take down a German Shepard.

We made our way throgh most of the ruins by 1pm, ate lunch and agreed that we were wet, tired and ready to go.

Back in Flores we napped and then headed out. Flores is a cute town on an island in the middle of lake Petén Itzá. It has a mellow island vibe, brightly painted buildings, and many resturants overlooking the western side of the lake where the sun sets. We found a place with a good happy hour and then later a resturant. However we were all exhasted from the bus trip and the Jungle trek and were in the hotel and asleep by 10:30pm.

Our bus the next day was at 10 or 10:30. There was some debate on this fact but we figured to be safe we should be at the place we had been told the bus picked up at 9:30. After breakfast we wandered the town a bit and then headed to the bus stop. I watched two young boys fish in the lake- with fishing line tied to small boards. They managed to pull in several small minows.

When there was no bus at 10 we all started to get a little anxious. Then it was 10:30 and still no bus. Jessica walked over to the bus office and was told the bus had already left. She called the travel agent we had booked our ticked through to find out how this was possible. It turns out the station we were at was not the station we were supposed to be at- even though it was the one we had been dropped off at. The right station was across the bridge in Santa Ana. We jumped in a Tuk tuk (small three wheeled taxicab) and headed to the station to sort things out. We had indeed missed our bus. The next bus wasn´t until 10pm.

And so there we were- 11am, in the densely hot, humid, putrid air of the Santa Ana market. But luckily we were all more or less on the same page. I thought about what would make this day enjoyable rather than miserable and I remembered the pool at the hotel where we had eaten breakfast. I had brought my swim suit with me and suddenly the idea of spending the afternoon, poolside, with a drink in hand made my muscles untense and my breathing even out. Jessica mentioned something about heading back over to Flores and I piped up with my idea. Everyone agreed.

And so we went back to Flores, and set up camp at a table poolside. I stripped down and got some much desired sun while Jessica and Jamil quizzed eachother with Spanish flip cards. Later we moved to a resturant where we could watch the sun set. All-in-all it was the most relaxing day I have had since I got to Guatemala. And it was all by accident.

The bus ride back was equally miserable. Strained sleep. Aching back, knee, hips. Jarring ride. We got back to Antigua just in time for breakfast and then I crashed out until lunch.

Serindipidiously if we had not missed that bus I may have sworn off any more trips. It seems that Jamil and I are fated to have catastrophe after catastrophe when we travel. However it all worked out and this comming weekend we are planning on heading to Sumuc Champay which is another long 7-9 hour trip each way. However I´ve heard it is amazing. Not to be missed. And, after all, how often am I in Guatemala?


Should you care to see many more pictures of the Tekal ruins you can see my facebook photo albums.