Day 13; Leaving Rio Dulce with my sneakers in my hand
The weather has made a dramatic turn around today. Yesterday’s cloud cover and seeping rain is nowhere to be seen. The view from the hammock of our balcony this morning was lovely. It was a shame we couldn’t stay one more day to enjoy Tortugal. And dry my sneakers, in a bag at my feet still damp from yesterday’s sodden adventures. Today we leave for a single night in Flores with the luxury of a sleep in. It was cold overnight, the air flowing into our cabin through the open air gaps between the walls and roof. The lack of adequate blankets on the bed and in the rooms reveal the climate they are used to accommodating here.
More lush green countryside is rushing past the windows of our minivan. I finally have my music working after downloading an app yesterday so I am happily plugged in, even though I’ve had to create a playlist again.
Guatemalans work the land as we pass. Men lead donkeys carrying planks of trees on each sides of their bellies. Scrawny horses rip up grass at the roads edge while chickens peck at the ground and men carry sacks on their shoulders. Thatched huts and ramshackle buildings dot the landscape. To us the huts may appear cute and quaint and we love the idea of a visit, but we can leave. It is easy to forget that this is where the locals live full-time and lack the creature comforts we have at home paid for by our jobs in air-conditioned offices. These people do back breaking work on the land just to feed their families.
Today we cross into another department of Guatemala, what we’d call states in Australia. Tomorrow we will depart Flores to cross over into Belize.
We hit Flores a little after midday. The main part of our hotel is a lovely oasis on the lake with a deck stretching along it and a small pool. The colours of the town of Flores are directly across from us. Some of the others are excited by the pool, I’m excited by the espresso machine after Tortugal’s brewed coffee. Priorities.
Dani proposes a walk across the lake into town for lunch, or we can hang out by the pool until we check in. Some quiet relaxation in the cool breeze by the lake sounds like a perfect way to spend an afternoon to me. I order a coffee and settle on down, as do a few of my fellow group members. We idly chat and watch the wildlife, learning that according to Google there are in fact two species of crocodile that live in the lake. And they that don’t look particularly small. We don’t see any, but swimming all of a sudden doesn’t seem like such a hot idea. There is a ferris wheel and some sort of tents off to the side of the lake so it appears the carnival is in town. A couple of us order food, a banana nutella crepe and a Cappuccino for me!
The afternoon passes in this way, as the others drift back they join us at various times. We all take the walk into town for dinner once evening falls, walking alongside the road over the lake to the town we could see from our afternoon vantage point. Music and the babble of people reaches us from all directions. Five of us stay out for another drink after dinner, sitting in a club nodding along to Reggaeton music. Hayley and Pip pose with some of the prolific local police for photos on the walk back to the hotel. We didn’t stay out late but we needn’t have bothered attempting to get an early night, seems Flores is a bit of a party town and the party was loud and clear from the rooms where we were trying to sleep. Somehow, at some point, I managed to.
Today the sun is shining and it is pleasantly warm. We have a boat trip planned to a town called Livingston. There we will learn about Garifuna culture and sample a traditional Guatemalan dish called Tapado, made from seafood and coconut milk. Both of which I am a fan.
A boat trip on Lake Izabal
I manage to board the boat without incident, an improvement on my efforts of yesterday which have earned me a corker of a bruise across the back of my thigh reminiscent of the time I caught my leg in the rope abseiling down a rock wall. I take my seat on the side of one of the benches towards the back beside Ruth.
Castillo de San Felipe
We first trundle pleasantly a short distance from our hotels dock to see the Castillo de San Felipe. The Spanish Colonial fort once protected the port from pirate attacks and sits on the narrowest point of the lake. Tourists are able to visit the fort and walk within its walls, but today we have to make do with the view from our position on the lake.
We go past and turn back again, the motor of the boat put-put-putting, and pause again at a mangrove island in the middle of the lake. I’m not sure it really meets the definition of an island, as there is no land visible just the roots of the mangroves. Great Egrets inhabit the mangroves, the white birds perched throughout the trees. Numerous posts poke out of the water, where new mangroves have been planted to extend the perimeter of the island. The government does not want this island to disappear.
Egrets and Mangrove Island
We rapidly accelerate to head for Livingston. It takes me all of five minutes to regret my decision not to bring a jumper or jacket as the air rushes over me carrying fine spray from the lakes surface. I hope for a quick trip.
It’s not.
I put my head down into the wind and fold my arms in close to defend against the buffeting air. Ruth is doing much the same beside me.
It is, however, picturesque. We slow down to look at the rainforest vegetation we’re traveling through, occasionally interrupted by a stilted hut perched over the water, often with a small canoe or boat moored nearby. The huts are clearly inhabited, and are only accessible by the lake. Our driver says there are freshwater crocodiles here and I keep my eyes peeled on the waters edge searching for a glimpse. He says they don’t come around to the more densely populated part of the lake, but it doesn’t sell me on the idea of swimming. We emerge around the corner onto a wide part of the lake they call the mirror, reflecting the jungle and sky onto its still surface.
The Mirror
The soggy drizzle which has been falling becomes more emphatic.
It is entirely miserable by the time we’ve returned to the main part of the lake to continue speeding on our way. We are all drenched, the boats roof offers minimal defense. Ruth huddles on the floor in front of our bench, using the bench in front as a barrier from the rain and spray coming from the front. I’ve considered the same, but she’s a little smaller than I am.
I hear a rustling and something is passed over my head. Someone tells me to grab on.
A tarp has been passed over by the driver, and is being stretched over.
I clamp my left hand against one of the poles fixing the roof to the boat, pinning down my edge. Around me the others are doing the same, the ones in the middle holding it above our heads. The wind still floods through weakness in our defenses, the tarp flaps and billows noisily around my ears. But we’re dry.
And we must look utterly ridiculous. A boat speeding down the lake, twelve people huddled under a flapping black tarp, a driver standing at the back. I cannot help but laugh at the image and the others join me. We may look ridiculous but we’re dry and we’re having a great old time!
Livingston
The boat eventually slows and the tarp is pulled back to reveal Livingston. It looks much the same as Rio Dulce, though perhaps more of a fishing village. On our way through town Dani ducks into a local store to see if they have any ponchos for sale. Rain is expected the rest of the day and most of us aren’t wearing anything waterproof. Dani speaks rapidly in Spanish. They have no ponchos but they remove large garbage bags from under the counter and cut along both sides. Dani measures these up against us and rips a hole for our heads. Our raincoats cost five Quetzals. I am wearing a garbage bag. It only adds to the overall ridiculousness of the day.
Yes…I am wearing a garbage bagPhoto: C.Martin
Dani leads us to the spot at which we will be meeting ‘the professor’ who we’ll be spending time with today. The professor is a music teacher, who teaches the Livingston children about their Garifuna history and culture through music and dance. It not only keeps the culture alive, but it keeps the kids off the street and out of trouble. It’s a term I’ve not heard before, Garifuna are the mixed race descendants of African, European and Caribbean people. They have resided in Central America since the 1700’s.
Some local children are playing soccer with a slightly flat ball on a basketball court nearby. We watch them smiling and laughing and running around, and Shane joins in the game. I notice an older child waving what appears to be a gun around on the other side of the court, several of the others have too and we exchange wide-eyed looks. He points it at another child and I am relieved to see it is a toy.
The Garifuna drums
A child arrives and leads us to a nearby set of steps. At the top is a small room with a number of children. They are surrounded by bright colours and instruments, predominantly drums of various shapes and sizes. We are invited to sit around the room. I end up behind a large drum.
The professor is perhaps in his early 30’s, and would fit right in back home in his black jeans, red flannelette and a black beanie. Five local boys of varying ages wearing shorts and t-shirts sit around him with instruments, two of them drums that sit on the floor. Another boy has two turtle shells strung around his neck which he hits with a stick. Two other boys have what appear to be some kind of Maracas. There are also two girls, one older and one younger, dressed in the brightly coloured local dress.
Photo: C.Martin
The professor and the boys demonstrate the Garifuna music, while the girls take turns in dancing both solo and with some of the boys. They are incredibly cute. Then its our turn to learn some beats, and we all shuffle around until everyone has access to an instrument. The professor demonstrates and instructs which beat he’d like us all to play. We all seem to get the rhythm and hang of it fairly quickly, with a few giggles to punctuate.
And then the professor demonstrates the dance and I watch closely. It is largely based on hip movement driven from the knees and is pretty close to one of the Samba steps, which I am not actually any good at largely due to my inability to master the basic step at anything resembling speed. Some of the other steps however I can do, including the one close to this. He gets us all up on our feet and we jostle for the limited floor space. Latin dance starts on the right foot, so I have to consciously keep thinking about starting on the left. The kids grab some of us to dance in the middle of the very crowded room. The young girl grabs my hand.
Time flies by and all too quickly it is done. We leave some money in the tip jar to help the professor keep working with the kids.
Tapado
The restaurant looks like it has been thrown together from leftovers and scraps. There’s a good chance it has. The rain continues to bounce on the roof of corrugated iron as we strip off our coats and garbage bags.
I order both the local specialties; the Tapado and a Coco Loco – a fresh young coconut cut open with rum added. The rum in mine is not overpowering, but some of the others find theirs very strong. The Tapado is essentially a soup. It comes with a full fish on the plate beside it, scales, head, eyes and all. It doesn’t take much digging to discover that the soup contains every bit of it’s seafood ingredients too. At first
Tapado, fish and all
I extract the bits of tails, and fins, and shells, but eventually I give up and just scoop the liquid from the bowl. Despite its plethora of non-edible contents it is incredibly tasty.
My garbage bag offers surprising defense against the cold air on the boat trip back, once I have wound it tightly around me to seal the gaps. The tarp is passed over my head once again. It is pulled back as we travel through a picturesque canyon and we don’t bother putting it back up again.
The afternoon passes at the Tortugal bar. An ever expanding group appears for the ridiculously cheap cocktails and we play dominoes into the evening.
4am hurts even more than 4.30am. More so because that was our actual departure time, my alarm actually went off at 3.20! Today we depart Antigua for another Guatemalan destination, the waterfront Rio Dulce.
We are speeding through the countryside in a minivan with a cracked windscreen. At least it has seatbelts. On both sides of the road mountains loom stern and foreboding, dotted with patches of green, many tops concealed by cloud. The side of the road is a rotating landscape of trees, fields, houses and locals hopeful of selling their produce. It is still only 9am.
The litter strewn along the road is a sad indication of human presence. We have passed actual vultures picking over it on several occasions. They are sometimes joined by the odd dog. Large boulders sit beside the road where their downhill force has come to a rest. Landslides are common, especially in wet season.
The road is single lane each way and there’s a lunacy to overtaking. Cars poke noses out from lines of traffic on a regular basis, choosing their moment and flooring it into the lane of oncoming traffic for as many vehicles as they can. There is also a courtesy present. As soon as a car appears heading towards the overtaker, the overtakees make space for you to move back in, with often a honk exchanged to indicate gratitude. We’ve had so many close calls with oncoming vehicles, getting out of the way just in time. Every time it happens the Australians on the bus exchange wide eyed looks and shake our heads with a nervous half smile.
We’ve just passed a couple of properties with children’s clothes hanging on the fence along the road. I’m unsure whether this is taking advantage of a sunny location or some form of giveaway or exchange.
Other than a stop for a tasty breakfast with not so tasty coffee, and a couple of toilet stops we’ve been driving all morning. Our guide, Dani, has warned us that Rio Dulce is not a safe town. Other than organised group activities we’ll be staying in our hotel. All we know about our hotel is that we reach it by boat. We’re not going straight to our hotel, since it is still early we’ll be dropping off our luggage in Rio Dulce and going to a hot springs another 45 minutes drive. Its around 1pm when we get to Rio Dulce. After watching our bags loaded onto a boat we are led to the local supermarket to purchase a picnic lunch of sorts.
Supermarkets sell alcohol here. My backpack contains the wine from days ago so I pass it by with merely a glance. I’m amused to see my deodorant under a different brand name. Good to know I can replace it if I run out. There are a few tourists milling around, most of the people we see appear to be local to Rio Dulce.
I pick out some fruit and other snacks for lunch and some large chips to share while the other members of the group pick out assorted food and drink. They make you buy your plastic bags. At the bus our group leader has secured an eski filled with ice and we pile in our drinks.
Finca el Paraiso
Finca el Paraiso is a private property and we pay a small fee to enter. Children linger around holding their hands out for coins, but we are advised not to encourage this behaviour. Despite the eski’s weight the local guide hefts it onto his shoulder. We change and use the toilet before we set off on the path through the jungle to the spring.
The path is ridiculously slippery and I’m thankful for the grip of my sneakers when some of the others slide about in their thongs. The final set of steps are installed into the path, and the railing is a saviour on the damp wood.
At the bottom of the steps the spring comes into view. Water rushes over a wall of rocks landing with a roar in the pool below. A number of people are swimming or standing beneath the falls. On first glance it appears that mist is rising from the falls as they hit the pool below, but it is actually steam.
Volcanic activity heats the water rushing over the rocks at Finca el Paraiso below the ground. It falls into cool water below, creating a refreshing place to take an afternoon swim. Sitting under the falls is like taking a hot shower, while hovering a little distance away is like sitting in a warm bath. The water becomes cooler the further the distance from the falls. I’m not much of a water baby but the spot is irresistible, and I clamber over the slippery rocks to plunge in behind the others. It is a remarkable sensation, moving through the chill water growing gradually warmer, until you perch on the rocks below the falls letting the hot water pour over you on its journey down.
A young local man shows Shane from our group a series of three caves under the falls, and persuades him to climb to the top and jump off. A few locals jump in the time we are there. My heart breaks for a stray dog hunting round for scraps of food left behind or dropped by visitors. She is skeletal and clearly feeding a litter and we are all distressed by seeing her. The guide keeps shooing her away. We have nothing nutritious to give her but we slip her what we can when the guide isn’t looking. By the time we pack up and leave a chill has arrived in the air.
Tortugal
Our Rio Dulce hotel for the next two nights is called Tortugal. Dani has talked it up as being the best accommodation of the trip. It is only accessible by boat on the shores of Lake Izabal. The hotel will be the only option we have to eat, but we are reassured that the food is good. When we get there we find it really is quite exquisite. With my exceptional coordination I manage to catch my leg on the rope attempting to climb out of the boat. I fall ungracefully onto the seat behind me to a chorus of uproarious laughter from Shane, who extends his hand to help me out on my next attempt.
The whole place has a rustic Robinson Crusoe desert island castaway feel to it. A series of huts and buildings all built with wooden logs with a tin roof. It is literally on Guatemala’s largest lake, Lake Izabal, the main dining and recreational area extends over the waters edge on stilts. The huts are spread around the property. Shane is in the honeymoon suite, stashed out in the jungle.
Jungle huts!
The hut Ruth and I have is closest to the water off to the side of the restaurant building. It contains two luxurious queen beds, a small bathroom and our own deck looking out over the water with a hammock stretching from one side to another, along with a 2 seater lounge and coffee table. The floor in the room is concrete which extends into the bathroom. The shower has concrete walls and a drain dropping straight to the ground below. The shower is the best since Mexico City, although it is fixed to the wall and unable to be adjusted. A great height for Ruth, but for me not so much, and I have to bend my knees to wash my hair. A strip of something like chicken wire runs between the walls of the hut and its roof. The wire runs the full perimeter of the hut and is about 20cms in height. Hence the hut is unable to be entirely closed off from the elements outside. Lucky its warm, especially given there are only sheets on the bed.
Home for a couple of days
As promised the restaurant is very good, although the coffee not so much and I am missing the coffee from Fernando’s in Antigua. Tortugal has no TV and no music. Guests entertain themselves with conversation, admiration of the sun reflecting off the lake stretching before them, or with the collection of board games available off to one side. There is a resident very large and drooling dog by the name of Heffe, who is never far from the restaurant, and a couple of tiny cats who appear from time to time that Ruth and I pat at every opportunity.
If you’re in Rio Dulce and seeking more adventure, a day trip to Semuc Champey is well regarded.
