Thursday, June 14, 2007

Onward to Tikal

We finally made it out of Guatemala City and headed north up to Coban. Chris told you all about the amazing pools at Semuc Champey on his blog.

He did not; however, tell you about my injury. I had managed to hike up the mountain to the overlook, even though I was up most of the night sick, wearing a skirt, and felt like passing out half the time. (I swear, I really was sick. It’s not just because I’m pathetically out of shape.) I also managed to walk along the slippery rocks without hurting myself. When it came to climbing slippery ladders through dark caves, I wisely passed, as Chris and I had not brought our first aid kit and (as you may know) I am a complete klutz. Our guide took us to a lovely spot on the river to wait for the people in our tour who did the cave thing. There, Chris enjoyed himself on the rope swing (see pic). I wisely passed on that also. Then I spotted a really cool looking bird. I walked over with my camera to take a picture and BAM, fell right on my ass, hard. I had gravel imprints on my butt for like two days. It hurt so bad, I wasn’t even embarrassed about falling on my ass and having to hold a cold bottle of coke to my nalga (that’s butt cheek in Spanish) for twenty minutes.

The next day Chris and I had a seven hour bus trip to Tikal. That’s seven hours on a chicken bus with a big, swollen nalga. Luckily, there were many sites along the way that distracted me from the throbbing pain in my ass. (No, I’m not talking about Chris.) I saw six houses in Guatemala’s version of a gated community. The unique part? There was a gate, but no walls attached to it. One of my favorites was a naked baby sitting in a tub by the side of the road, having the time of his life. not another person nearby. We also got to cross a gorgeous river on our amphibious chicken bus. Actually, we were on a rickety barge that managed, by some miracle, not to sink from our weight.

Finally, we reached Flores, a very cute little town on an island, in the middle of a lake, not far from the ruins of Tikal. Upon arrival, we were followed around by a very creepy cab driver who kept trying to tell us that if we didn’t make our Tikal reservations with him, we wouldn’t be able to go the next day. He also told us the hotel we were going to was going to be booked and that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. O.k., I made up that last part, but you get the picture. He was a big liar. Luckily, the woman at our hotel was fabulous. We had a nice meal, made our reservation for Tikal through her, and passed out (me trying not to sleep on my still-sore nalga).

The next day we hit Tikal, the reason for this several day journey. I’ll let Chris post the pictures of the ruins. Although they are impressive, the really cool thing about Tikal is the setting. It is in the middle of the jungle and the place is crawling with monkeys. Normally, monkeys don’t come anywhere near close enough to take halfway decent photos without a really good telephoto lens. Luckily, Chris and I found the Jim Carrey of monkeys. The minute he saw us, he dropped down a few feet and started showing off. He was still kind of high up and backlit, so the photos are a bit fuzzy, but here’s one of my favorites. In Guatemala, when something is cute, they say “que mono” - which also means, what a monkey.

After Tikal, we decided to skip twenty more hours on a bus and take a flight back to Guate. That way we could get back to Xela the same day and start packing for our journey home. More on that next post.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Hot Showers, Cold Receptions, and Tall Tales

I’ve been slacking again. Chris and I are back in the states, but first I’m going to catch you up on our last few weeks in Guatemala.

The picture is of the super-fabulous showerhead at our ridiculously extravagant hotel room in Guatemala City (where we needed to stop before we went on to Coban and Flores.) I post it so that you can compare it to the deathtrap in our apartment from my earlier post. Prior to going to Guatemala, we suffered through weeks of little or no water. On the rare occasion that we did get a trickle out of the showerhead, it was almost certainly not hot. Also, Chris was getting zapped whenever his hand got too close. Needless to say, we were not enjoying the water situation. When we went to Guate, we decided to do it up. We stayed at the Westin.

After we sterilized ourselves in the Westin shower, we went out for an overpriced meal at a nearby Mexican restaurant in Zona 10. On the way, we ran into a guy who told us (in English) that one of the nearby taquerias was better than the other. You don't run into many English speaking black guys in Guatemala, so I figured he was a tourist like me. I smiled, said thanks, and moved on. On our way back to the hotel, he approached us again. Turns out he is a Garifuna from Livingston, Guatemala. He once lived in the U.S. At first, he lived in San Francisco. He described in amazement the train in San Francisco that goes underneath the bay. “Its name was Bart,” he said. He also lived in Phili for a while, until some guy at Home Depot (where he worked) turned him in to immigration. He has been trying to get back to the U.S. ever since. The last time he tried, he made it to Tucson and was picked up by the border patrol. He waited in a federal prison for a month and then was deported to Guatemala City. After a time, he was released from Guatemala City jail, but he had no money and no way to get home. Livingston is a hefty trip from Guatemala City. He had just been released that morning.

Any of you who know me are aware that I am pretty skeptical, but I believed this guy's story. Maybe it was the fact that I was on my way back to a down-covered bed in a $150 a night hotel room (in Guatemala mind you) or on my way from a $65 dinner at a snooty L.A.ish restaurant, but we gave him enough money to chicken bus it back to Livingston. Someday, we’ll go to Livingston and see if Carlos ever made it back.

Carlos said that Guatemalans are incredibly racist. In his opinion, way more racist than estadounidenses (that’s us). I cannot confirm or deny, but I can attest to the fact that anyone who deigned to look at Carlos did not look kindly. I can also confirm that Chris and I got some very snooty looks in Guatemala City. These were not anti-gringo looks. They were “should I be giving a room to these people” looks or “are those people appropriately dressed for our snooty L.A. wannabe restaurant” looks.

Guatemala City is like L.A., but with even worse traffic. Avoid it. But if you must go, I highly recommend the bed at the Westin. It was the best sleep I’d gotten in about two months.