A few days on "the other side"

Remembering the words of my good friend Helga who has lived in some of Africa's many countries; she would have said what we had seen so far in the cool, colonial, historic Spanish areas of Guatemala was for "the sissies".  

Emerging from our overnite bus ride in Santa Elena and arriving in Flores; our chosen base for seeing Tikal felt like we were in a new country.   Our bare bones hotel did nothing to cheer our spirits as we waited in the warm, grey skied early morning air for our pre- arranged day trip to Tikal. 

Not a cappuccino maker insight.  Suddenly no one was wearing the beautiful traditional huipiles, woven belts and skirts...we were in the land of t-shirts and modern clothes, courtesy of Walmarts in the U.S. 

Luckily the five hours we spent in the beautiful jungle and majesty of the enormous Tikal ruins cured us of our overnite bus funk and we began to see the best of Peten department.Note* Departments in Guatemala are the equivalent of States or Provinces. 

The people, the tranquility, and frankly some great little restaurants along the islands waterfront and crisscrossing streets charmed us.  We also learned that Lake Peten Itza has no rivers running in or out and rises with the frequent rains for 50 years; and then slowly drains back to a low level.  Waterfront houses; businesses and transport all know their days are limited as the water is on the rise. 

Personally escorted to the shabby bus station after 2 nights in our barely adequate hotel; a near tragedy of a lost camera/passport recovered with the immediate assistance of yet another kind stranger and we left Rio Dulce for the remote Caribbean corner of Izabal department.

Two and a half hours of a covered high speed panga boat ride up the scenic Rio Dulce and we arrived at Livingston...the remote region of Garifuna culture unique to this area.   A sidenote- our boat was full to overflowing with travelers of all ages and from all countries.  Backpacks were stuffed in the bow and in an unusual display of safety concerns we were held at the dock until 5 passengers were asked to unload with their various gear.  The still crowded boat left the dock with all lifejackets hanging on the rack on the shore.

Livingston is a scenic place.   I had read that the local specialty was "tapado" a coconut/curry fish stew with plantain...so based on Trip Advisor, we dined at the highly rated but incredibly spartan waterfront restaurant ranked #1.  Not quite a foodies dream, but very tasty and very laid back! 

Day 2 here and rather than commit to a full day on a boat trip, we decided to get up early to see a Caribbean sunrise and walk the streets in the safety of daylight.


 Last evening while strolling through town after dinner, in one of my lesser moments of wisdom, I had let my desire for adventure overcome both my intuition and Gene's attempted warnings.  One of Livingston's many poor black men had lured us with the promise of a chance to hear authentic "punta" music in an area off the tourist streets.  Luckily it only cost us 30 quetzales and we were able to walk away to an area that felt safe.  It could have turned out much differently.  An ex-pat who observed part of our predicament explained it.  There are no jobs for most of the people who live here.  So this one man; obviously very poor, hungry and perhaps with addictions had made himself a job....being very friendly and having just the perfect tale of his family's music school...and I came along!

At about the closest to the sea beach table we've ever had we treated ourselves to fresh ceviche and the cuddly hugs of the owners new pup.

Tomorrow we start our long journey home; boat, bus, two flights and an equally cuddly dog waiting for our return.  May our good fortunes here take us safely home. We are ready!