12/01/30
I was not planning to go to Livingston today. After a rainless night, there was this deluge at 6 am. Very intense on my tin roof. I woke with a mild sore throat and thought to pass a quiet day listening to the birds. But suddenly at 9, the sun appeared. The workers in back looked like they would be seriously digging and talking all day. So at 9:15 I asked if there was room for me on the boat and at 9:30 got on. There was barely room fo me. But we moored near another boat and 3 people transfered over. The sun disapppeared and clouds amassed. The rain started to fall and people pulled out their rainjacket and ponchos. Rio Dulce widens into a big lake called la Golfete and we sped across it in the wind and water. After a while, the sky lightened and finally we were able to remove our raingear. The river narrowed again and we stopped at a dock called Aguas Calientes. By the dock, a pool of water. The other boat had already arrived and there were some young tourists soaking in the warm sulferous water. 3 of us followed a guide up stone stairs towards a cave. He gave us solar flashlights and guided us into a narrow opening. Water dripped from the ceiling. He pointed out stalactites and stalagmites. We went in only a certain distance. The access was quite narrow in places and demanded bending and twisting. I came out muddly and happy.
Livingston was an hour further on. Populated by Garifuna people, it feels very Caribbean. On the dock, the grizzled black men spoke English and asked if any one was headed to Belize. Punta Gorda, Belize is 45 minutes away by boat. Livingston is accessible by boat only. No roads reach here.
We stayed long enough to eat lunch and wander the streets and then we headed back to the boat for our return. The boat filled with people coming from Belize. The sun continued to shine and back we came.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
a deluge of rain
12/01/29
It rained all night and all this morning. Finally, late morning after the thunder and lightening that was a little closer than I would have liked, wrapped in plastic, I came to Hotel Kangourou. The rain did not let up until after my arrival. My little bungalow was flooded near the door. and the young worker wiped it down. The room is dark with wooden slats on the windows - newly built with an alcove for the shower and toilet. The are asking $30 for this and I think it is overpriced. The hotel is on the river about 7 minutes by boat from Rio Dulce. I had envisioned quiet little private bungalows away from the main restaurant as in Thailand. It is rather a wooden dock with little rooms built around an open bar (which thankfully is not open). In front is the main building with the dorms upstairs and the restaurant below. I am sitting on the dock where the boats are moored. Across the way, and on my right are other docks. A few noisy sailors have just left in their boat. The owner, an Australian married to a Mexican woman, has just gone with them. I did have a hesitation in coming here because of the Aussie connection. The stereotype of loud, brash, friendly and hard drinking. He appears to fit the type. But it was cheaper than the one I was interested in by $15. He turns out to be a sincere guy, very ready with tourist info.
It rained all night and all this morning. Finally, late morning after the thunder and lightening that was a little closer than I would have liked, wrapped in plastic, I came to Hotel Kangourou. The rain did not let up until after my arrival. My little bungalow was flooded near the door. and the young worker wiped it down. The room is dark with wooden slats on the windows - newly built with an alcove for the shower and toilet. The are asking $30 for this and I think it is overpriced. The hotel is on the river about 7 minutes by boat from Rio Dulce. I had envisioned quiet little private bungalows away from the main restaurant as in Thailand. It is rather a wooden dock with little rooms built around an open bar (which thankfully is not open). In front is the main building with the dorms upstairs and the restaurant below. I am sitting on the dock where the boats are moored. Across the way, and on my right are other docks. A few noisy sailors have just left in their boat. The owner, an Australian married to a Mexican woman, has just gone with them. I did have a hesitation in coming here because of the Aussie connection. The stereotype of loud, brash, friendly and hard drinking. He appears to fit the type. But it was cheaper than the one I was interested in by $15. He turns out to be a sincere guy, very ready with tourist info.
trying to get to rio dulce
12/01/28
Ah yes. Traveling in Guatemala. I had forgotten. I had thought that in taking a shuttle, I would avoid the inconvenience of the local "chicken" buses. Leave San Pedro at 8. Transfer in Antigua to another shuttle to Guate city. A "Pullman" bus at 2 to Rio Dulce. Sounded good.
The shuttle didn´t show up till 8:30. Then we detoured to San Marcos to pick up a big group of foreigners (here to build stoves for a week) We leave San Marcos at 9:30. There are now 2 shuttle buses filled to the brim, It is a very slow climb up the long hill. I can hear the motor straining. I ask the driver - will I make my connection? He assures me that there is a later bus at 2:30 if I miss mine. Great. We get to the top of the hill. We stop at a gas station. Everyone piles out to pee and stretch. Then we pile back in. But then, the driver cuts the motor. We pile back out again. It is the other bus. Something with the brakes. The clutch? The driver tightens one of our wheels. He starts the motor. We drive a little and then circle back. There is still a problem. It is 11 pm. We are nowhere near Antigua. Hmm....
Chapter 2
We actually did get to the juncion at 1 pm. A shuttle was waiting for the 4 of us transferring to Guatemala City. The girl sitting behind me has an international flight leaving at 3. The driver drops her at the airport just before 2 and gets me to the bus station for 2:10 There is no bus scheduled for 2. Nor for 2:30. The last one left at 1.The next one is at 4:30. Darn. I really don´t like travelling these roads at night. The driver buys me a ticket and shakes my hand.
Across the street, the girl is selling different fried meats. I ask her for something without meat. She stares at me. I cross the street. A senora is selling tamales and cakes in her store. All her tamales have meat. I say: all I want is frijoles (beans) She laughs and sends me back across the street. This time, I specifically ask for beans and rice and tortillas. I am given a full plate. I ask for seconds of beans. I am very very hungry. Now back to the station to wait.
Chapter 3
The bus left on time at 4:30. It was 1/2 full, dropping off and picking passengers along the way. Traffic was bad most of the way. And yet, I am peaceful. So many things to be grateful for: I am grateful that they did not put on any movies or music videos. (The TV screet is just in front of me.) I am grateful that I don´t have to pee. I am grateful that I am not in pain after all these hours of sitting, I am grateful that I am hot. I am grateful that i am comfortable. I am grateful that I am safe. I read until the light went and then listened to music on shuffle on my Ipod.
We arrived at 10:30 pm. In the rain. As I came off the bus onto the main street, a man said quietly: "do you need a hotel?" and led me across the street. It rained all night. The mattress was terrible. I had to find a place between the springs. The disco bar blared in the distance. A sheet on the bed. A fan on the ceiling. I am finally in the tropics.
Ah yes. Traveling in Guatemala. I had forgotten. I had thought that in taking a shuttle, I would avoid the inconvenience of the local "chicken" buses. Leave San Pedro at 8. Transfer in Antigua to another shuttle to Guate city. A "Pullman" bus at 2 to Rio Dulce. Sounded good.
The shuttle didn´t show up till 8:30. Then we detoured to San Marcos to pick up a big group of foreigners (here to build stoves for a week) We leave San Marcos at 9:30. There are now 2 shuttle buses filled to the brim, It is a very slow climb up the long hill. I can hear the motor straining. I ask the driver - will I make my connection? He assures me that there is a later bus at 2:30 if I miss mine. Great. We get to the top of the hill. We stop at a gas station. Everyone piles out to pee and stretch. Then we pile back in. But then, the driver cuts the motor. We pile back out again. It is the other bus. Something with the brakes. The clutch? The driver tightens one of our wheels. He starts the motor. We drive a little and then circle back. There is still a problem. It is 11 pm. We are nowhere near Antigua. Hmm....
Chapter 2
We actually did get to the juncion at 1 pm. A shuttle was waiting for the 4 of us transferring to Guatemala City. The girl sitting behind me has an international flight leaving at 3. The driver drops her at the airport just before 2 and gets me to the bus station for 2:10 There is no bus scheduled for 2. Nor for 2:30. The last one left at 1.The next one is at 4:30. Darn. I really don´t like travelling these roads at night. The driver buys me a ticket and shakes my hand.
Across the street, the girl is selling different fried meats. I ask her for something without meat. She stares at me. I cross the street. A senora is selling tamales and cakes in her store. All her tamales have meat. I say: all I want is frijoles (beans) She laughs and sends me back across the street. This time, I specifically ask for beans and rice and tortillas. I am given a full plate. I ask for seconds of beans. I am very very hungry. Now back to the station to wait.
Chapter 3
The bus left on time at 4:30. It was 1/2 full, dropping off and picking passengers along the way. Traffic was bad most of the way. And yet, I am peaceful. So many things to be grateful for: I am grateful that they did not put on any movies or music videos. (The TV screet is just in front of me.) I am grateful that I don´t have to pee. I am grateful that I am not in pain after all these hours of sitting, I am grateful that I am hot. I am grateful that i am comfortable. I am grateful that I am safe. I read until the light went and then listened to music on shuffle on my Ipod.
We arrived at 10:30 pm. In the rain. As I came off the bus onto the main street, a man said quietly: "do you need a hotel?" and led me across the street. It rained all night. The mattress was terrible. I had to find a place between the springs. The disco bar blared in the distance. A sheet on the bed. A fan on the ceiling. I am finally in the tropics.
Friday, January 27, 2012
San pedro 3
12/01/26
Poor San Pedro. Many years ago, it was a small self contained village of Mayan Indians. And slowly the invasion of foreigners began. When I was here 8 years ago, it was still a small village with a discrete section catering to a back packer crowd: bars, hotels, restaurants, juice kiosks, all crowded in one or 2 winding dirt paths. The local people very reserved - almost unfriendly. Ada reminds me that I said I would never come back because of the unfriendly people.
Now the tourist section has expanded. A big wide street near the lake plus all the winding trails. More hotels, more restaurants. Art galleries. Language schools. People selling their jewellery and handicrafts on tables on the street. ATM machines. (that don´t work) Tuktuks abound. The lake is still there down below, ringed by volcanoes. But the focus is here on the street. Buy. Buy. Buy. And the local people are definitely unfriendly. (understandibly so)
My hotel is a case in point. It is one of the original ones, The housekeeper tells me that she has been working here for 20 years. The workers smile and greet me when I initiate a greeting but there is a definite hostility.
We come with our obvious richesse, our "cool" clothing, our tablets and ipods, our fancy luggage, whether it is an upscale backpack or suitcase,. We hope to be well received and taken care of because we think we are boosting the local economy and are of value. There are people that come here annually or stay here full time. But have we really helped? I had a zipper changed on a cloth bag. The man charged me a dollar. My hotel bill with private bathroom is less that 5$. There are drunks on the street in the day time and lots of drugs at night. The people in the market are sullen and harried. Poor San Pedro.
Poor San Pedro. Many years ago, it was a small self contained village of Mayan Indians. And slowly the invasion of foreigners began. When I was here 8 years ago, it was still a small village with a discrete section catering to a back packer crowd: bars, hotels, restaurants, juice kiosks, all crowded in one or 2 winding dirt paths. The local people very reserved - almost unfriendly. Ada reminds me that I said I would never come back because of the unfriendly people.
Now the tourist section has expanded. A big wide street near the lake plus all the winding trails. More hotels, more restaurants. Art galleries. Language schools. People selling their jewellery and handicrafts on tables on the street. ATM machines. (that don´t work) Tuktuks abound. The lake is still there down below, ringed by volcanoes. But the focus is here on the street. Buy. Buy. Buy. And the local people are definitely unfriendly. (understandibly so)
My hotel is a case in point. It is one of the original ones, The housekeeper tells me that she has been working here for 20 years. The workers smile and greet me when I initiate a greeting but there is a definite hostility.
We come with our obvious richesse, our "cool" clothing, our tablets and ipods, our fancy luggage, whether it is an upscale backpack or suitcase,. We hope to be well received and taken care of because we think we are boosting the local economy and are of value. There are people that come here annually or stay here full time. But have we really helped? I had a zipper changed on a cloth bag. The man charged me a dollar. My hotel bill with private bathroom is less that 5$. There are drunks on the street in the day time and lots of drugs at night. The people in the market are sullen and harried. Poor San Pedro.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
waiting for Ada
12/01/23
It has been a good visit so far. We have spent the last 2 afternoons together. Yesterday I gave Ada a massage at her place. And today I wait for my massage. She gave me a book on the Emotional Freedom Technique yesterday. I read it last night and tried the technique a few times. It purports to heal old emotional traumas via balancing the meridians in a sequence that lasts one minute. Simple. So easy. I would love to believe implicitly. However....
And yet, it has the approval of Candace Pert and Bruce Lipton - 2 gurus in the energy movement who both have Phds for what that is worth. And Deepak Chopra - though that may not be a great recommendation.
The sequence involves an affirmation statement while massaging a spot on the chest, a sequence of tapping meridian endings, another sequence involving eyerolling and humming and then one repeats the tapping sequence. Actually kind of fun. And for those of us hanging around eating tortilla chips on a hot day with not that much on our agenda, an interesting diversion. So it releases phobias and traumatic emotions pretty quickly, the manual says. For degenerative illnesses like arthritis, it takes persistence. Do I have persistence?
So I did the technique 3 times last night specifically for hip pain and then went to bed, I woke up as per usual a few hours later with a toothache in my hip. It feels like a mouse is chewing on my bones. I lay there trying to find a comfortable position. Nothing doing. Do I get up and get a pill? Can I just get thru the night?
I rubbed hard on some acupressure points and then amazingly, rolled onto my tummy and slept till morning. Unusual for me these days.Was it the technique? The acupressure points? Hey, if it works, I will tap, hum, roll my eyes. I can believe that my hip mouse is a result of years of negative emotions (and genetic karma and poor foot structure) Can I believe that tapping on meridians and saying I accept myself despite the pain will make the mouse go? I will believe anything that works.
It has been a good visit so far. We have spent the last 2 afternoons together. Yesterday I gave Ada a massage at her place. And today I wait for my massage. She gave me a book on the Emotional Freedom Technique yesterday. I read it last night and tried the technique a few times. It purports to heal old emotional traumas via balancing the meridians in a sequence that lasts one minute. Simple. So easy. I would love to believe implicitly. However....
And yet, it has the approval of Candace Pert and Bruce Lipton - 2 gurus in the energy movement who both have Phds for what that is worth. And Deepak Chopra - though that may not be a great recommendation.
The sequence involves an affirmation statement while massaging a spot on the chest, a sequence of tapping meridian endings, another sequence involving eyerolling and humming and then one repeats the tapping sequence. Actually kind of fun. And for those of us hanging around eating tortilla chips on a hot day with not that much on our agenda, an interesting diversion. So it releases phobias and traumatic emotions pretty quickly, the manual says. For degenerative illnesses like arthritis, it takes persistence. Do I have persistence?
So I did the technique 3 times last night specifically for hip pain and then went to bed, I woke up as per usual a few hours later with a toothache in my hip. It feels like a mouse is chewing on my bones. I lay there trying to find a comfortable position. Nothing doing. Do I get up and get a pill? Can I just get thru the night?
I rubbed hard on some acupressure points and then amazingly, rolled onto my tummy and slept till morning. Unusual for me these days.Was it the technique? The acupressure points? Hey, if it works, I will tap, hum, roll my eyes. I can believe that my hip mouse is a result of years of negative emotions (and genetic karma and poor foot structure) Can I believe that tapping on meridians and saying I accept myself despite the pain will make the mouse go? I will believe anything that works.
Monday, January 23, 2012
san pedro 2
12/01/21
Cold at night. Hot in the day. In the early morning, I don´t want to leave my bed but now I am roasting in the shade, my legs browning in the sun.
I walked up the steep incline to the market this morning. The fruit ladies are still at the entrance. The bakery I liked is not there any more. I buy fruit, vegetables and peanuts, and a small package of smelly laundry detergent. There is something so familiar in all this. I have lived this so many times in so many places. I am in my comfort zone of travel mode.
From this veranda - I am looking straight at Volcan San Pedro. It is very green and very big. I can't believe I had the energy to climb it 8 years ago. Even then, it was a brutal climb. I ascended with a young 18 year old who was in the middle of a ¨peine d'amour¨. His girlfriend had rejected him because he was getting drunk too often. He would run ahead of me and then double back to wait and smoke a cigarette. It felt like a 60 degree incline the whole way except the top which was close to 90 degrees. Today I am happy to look at the mountain, sweat and remember.
(And did he marry the girl and have 3 children?)
Cold at night. Hot in the day. In the early morning, I don´t want to leave my bed but now I am roasting in the shade, my legs browning in the sun.
I walked up the steep incline to the market this morning. The fruit ladies are still at the entrance. The bakery I liked is not there any more. I buy fruit, vegetables and peanuts, and a small package of smelly laundry detergent. There is something so familiar in all this. I have lived this so many times in so many places. I am in my comfort zone of travel mode.
From this veranda - I am looking straight at Volcan San Pedro. It is very green and very big. I can't believe I had the energy to climb it 8 years ago. Even then, it was a brutal climb. I ascended with a young 18 year old who was in the middle of a ¨peine d'amour¨. His girlfriend had rejected him because he was getting drunk too often. He would run ahead of me and then double back to wait and smoke a cigarette. It felt like a 60 degree incline the whole way except the top which was close to 90 degrees. Today I am happy to look at the mountain, sweat and remember.
(And did he marry the girl and have 3 children?)
san pedro la laguna
12-01-20
The last time I was here was 8 years ago. Driving in on the shuttle bus, I start to remember old landmarks. I am sitting next to an American woman who tells me there are 13,000 people living here now. Bigger than I remembered. She has been living here for 4 1/2 years. She is 76 and looks much younger. She lives on her social security pension, she says, and is involved in different local NGO projects. Beside the American is a young Chinese man who has been travelling through North America for the past 7 months. I am impressed that he took a train to Churchill Falls, Manitoba to see polar bears. He saw 6. The American sitting behind him looks either Japanese or Guatemalan. He is living part of the year in a village nearby. He and his wife work with an NGO supplying and fitting hearing aids.
It is dark when we finally get to San Pedro. The tuk tuk drivers crowd around. I get in with the American woman and she drops me off at my hotel.
I am here to visit a woman I met here 8 years ago. She is a massage therapist and has her studio at my hotel. I drop off my things and we go for supper. The temperature has dropped from hot to cold. The restaurant we choose is an outdoor garden café. We are somewhat chilled when we get up to go.
The dueña has given me a ¨very quiet¨ room. Nonetheless, it is Friday night and there is a party on the roof across the way. Earplugs are required and sleep comes easily.
The last time I was here was 8 years ago. Driving in on the shuttle bus, I start to remember old landmarks. I am sitting next to an American woman who tells me there are 13,000 people living here now. Bigger than I remembered. She has been living here for 4 1/2 years. She is 76 and looks much younger. She lives on her social security pension, she says, and is involved in different local NGO projects. Beside the American is a young Chinese man who has been travelling through North America for the past 7 months. I am impressed that he took a train to Churchill Falls, Manitoba to see polar bears. He saw 6. The American sitting behind him looks either Japanese or Guatemalan. He is living part of the year in a village nearby. He and his wife work with an NGO supplying and fitting hearing aids.
It is dark when we finally get to San Pedro. The tuk tuk drivers crowd around. I get in with the American woman and she drops me off at my hotel.
I am here to visit a woman I met here 8 years ago. She is a massage therapist and has her studio at my hotel. I drop off my things and we go for supper. The temperature has dropped from hot to cold. The restaurant we choose is an outdoor garden café. We are somewhat chilled when we get up to go.
The dueña has given me a ¨very quiet¨ room. Nonetheless, it is Friday night and there is a party on the roof across the way. Earplugs are required and sleep comes easily.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Antigua - finalemente
12/01/19
It is green in Guatemala. And it is hot. Finally. To think that just yesterday afternoon I was stepping gingerly over the ice. I am sitting in a little cantina, checkered tablecloth, 4 little tables. The senora just took my order of a vegetarian plate and a fresh orange/pineapple juice. At the table in front of me, a young gringo in shorts and sandals is eating his meal, headphones in his ears. I haven´t even taken off my airplane clothes yet. I was too hungry.
It was a 2 plane event to get to Guatemala and each flight was short enough that no meal was served. Peanuts and drinks. Snack food for sale. So rather than arrive stuffed with too much food, I arrive ravenous. Customs was a non-event as was finding the shuttle bus. They found me. I gulped down a burrito at the airport cantina but it barely left a dent.
The food has arrived. A little green salad in the centre surrounded by a slab of pureéd black beans, a baked potato, 2 slices of fried plantain and a mound of guacamole. A tortilla chip sits in the guacamole and in the beans. 3 hot tortillas wrapped in a cloth. With a little hot sauce, it is heaven.
Hartsford Jackson International Airport, Atlanta
12/01/19
It may be 25 degrees Centigrade in Guatemala but it is 35 degrees Fahrenheit in Atlanta! I have an overnight layover here and so take the rail service from my gate in Concourse E to the exit. I am pleased to hear the disembodied voice announce: Concourse D - D for David. But then we pass through C for Charlie, B for Bravo and A for Alpha and I feel like I am in an American military sitcom. I have to stand outside shivering waiting for the shuttle to my hotel. It finally arrives and fills with people whose plane was delayed coming in from the Domincan Republic. They have a free voucher because they missed their connecting flights. They talk about their golf games, the food they ate and check their smart phones for messages. My room is cold and sterile but adequate. Up at 6 and here I sit waiting for the next plane. The intercom keeps reporting " an emergency in the building". And what am I supposed to do with that information?
Departures
12/01/18
I am sitting in the airport lounge. I have just eaten a Maamoul and an apple. Some things don´t change. Years of traveling at a budget and health-conscious level, I still pack snacks and ignore the airport food. At least on the way out.
And yet, I feel sleek and modern. Sure, I am wearing my old sneakers but gone are the baggy outfits. I am actually wearing pants that fit and a T-shirt that is bright and revealing rather than dark and anonymous. I must be growing up. And instead of 3 books weighing down my backpack, I actually have a Kobo ereader with 105 books on it. 100 classics preloaded - some of which are worth a read: Dostoievsky, Jane Austen, even Charles Darwin and Karl Marx. Plus the ones I put on myself. I have held off reading till this moment and even now, I hold off, instead writing in this book. What if I don´t like it? Which one do I start first?
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