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After our intense bout of hiking through the cloud forests and rural villages of the highlands, we headed back onto the tourist route, deciding that Semuc Champey was to be our first stop.
We stayed in gorgeous Utopia, a hotel built by the owner in the middle of dense jungle next to the river, where everything is ideal but the tab system - too dangerous for a budgeter's wallet. To get here is an hour from the nearest town Lanquin in the back of a pickup over pot-holed rubble tracks. One friend had told me before I left for Central America that throughout Belize and its thick greenery, I would constantly be imagining myself in Jurassic Park (without the dinos, obviously, yet unfortunately). Here, though, bouncing along in a pickup that, at some point, must have had suspension and an exhaust that didn't rattle, ducking huge fronds and leaves, looking over the sheer edges of precipices you didn't know existed until you made the mistake of peeking, here was Jurassic Park.
We arrived at midnight (having left Xela at 8am) and decided that the chocolate tour the next day would suit us better than adventuring in caves and rivers. Utopia grows its own kakow trees, and we shelled cocoa beans that had been picked and dried right on the grounds. We ground, cooked and sugared the beans until they formed a thick, gritty paste, which we then poured into moulds with various other treats - peanut butter, nuts, raisins, granola, etc. Once frozen and solidified, we ate, along with some tea made from the cocoa husks. Not only is it healthy (natural oils and fats, minimum sugar, just ignore the copious amounts of peanut butter I added) it is tastier and richer than any chocolate you get back home. And the endorphins hit harder, too.
The next day, after our chocolates had been demolished (mostly by me), we embarked on the famous Semuc Champey trip. First, armed with only a stubby candle, we entered the nearby cave system. Like the ATM caves in Belize, we were swimming, scrambling, climbing and ducking with limited visibility, but with much less regard for our safety, and with a smokey candle in one hand. We climbed up a waterfall using only a slippery rope, and jumped off a rock into a black pool that was only as wide as 2 people.
Exhausted, shivering, drained of adrenaline, we emerged into daylight, only to be told we had to go on the rope swing, and jump off a 12m bridge into the fast flowing river before we could get our lunch. We would have done anything at this point to sit down and eat.
Next was the climb up to the mirador overlooking the Semuc pools. From here, you see it all: turquoise pools fringed with limestone rock and surrounded by dense jungle, as well as the river as it flows underneath the pools, which act as a bridge over the water, and reemerges at the other end. A serious of more jumps into the pools off overhanging trees, as well as slides (grazes, bruises and cuts were gained by all) and a final, blind jump off a 15m waterfall ("there might be rocks, we don't know, but it's fun!" - our guide), and we had seen and experienced Semuc Champey. To be honest, I would have preferred it without all the jumping and swinging. As a collective, our group of 16 were all slumped and drained by the end, to the point where none of us wanted be near water in the near future. It's a stunning natural phenomenon, and just swimming in the isolated pools, knowing you're a few feet above a raging river you can't see below, is an experience in itself.
Our next stop was Flores, or more importantly, Tikal.
Mike and I have bickered repeatedly over Tikal. For me, Chichen Itza was the ancient Mayan city to end all ancient Mayan cities; for Mike, he preferred Tikal. Again, surrounded by thick jungle, with howler monkeys swinging above you (a sign warned at the entrance: They will scream and throw faeces at you), red tarantulas crawling around you (this endeared me less to Tikal) and tiny hummingbirds darting at swooping flowers next to you, Tikal is an incredible world in itself. We climbed one of the temples to look out across the jungle canopy at two other temples. The scene looked weirdly familiar, and it was; for any Star Wars fan/nerd (this proved I'm the latter), Tikal was used to film the Ewok scenes, and the view across the canopy top was the same one I'd seen in my multiple viewings of Star Wars. For me, pretty cool. For Mike, it was a moment for him to question why he was with me.
Flores, where we stationed ourselves for Tikal, was an experience. Coyotes will introduce you the town by driving you to cash machines without your permission, then to their "tour agency", refusing to leave until you enter, and then take your money and never show for your booked tour. We managed to avoid this, although the group we had travelled with didn't listen to the stories we'd heard, and found out the hard way. The town itself is lovely, with rambling cobbled streets (lethal in the wet and dark!) and surrounded by the lake, but because it is a tourist destination, there is a lot of opportunistic crime. The locals we met with and chatted to (our Spanish is improving!) were wonderful, but at night we were warned to watch our pockets and not stay out too late.
Keen to leave the overpriced island, we caught an overnight bus to Antigua. Another experience in and of itself. Freezing in the too-powerful air conditioning, at some point in the early hours of the morning the bus got a flat. After an hour of trying to fix it himself on a road with no artificial or natural light, the bus driver carried on for the next hour or more with a continuous thump-thump-thump-thump-thump of an uneven flat.
Unfortunately, I had managed to pick up a sinus infection (we all got colds from our day at Semuc Champey, and jumping from heights into muddy water washed out my sinus and washed in... well, I don't want to think about it). As such, after 12 hours of seeing my breath on a night bus, as well as the mountainous roads between Guate City and Antigua, the cold and altitude had combined into the feeling of an ice pick behind my eyes. Fortunately, we had swapped into a shuttle bus for the last hour to Antigua, and the 14-year-old kid who had swooped us into the bus with calls of "My friend, my friend!" responded rapidly to me telling him "Estoy enferma. Por favor, pare el bus" so that I could, with all dignity, stick my head out the window and vomit.
Embarrassed, tired, gross, when we got to our hostel in Antigua, I apologised profusely for my behaviour. Putting his hand on my shoulder, looking intently into my eyes, this star of a teenager and future businessman solemnly assured me, "Do not apologise. Feel better and rest. Welcome to Antigua, my friend," then jumped back into the shuttle and rode off into the distance.
Another moment in our travels when the simple kindness of a stranger has made everything alright again.
Antigua is a lovely city for a day or two or three. Cafe culture, like in San Cristobal de las Casas, has a huge hold over the city, as you would expect given its surroundings of coffee and cocoa farms (could you ask for a better combo?). Like every city, it, too, has a seedy side. It seemed Mike and I couldn't pass a single street corner without a local teen offering us weed, cocaine, or even heroin. And they don't take too kindly to you telling them no, either. Unfortunately, it's easier to see this as a reflection of tourist culture, rather than Antiguan; one can only assume they're offering what they believe or know to be in demand. It happens everywhere, but it was strongly prevalent in Antigua - which has some level of irony, considering we were warned by many to be careful in Mexico because of the drug culture, but didn't encounter any of it - and it contrasts strongly with the warm, clean atmosphere of the rural villages we'd spent so much time in.
We walked up Volcan Pacaya, and were very disappointed. The thick rain clouds had a lot to do with it, but the dull walk up combined with a disinterested guide, and the lack of lava guaranteed in our guide books only added to our regret for paying for a boring walk up a hill. On the plus side, we did get to sit in a hot vent hole at the top of the volcano. It's not every day you get your bum warmed by volcanic gas (yes, I can already hear the hundreds of jokes this sentence will inspire).
A few days of excellent coffee and admiring the dozens of ruined buildings and facades that sit incongruously on streets - beautiful colonial architecture ignored and dismissed by everyone, it seems, but the tourists - and we headed back to Xela.
Again.
Why?
For Dia de los Muertos in a tiny, unassuming and unknown town called Todos Santos near the border with Mexico. But that's another blog entry.
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