"Tell him 'Beto' sent you..."

At Finca Tatin, I met a really cool guy from New York by the name of Rob, who told me about a tour he had done at Tikal that was incredible. The story was one of those similar to the email you get about having inherited the fortune of a far away prince, which you can redeem by simply replying with all of your personal banking information, to make the whole transaction easier. Too good to be true.

Basically, Rob had been to a hotel in Tikal and done a tour with the owner. For $35US, he stayed the night at the hotel, had two meals, and an afternoon and early morning tour of the park led by the owner "Ricardo". This sounded incredible. Once again, it couldn't be true. But Rob was a great guy, and I couldn't think of a single reason he would have made this all up, especially after he gave me the info on how to find the hotel. With his instructions in hand, and his last words of "Tell him 'Beto' sent you", I was off in search of the legendary "Ricardo".

I decided to take a second class bus from Rio Dulce to Flores, because it left earlier and was less expensive than the first class bus. In retrospect, this was somewhat of a mistake. I had taken chicken buses before in Guatemala, and was used to being squished together, but this trip brought things to another level. The bus was indeed a Greyhound-style one, rather than a schoolbus like chicken buses are, but it looked as if it had been a soldier caravan somewhere deep in Eastern Europe during the Second World War. All of the seats were full when I got on, so I spent the next four hours standing in a small aisle. But the icing on the cake was when I looked down at the woman sitting next to me, and saw that she had a live rooster in a black grocery bag. The picture came out blurry, because I felt it would be rude to so obviously take said picture too obviously. This was the rooster.


I got into Flores, the main overnight stay for people heading to Tikal, and stayed at an incredible hostel called Los Amigos, where I prepared my plan of attack to find Ricardo and tell him that Beto had sent me. The next morning I set off and found the hotel I had been told about. When I finally found Ricardo, the deal was indeed too good to be true. I had arrived on August 1st, beginning of the high season and the first day of new higher rates for stays and the tour. First fail. Also, I was only one person, which costed more than if I had a second person staying in a double room with me. Second fail. However, the only saving grace was that Ricardo said that, because I was sent on a recommendation from Rob, that he would honor the previous month's rates, $70US for one person, or $55US each for two. I tracked down the nice older German woman that I had taken a bus with on the way to the park, and tried to convince her to do the tour with me, which would have saved me $15. Either due to the fact that she was a little strange, or maybe just because I came off a little bit desperate to get her to join in on the deal with me (maybe a little Pat Therrien / Quagmire-ish...), I was unsuccessful. At the end of the day, I had been so stoked on Rob's description of Ricardo's tour that I caved in, and decided to brake my budget by splurging. I would not be dissapointed...



We headed out shortly after 4:30pm into the park, led by our trusted guide Ricardo. He was very knowledgeable about the park, having worked there for a good part of his life, and was also extremely honest about what he did and didn't know (the latter of which wasn't much). He was also really good about playing devil's advocate with what we currently know about Tikal and its people, pointing out that just because the Mayans didn't carve pictures of themselves using the wheel, it doesn't mean they never did, especially since we have proof that they used the wheel for children's play toys. What would have just looked like a pile of rocks, had I done the tour on my own, quickly became awe-inspiring when the history behind them was revealed.






We made our way through the park, with our guide explaining things along the way, and having missed the main afternoon crowds, we had the whole place to ourselves. My recollection of what he told us is pretty fuzzy, and not even my pictures can do this place justice, but rest assured that it is an amazing experience to say the least.




As the sun set and the park became eerily quiet, we took out our headlamps and made our way to the center of the park, where the tallest of the structures stands imposingly overhead. Ricardo demonstrated how sophisticated the Mayans were with the plaza's acoustics, allowing a leader to essentially be unseen and cast his voice to thousands of listeners below, pretty much sending "a message from the gods". Slowly but surely, the stars came out, and surprisingly enough, the jungle fell quiet. Sitting there, watching shooting stars fly overhead, I had one of those moments on the trip where I realize where I am and what I am doing, and a big smile crept across my face...


The next morning, I was up at 4am with a few others for the early morning tour. The park only officially opens at 7am, but with a little paper-backed extra incentive, the guards are known to let people into the park early with their guides. Unfortunately, there had been random park supervisor checks that week, so rather than risk a suspension of his tour license, Ricardo had one of the park rangers bring us from the hotel into the park. Luckily enough, due to some confusion that occurred when we ran into another guide and his clients, we managed to get in without any additional expenses incurred, and we soon sat on top of the highest structure that you are allowed to climb in the park.


I have seen some incredible sunrises before, but this one took the cake. Seemingly with the entire park to ourselves, the sun slowly colored up the morning sky in front of us, braking through the thick jungle-encompassing mist. From the trees in the distance we could hear the jungle awakening. Howler monkeys howled, toucans toucanned, and parrots made whatever noise parrots make. Soon enough the sun was melting away the morning mist, revealing the trees one by one. Eventually, the peak of the first ruin broke through the fog, then the next, and the next, until two hours later, when the jungle had gone from dark and shrouded in mist, to crystal clear in all of its splendor. With a perfect view for about 5 minutes, fog suddently started rolling back in over the trees, and when the next set of tourists made their way to where we were, we could only smile and restrain from telling them what they had missed only a few minutes earlier. It was as if the jungle had put on a special show, just for us.







The rest of the morning we spent trekking through the park, having rejoined our guide Ricardo, but the best has already been had. Between shooting stars in the jungle night sky, and thousand-year-old ruins emerging from the morning mist, I had already seen everything I had to from Tikal. Nonetheless, we sought out some of the smaller structures, and then made our way to one of the tallest, with a set of stairs that felt more like a ladder, and which could have given out at any second.








At the end of the day I made my way back to the hotel, and after a cold shower and a pre-noon beer, boarded the shuttle back to Flores and my hostel. I spent the rest of the afternoon taking in the small town's sights and arranging details for my trip to Belize, but in the back of my head all that I could think of was the wild goose chase that Rob had sent me on. Although the price tag I ended up paying wasn't quite what I had hoped, it was worth every penny in the end. If you're every in Tikal, go find Ricardo at the Hotel Tikal Inn, and tell him that Derek sent you...

Living Good in Livingston.

After some serious backpacking, I decided that I was in need of some R&R, Carribean style, so I jumped on a few buses and made my way from Xela to Puerto Barrios, where I then grabbed a lancha to the town of Livingston. Just as my guide had described it, Livingston does not feel like Guatemala. Inhabited primarily by the Garifuna people, it's more like what I would think Jamaica to be like, especially since everyone either speaks English or Creole. After a few last-minute plan changes, I called up Finca Tatin from Puerto Barrios right before I got onto my boat, and they told me they would meet to pick me up in Livingston. Sure enough, as soon as I got to the docks I was met by the friendly owner, who water taxied me to the hotel 20 minutes away. Even during the short trip, I was immediately struck by how different this place was. Pelicans glided overhead looking for the next meal, while others chilled out in the trees, looking sun-drunk as ever. Men in dugout canoes fished by hand, while others paddled home from work down the river. I already knew I had found the right place.




Finca Tatin is the closest thing to a hidden jungle paradise that I can think of. Twenty minutes away from Livingston by boat, the only other way to get there is to hike for four hours through the jungle, so it is pretty remote even though there are other houses along and across the waterway from it. I was met at the dock by Wade, whose unofficial title would have to be General Manager. I had done some research on this place, and immediately recognized him from a picture on his blog about working there - the long beard and full sleeve tattoos were hard to miss. I was quickly shown the ropes, and my appreciation for the place skyrocketed. Dorm rooms were inexpensive, clean, and included mosquito nets. The whole hotel works on the honor system - when you eat a meal or take a drink from the fridge, you mark it down in a little book and they tally up your expenses at the end. There is a dartboard, hammocks, and the path through the back leads through the jungle to the showers and washrooms. Lights go off at 10pm because that's when the generator goes off. But hey, you're in the jungle, so its not like you would be missing much anyways. Dinner is family-style, with a simple "yes I am eating" or "no thank you" option in terms of a menu. That didn'ts matter either, because the food was exceptional every night. And best of all, just because of the location and concept of the place, everyone I met was a similar minded traveller, laid back and just looking to chill all day with no worries and no schedule. Big win.




I quickly met a group of travellers my age and jumped into the group, eventually consisting of Yuka, Darshan, John, Leeah and I, and we spent the next three days doing nothing, which was the whole point of being at Finca Tatin in the first place. The daily schedule pretty much became structured as follows: wake up, realize you are in the jungle, smile about the fact that you are in the jungle, wait for others to wake up, eat breakfast, swim, read, hang out, eat lunch, play cards, swim, use the term "chill patrol" multiple times, throw darts, play cards, eat dinner, drink beer, play cards, go to bed, listen to the bugs/birds/animals light up the night with sound, lights out. Repeat. The most strenuous activity that I did in three days was kayaking, which I did for about an hour. Life doesn't get much better than that...






After three days of rest and relaxation, we all decided to head over to Livingston for a day to see the sights, eat Creole food, and maybe find a bar. Although this seemed like a large undertaking at the time, seeing as how it would involve more than swinging in a hammock and dangling from a dock, we managed to get ourselves together, albeit not without Jon mentioning several times that he was not ready to reintroduce himself to a non-jungle-haven environment. Livingston itself is cool, but not all that pretty. It sits on the Carribean but doesn't have any beaches, just grass meeting the water, and lots of trash. Worse than the trash was the fact that as soon as you get off the boat you are met by a seemingly nice local who wants to show you around a few places. How nice of him to do such a thing for us, even after we informed him we were good and didn't need any help since we knew where we were going. I knew there would be a catch, and was just waiting for him to ask for some money, although Jon seems to place more faith in humanity and thought he was just being friendly. Sure enough, after he led us to the restaurant he sat outside and waited for us to come out so that we could "tip" him. Luckily for us, the restaurant owner was a talker, and two hours later he gave up on us and went off in search of other unsuspecting tourists.



This was the restaurant that we ended up eating lunch, dinner, and breakfast at during our stay in Livingston. Tilingo Lingo is relatively inconspicuous, and would have been a normal culinary experience if not for the lovely owner Maria. Having lived in Mexico, India, and Guatemala, she had many stories to tell us, a mean Mexican lemonade for us to drink, and a great traditional tapado fish soup which I inhaled. By the time we had left, we had heard some pretty interesting stories, including how Maria's childhood dream of being a detective led her to be involved in the successful capture of a fugitive who appeared on America's Most Wanted and was hiding out in Livingston. True story, once I actually look up the details I will post a follow up on it. We also heard some other stories about how her detective ambitions have gotten her into some trouble with the kind of people you don't want to be in trouble with, and in all seriousness I won't even get into details here because we were told that anything we heard past a certain point we couldn't repeat. I felt like I was in a Mission Impossible movie, before Tom Cruise went crazy and became the celebrity icon behind a cult-religion.




The next morning, the rest of the crew had to head out to Antigua, while I would be going north to Flores, so we decided that a bar hop through Livingston was in order (although one end of the city to the other takes about a 5 minute walk). Unfortunately the rain dampened our attempt at the third stop, but not before we had enjoyed some good times and good company at the hotel, the restaurant on the pier, and back at Maria's. With an early morning for all of us ahead, we took in a few last drinks and headed back to the hotel shortly after midnight, unable to find an ice cream parlor still open at that hour. Quite a shame actually. In the end, Livingston provided the R&R that I was looking for after a week of craziness and several days of trudging through the mountains with a giant backpack on. More importantly, I had my first encounter with meeting random people in random places, and quickly feeling like you had known them for much longer. The same would happen later in Belize, and undoubtly will again in the future, but when incredible places combine with awesome people, the outcome is unlike any other. I guess that it's just one small piece of the puzzle towards that seach for pura vida.

Nebaj to Todos Santos, Sherpa Styles.

So it has been nearly four weeks since I have last updated my blog, due mainly to a crazy schedule and the fact that internet is too expensive in Belize. Nonetheless, I am now in Mexico, where my goal is to eat tacos at least once a day for every day that I am in the country, and back on the blogging bandwagon (more on my taco goal in the next few weeks - I think I will start taking pictures of every taco meal I consume from now on...).

After four weeks of spanish school, I decided to add to my cultural intake, while also getting some exercise, by taking part in a five-day trek through the mountain of western Guatemala. I wasn't really sure what I was getting myself into, but I figured that if I could climb Santa Maria then I could hold out for four days of similar hiking. The tour is offered by Quetzaltrekkers, a non-profit based out of Xela that supports several local children's causes. All of the guides are volunteers, which makes for a team composed of people of different backgrounds and from around the world which is pretty neat.

We met the afternoon before leaving to brief on the hike, and receive "group gear". I figured that I would be able to pack pretty light on this hike, just wearing the same stinky clothes every day to go along with my untamed semi-mane of a beard. Plus, I knew that we would be sleeping inside every night, so we wouldn't have to carry tents and stuff. Little did I know... One poncho, sleeping mat, sleeping bag, huge bag of pasta, bag of tomatoes and cucumbers, and various other warm clothes later, my bag was bulging to the seams. And to make things even better, I was chosen at random to be the guy that carries the bag with everything you need to poo on a mountain. Toilet paper, hand rake, hand sanitizer. From that point on, I was dubbed "Captain Shit Kit". Perfection.

The next morning we met at 7am and were served a hearty breakfast of wonderful banana pancakes. Little did we know that this was a morale booster, which we would soon be needing. In terms of logistics, the hike itself would cover nearly 60km, boiling down to just over 10km a day, which wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't nearly straight up and down rocky mountains. Five hours later, after taking a chicken bus and microbus to our destination, we reached the starting point of Nebaj, where we would stay at a hostel which supports a local mayan special needs school. With an early morning ahead, and four days of hiking, we called it an early evening and began mentally preparing for what lay ahead.

Within five minutes of the start of our hike, I was out of breath. The altitude really gets to you, and I had never hiked with such a heavy pack before. Luckily, things slowly got easier, and I put my brain into automatic and told my burning muscles to quite their whining. Immediately, I knew we were in for several days of beautiful views. From the top of the first ascent we could see all of Nebaj sitting below us, speckled across the lust mountainside. The clouds rolled in and out, and for the first of what would be many times in the next few days, I felt as if I were on top of the world.




On the way down the first mountain, the small town of Acul came into view. This town was particularly interesting because of its historical background during the Guatemalan civil war. Essentially, the guerillas were highly conentrated in the mountains around these areas, which led to the army also having a strong presence here. In either case, the locals ended up with the short end of the stick. If they didn't help out or harbor guerillas they faced death, and if they did, the army would come in and torture anyone they thought was siding with the guerillas. During the civil war, the whole town of Acul was essentially burnt to the ground. People were herded into a group, which was split into two and sent to different buildings, with one group ultimately being forced at gunpoint to stomp the other group to death. People were lynched and burned to death while tied to the main tree at the center of the town, and when everything was said and done, the only thing left in Acul was the church, which still stands to this day. Acul has now been totally rebuilt, under a government program which funds "model town" - essentially trying to show that the country has made progress from the war and is now healing wounds. You might have to ask some of the locals that are slowly making their way back into town after hiding in the mountains for year how healed their wounds are though...


After a pretty grim history talk, there was only one thing that could get people's spirits back up and ready for the next ascent - cheese. We stopped at a local cheese farm, which had no signs or mention anywhere of being such, and picked up some cheese for lunch. This stuff might have been the best cheese I have ever tasted, and if we weren't strictly rationed, I probably could have eaten the whole wheel to myself. But then I would have puked. Probably not a good tradeoff. We braked for lunch by a river, heavily reminiscent of my younger days hiking in Switzerland with the Ruetz's, and dined on sandwiches that, on any other day, would have sent me looking for something else - refried beans, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. But on this day, I ate two, and that was only because there was no more bread left for a third.

This cow may have made the cheese I ate. Yum.

After lunch we made the last stretch of the day to the town where we would be staying in for the night. As we had been told, the rain in the mountains is like clockwork, coming down heavily every afternoon around 2:30pm, or 2:00pm if the big guy was feeling sneaky. Sure enough, at 2:30pm, about 15 minutes from our destination, the clouds opened up and the rain came down. Luckily we hustled to get ponchos on, and slid the remainder of the way to the empty schoolhouse where we would be sleeping. We ate with a local family, a tasty meal of rice and beans with the mountainer's favorite "coffee tea" (imagine coffee so watered down that it tastes like tea), and were treated to a warm temescal, a traditional Mayan steam sauna, before calling it a night.

The next morning was pretty brutal, as we woke up sore from the first full day of hiking, and at 3:30am to boot. We had to be up early in order to get up the first ascent before sunrise, so we could see it from the top of the peak. Luckily it was dark, so by headlamp it was hard to see how many switchbacks we had to take in order to get all the way to the top - although one of the guides took pleasure in informing me that it was somewhere around 85... Once again, the brain went into automatic and we were at the top before long. The view from the top was worth it, and although it was somewhat cloudy, it was still beautiful. We stopped for breakfast, which was aptly called "mush" by the guides. Essentially it consists of the following: get a plate and scoop some dry oatmeal onto it. Then, pour boiling water on top and mix it up. Next, sprinkle granola all over it. To finish, add a huge dollop of peanut butter, another of jelly, and stir it all up. Looks disgusting, tastes wonderful (sort of).





After breakfast we hiked on, and eventually reached one of the coolest parts of the trek itself, the Altiplano. Essentially, its a huge plateau running across the top of the mountain, inaccessible by car or truck, and inhabited by several small villages of local people. The plateau is peppered with huge limestone boulders that originated from the seafloor, through means by which I can't remember, but think involve Poseidon or something. Again, we stopped to take in the tremendous view, and snag a few facebook-worthy profile pictures, including "Derek Triumphantly Overlooks the World", and "Derek Ponders the Meaning of Life".






Making our way down from the Altiplano, the town which we would be staying in came into view, and we could make out the beautiful geometric structure of the plots below. I actually learned what this agricultural division style is called in highschool, but can no longer remember. Once again, we slept on the floor of a local schoolhouse, but were lucky enough to get the one with a real floor and door that closes, instead of the one with no door and a bumpy dirt floor. As for the toilet facilities, let's just say that I never want to see a pit toilet again. Ever.



The next morning we started with a treacherous descent down slippery slopes, before arriving at an ice cold set of beautiful waterfalls. We hung out for awhile, but soon began what would be, unbeknownst to us, the most horrible part of the four day excursion. What we were told would be a 30 minute trek up from the bottom of the valley turned out to be an hour and a half of muddy hell. Water and muck up to your ankles, and knees in some parts, soaked everyone's boots. Most were lucky not to get stuck in the mud and eaten by local grazing donkeys. The worst part was that the mud and water mixed with the equestrian feces to create a wonderfully stinky mixture of mud-water-feces, covering our boots and clothes. Rob, if you are reading this, there was ZERO feces.




After finally having conquered the muddy hell, albeit almost losing a guide who got stuck waist deep in a sinkhole and had to be pulled out, no joke, we made it to the second Altiplano, where we got the mind-numbingly walk for hours of end. Brain off, muscles on. Long story short, we made it into to district of Todos Santos, although not the town itself which we would reach the next day, and once again stayed with a local family that made us a wonderful dinner and let us use the temescal to clean up in.




The final day of trekking, after breakfast, we were led by one of the sons of the man whose house we stayed in across the last leg of the hike. We ascented to La Torre, which is the highest non-volcanic peak in Guatemala, where we stopped for a second breakfast. By noon, we had spent more time eating than hiking, and I was a happy camper (pun intended). A few more facebook profile pictures later, and we were off down the mountain to the road which was lead us to the promised land of Todos Santos. As we began our descent, the mist started rolling in, making for a pretty surreal experience, and some incredible views.





By late afternoon, after grabbing a local bus down the last leg of highway, we had reached Todos Santos. The town is famous for the fact that the locals still wear traditional garb, and unlike many other indigenous communities in Guatemala, most of the men do as well. They have really cool hats, awesome denim jackets with traditional embroidery, and great red striped pants. I tried to buy some, but only found a jacket that fit, and ultimately decided that not even I, the guy that owns purple shorts with Jimi Hendrix on them, could pull it off back home. Unfortunately, I didn't take many pictures in the town, because the locals are pretty uptight about it. There was an incident awhile back involving a Japanese tourist that died after being attacked by a mob of people that thought he was trying to abduct a child after they found him taking pictures. Accounts differ as to whether he had picked the child up or not, but after four days of hiking I wasn't interested in finding out what it would take to get a mob of guys in denim jackets running after me, especially since most of them carry machetes for work. We chilled out in the town, looked around, and had dinner at the local spanish school were we slept. The next morning we hopped on a bus back to Xela, and just like that, after being treated to a chocolate-covered frozen banana, the trek was over.


Although there were parts of the trek where I wanted to throw myself off one of the ledges we were walking past, it will definitely be a treasured memory of my trip. We had the amazing opportunity to see local villages that may only be visited by a handful of foreigners every year, simply based on the fact that there would be no reason for anyone to go there - in the mountains in the middle of nowhere, with no tiendas in sight, let alone hotels. I felt like a tourist attraction myself in some of these places, because it was as if the kids there had never seen white people. It was actually pretty cool. Without getting all deep and introspective, and was really just quite amazing to see these villages scattered through the mountains of Guatemala, especially given the incredible history and suffering that their people have been through due to the civil war. Taken that into consideration, it was amazing to see the hospitality and warmth of many of the communities, especially towards such obvious outsiders. Overall, it was a great experience, and while I don't plan on strapping on my backpack in a similar manner for awhile now (unless I convince Dad to come out for a seven day trek to El Mirador...), it was without a doubt worth it.