Gorgeous Guatemala

A very civilized border crossing with the help of a young guy who probably wasn’t really necessary but who, by taking me from one counter to the next reduced the need for me to ask the obvious questions. My first destination was Tikal, only a short distance into Guatemala. A brief stop at a tiny roadside tienda for some eggs and some (very limited) vegetables took the locals by surprise but at least I had the makings of a meal for tonight if nothing else eventuated. The drive to Tikal took me around the edge of Lago de Petén and into impressive forests until, at the entrance to the ruins I found a very pleasant campground with the usual dysfunctional toilets and showers - but the location, on the edge of the ruins was perfect. Ocellated turkeys and various furry things scurried around the campsite.

Crap! What’s that?! Oh - the alarm. The what??? Yes - the alarm! What the...! Last time I heard one of those was in a fading nightmare called “work”. But sure enough, it’s 4 am and I’m scheduled to visit the Tikal pyramids for sunrise. The fact that its raining is not encouraging and I’m tempted to roll over, but I have a guide organised, so a quick coffee and I’m off through the forests at a brisk pace in order to climb temple IV as the sun battles with storm clouds on the eastern horizon. It’s fair to say that the sun lost, but it put up a valiant battle and cast intermittent swards of light across the landscape as we gazed over the remarkable ruins of Tikal - temples towering above the jungle, with toucans sweeping from tree to tree and the roar of howler monkeys providing the soundscape. OK, so that’s not a bad reason to be woken up by an alarm! 

Sunrise over Tikal

An aracari - you guessed it, one of the toucan family

The rest of the morning was spent exploring the remarkable remnants of this once great civilisation, and in the evening a walk through some more remote forest trails revealed lots of new birds. And then the clouds burst again, forcing me to retreat into some nearby ruins, fortunately with smoke-lined tunnels that enabled me to get in from the rain - shelter that I shared with bats and swallows as the light faded. A little later, he jabbering of spider monkeys heralded the end of the downpour, enabling me to make my way back to camp as darkness fell.

From Tikal, another relatively short drive took me to the little town of Flores nestled on a very pretty little island that floats off the shore of Lago (Lake) Petén Itzá. Half an hour would be sufficient to walk around it, but the numerous colorful cafes and restaurants are quiet enticing, so it ends up taking more like 2 hours. The consequence of this was that I was on the road to my next intended destination a little later than intended, and the roads, the ferry crossings and the gorgeous countryside not to mention (again) the dreaded topes, which have now changed their name to “tumulos” (but retain their impact on suspension) are not conducive to rushing.

As you head south from the lake, the flat lands start to undulate and the amount of vegetative cover increases (although all of it is second growth) until a row of limestone mountains looms ahead like a barrier. The dark cluds are building overhead, but the low evening sun sneaks through every now and then, lighting up a landscape of scattered fields and scattered villages. The houses here are simple, but charming (to someone who doesn’t have to live in them) - wooden slat walls with thatch roofs. In the sultry evening everyone is out on the streets. The women are all dressed in long, patterned, pleated skirts with a light, filamentous shawl over tops that seem not much more than lingerie -  very practical given the humid conditions. The older men wear their cowboy hats and the young guys - yep - you guessed it - all wear baseball caps.

The sun is starting to drop by now and it is clear that I’m nowhere near where I intended to be by the end of today, so I’ve  pulled down a gravel side road with a sign for a “Balnerio” or water park to find a beautiful little glade tucked in among the jungle-clad limestone ridges alongside a stream that emerged from a cave. The caretaker has told me that I can camp for the night - altho his price (by local standards) is ridiculous) but given the hour I’m not going to argue - and it is very nice. A pre-dinner swim and fire-flies yet again ended a very pleasant day. 

A beautiful day’s drive took me through the limestone ranges, although their attire of rainforest was severely fraying around the edges as farmers made incursions into ever more questionable farming land - planting crops on steep slopes that presumably are going to wash away with the first major downpour. I assume they hope that they can get a crop off before this happens. 

My route didn’t go quite as planned as my questioning about the way to Coban didn’t take into account the possibility that there were two routes - consequently my GPS showed me traveling across country where there was no road when in fact the one that I was on was obviously real and, in fact, was very good. The prohibitive price of gas for the locals also meant that there was not much traffic on the road apart from a few trucks and a regular but light stream of mini-buses which, reassuringly, all had Coban,as one of the two town names between which they plied their trade, on the front. 

Covered fern plantations - unfortunately they clear forest to grow them.

Consequently I missed out on my intended destination of Lanquin and found myself coming into the higgledy-piggledy ridge-top town on Coban via the backdoor. Obviously main roads didn’t exist when the town was built so, while various major roads lead into the town they then get redirected in various directions with no signs indicating how to get out, so you meander through ever-narrowing lanes, reversing out of unsigned one way streets until, after numerous preguntas (questions) you finally pop out the other side on what seems to be the correct road. Another hour or so’s driving brought me through a steep sided valley to the Quetzal Biotope. You have to like a country that names its currency after its iconic bird. Imagine calling the Australian currency the Kookaburra - hmmm...that could work! 

After spending the first day wondering around the higher forest ridges in an unsuccessful search for quetzals, I heard that the best place to see them was in the garden of an adjoining little guest house, so I moved in there and, sure enough, over the next two morning got some great sightings, their colors flashing blue and green as they displayed in the morning sun.

Lousy picture but it is a quetzal!

After a "pankake" breakfast I hit the road, this time heading towards Huehuetanango. For the first couple of hours, the road was terrible and I ground slowly up hill and down dale, through steep sided valleys where excessive clearing on precarious mountainsides had resulted in many landslips and in one place, a massive landslide which, judging by the shrine with many names on in, must have taken a bus or a village with it. A massive afternoon downpour made driving impossible for an hour or so, but after waiting for it to pass, I made my way up a side road to the town of Nabaj - a medium sized town set in the mountains. A local balnario (water park) provided my accommodation for the night where I parked on the basketball court, adjacent to the paddling pools. People are incredibly helpful and accommodating and don’t seem to think anything of some crazy gringo rocking up and wanting a place to spend the night in his crazy car with a boat on the roof!

I'm guessing that the wet season may have arrived!

After breakfast and coffee by the swimming pools, I cycled into the centre of town where the markets were already in full swing. Navigated my way through the seething throngs of good-natured market goers. It’s easy to get a smile here and generally people are happy to have their photo taken, which is great given how colorful their attire is. A bit more cycling took me through the backstreets and into the surrounding countryside with a brief stop to watch a bit of local futbol, but unfortunately the standard wasn’t particularly high. 

From Nabaj, I made my way towards Lago de Atitlan, a drive through largely cleared mountains but looking incredibly verdant as the scattered villages almost appeared to be sinking into the rapidly growing corn - an idyllic landscape at this time of year if you don’t look at it with the eyes of an ecologist. Again the afternoon clouds engulfed the mountains and it was only after a steep descent from Solala that I emerged to be confronted with the spectacular Lago de Atitlan, fringed by forest, steep cliffs and three volcanic peaks. A hotel by the waterfront had no guests, but did have spectacular views over the lake, and an area for camping, so I found myself with a million dollar view for what was a pricy 150 Quetzales ($15) but what the heck, this is said to be one of the most beautiful lakes in the world and I'm not arguing.

My next destination was the ancient city of Anigua Guatemala, once the capital of the country but a devastating earthquake laid much of it to waste and the capital was relocated. Antigua however has rebuilt itself as a very pleasant little cultural capital, with lots of nice cafes and restaurants and stunning views to the mountains and volcanoes that surround it.

Cultural contrast!

The smoking Volcano Pacaya was my next destination where a local "guide" offered to take me up the back way, so we proceeded to poke along back roads through little villages until we were confronted by the lava and scree slopes of the volcano. Some low range 4x4 crawling took us further up the mountain (I’m impressed by what this truck can do) until we could go no further, after which we scrambled upwards on foot over the loose black, honeycomb textured rocks which gave way under our feet, sending rocks tumbling down the slopes below. Clearly this was a very young landscape, with a few lichens and plants taking the first steps towards what would, if left to its own devices, ultimately become a jungle-clad slope if only we humans were to let nature take its course, which is highly unlikely to happen.  

After scrambing around on the slopes, with smoke belching above and the occasional rumble from the volcano we headed back down to explore more little villages and a nearby lake before I set off westwards to once again reacquaint myself with the not very peaceful Pacific. On this occasion, the large dumping waves crashed on the black sand beach of Monterico, Guatemala’s attempt at a beach resort strip - all very low key with only a few visitors around to support way too many restaurants and hotels. I had decided to stay in a hotel here, thinking to indulge, but the place I stayed, supposedly one of the more popular with over-landers, had way more staff than guests. Passed a pleasant evening chatting with Tony, an Irish/Scotsman who had spent the last 20 years in Guatemala and was helping to manage this hotel, alternating between Lago de Amatlan and Monterico. He mad the interesting observation that even paradise becomes boring if you are there too long and, as a consequence he was looking to move on - an interesting observation given how enticing somewhere like Guatemala could be to anyone looking for a new place to spend some time. 

I decided to take the back way out of Monterico to get to the San Salvador border but the road just took me to the edge of a mangrove-lined river. So, what do you suspect they use barges like this for?

Obviously to overload with vehicles! But, the locals seemed to think it was safe so.....

...with much creaking and groaning I inched aboard.

I thought that I was just crossing the river but the next thing I knew we were heading inland through the mangroves, hoping fervently that the destination was close enough to be reached before the rapidly inflowing water became a problem!  

After about two kilometers we finally came ashore, where I inched off once again to the sound of splitting timbers and waved goodbye to the boatmen as they bailed out the water, and farewell to Guatemala as, shortly afterwards I crossed into El Salvador. 

I'm not sure why Guatemala had never found its way on to my radar before, but it is truly an amazing country - one which I will happily return to.

Beguiling Belize

A Trogon of some sort

I have to admit that I hadn’t done a lot of thinking about what lay beyond Mexico but an expiring visa suddenly made it necessary for me to plan my next steps. So, the night before I was due to cross the border I took advantage of a reasonable internet connection and did a quick search of places natural, cultural and historical in Belize and came to the conclusion that the forests were probably going to be my main focus, with a smattering of more Mayan ruins.

A morning boarder crossing was very straightforward and with my import permit and insurance for my car and a visa for myself, I motored forth into a new country. And it’s amazing how different the world can be when one crosses a line that is no more than an artifact of history. Suddenly the influence of the Caribbean and the legacy of African slavery strikes you. The language is officially english although, in addition, locals speak various combinations of creole, spanish or local dialects derived from indigenous Mayan ancestry. 

My first Belizean camp was by the waterfront at Corazol, a small town of largely weatherboard buildings - themselves a significant contrast to the housing of Mexico. Here I was befriended by Don, an American who had bought a house here with Australian wife Kate with their two kids and had the pleasure of a delightful evening at their waterfront house. 

From Carazol, I headed southwards into Belize. The day’s drive was short - Belize is a very small country.  Before long I had left the main road and was bouncing along backroads through mainly farming country until eventually I started to encounter denser trees and eventually forest. As is the case everywhere, the edges of the forests are being eaten away, as bit by bit, land is cleared for “agriculture” that will clearly generate only marginal income. A fascinating paradox was the sight of a group of Mennonites (who have traditionally shunned motorized or electric equipment) arriving by horse and buggy at their newly-cleared land, only to jump aboard a bulldozer and commence felling the forest! 

My host, Vidal, in Indian Church

Arrived at the little hamlet of Indian Church, located on the edge of a large lagoon. Asked around town if there was somewhere I could camp for the night and a young guy, a guatemalan who had married a Mayan Belizean girl, took me to his mother in law’s place and asked if I could camp in their garden. They were very happy with the idea so Vidal (the father in law) and I moved a pile of wood to make room for the van, and I set up camp for the night. It turns out that many of the communities here are made up of refugees from across the border who had fled horrific persecution back in the 70s and 80s, Vidal and his family amongst them. 

Mayan ruins at Lamanai

As the afternoon cleared, I cycled around town and its surrounds. Howler monkeys were roaring, a crocodile was basking in the pond by the “airstrip”, its open mouth gleaming golden in the afternoon light (guess who left the camera behind), birds were fluttering, and the locals gave friendly waves as I passed by - all very idyllic.

Indian Church adjoins the Mayan ruins of Lamanai so next morning I walked through beautiful forest / jungle to explore the ruins, with lots of new birds as a bonus. 

As the day came to a close I strolled through the forest yet again, this time to another set of ruins - the remnants of an 1870’s sugar mill, the British Honduras company’s attempt to generate an industry here. The jungle had done a remarkable job of reclaiming it. In its own way, they are as intrigueing as the Maya ruins, only because they show how many attempts at  building civilizations fail, although the latter attempts certainly did not have the longevity or the cultural wealth of the earlier ones.

An hour’s drive the next morning seemed to me to be enough for one day, so I set up camp by the shores of another lagoon, this time in a little village called Crooked Tree, apparently named by early British “explorers” after the cashew trees that grow here in a strange vegetation type that is a mixture of pines, cashews and palms.

Tree porcupine

Another short drive took me to the Baboon Sanctuary - actually a howler monkey reserve where I met my namesake, Robert, who would be my guide for the next couple of days firstly spotlighting that night in the forest adjoining the hamlet of Bermudian Landing, finding tree porcupines, opossums, a ??? and a four-eyed possum. An early morning walk revealed lots of birds and an Agouti or “bush rabit” which is actually a rodent rather than a rabit. A night time paddle on a nearby lagoon revealed lots of crocodiles and various eye-shines of owls and mammals along the shores but it was hard to get close enough for really good looks, although with fireflies and glowing bugs in the aquatic vegetation around the edge of the lagoon, it was a magical night. 

Belice City was my next destination. Driving in was not a drama as its relatively quiet, but as you get closer and closer to the port area, the streets get narrower and narrower. It all feels very impoverished and ramshackle - almost no new buildings anywhere, apart from the Casino and a few rapidly aging port facilities.  The shops are trying almost in vain, to be functional at best. So after a quick spin around I drove a few miles out to the marina where it was possible to camp, and there I spent the night with a cooling breeze coming off the nondescript coast.

I think its a Kinkajou??

Back into the forests again, this time to the beautiful Mayflower Bocawina national park, after yet another bumpy back-road detour that took me into the friendly little village of Gales Point, strung out along a peninsular that jutted out into a large coastal lagoon. It felt like a place that might have attracted over-landers in the past, but attempts at cafes and lodgings were now all bedraggled and little used. The increased paranoia and the financial downturn have combined to hit these little communities hard. 

Typical village housing - Gales Point

In Mayflower I shared the campsite with a couple from Guatemala City. Spotlighting that night revealed more possums and also failed to reveal something that rustled around in the thick scrub just off the trail but refused to show itself. Given its snuffling and shuffling I conjured images of armadillos. More real, however, was an early morning sighting of a black jaguarundi that strolled down the road near the camp. It cast a brief, disdainful look at me over its shoulder before evaporating into the forest. A hike into the forest with some sweaty climbing brought me to a delightful swimming hole at the top of a waterfall with views to the ocean and a cooling breeze. Spotted more birds, some wild pigs and a white-nosed coati on my return to camp.

Waterfall in Mayflower National Park

Another forest camp at Cockscomb Basin Jaguar Reserve didn’t reveal a jaguar, but the forest trails here are beautiful and well set out, providing enticing encounters with streams and waterholes without threatening the habitat value of this critical stream-side vegetation with constant human traffic.

Another night walk revealled nothing other than an amazing pair of little eyes that glowed brightly at me from a distance. What could it be that is able to generate enough energy to produce two bright glowing lights that lasted for the 10 minutes that I stood watching? Needing an answer I plunged off the trail through the lianas and ferns to find that the source was a beetle hanging in a spiders web - the “eyes” being two patches on the shoulders of the carapace. I don’t know whether being eaten by a spider had anything to do with it, but this guy had an impressive generator somewhere in its physics or chemistry. It was still shining brightly when I left after 20 minutes, and who knows how long it had been going before I got there. I reckon investigators of alternative energy need to take a look at this critter!

Doesn't look like anything in my bird book - but impressive!

Temples at Caracol

More dirt roads - this time to the relatively remote ruins of Caracol, passing firstly through pine clad ridges (unfortunately decimated by pine beetles) before being engulfed by stunning jungle once again, from which archeologists had extracted the remains of yet another extraordinary ancient civilization. Anther cat, this time more robust and colored than the jaguarundi , but not big enough to be a jaguar (a margay perhaps?), crossed the road in front of me as I drove in. 

It would be easy to linger here longer, but the first rains have started and I have to keep moving, so after almost three weeks, its time to move on to Guatemala.