Well, as usual, we've covered many a town and mile before I've had a chance to put it all down in words. It's ironic in some ways, I feel like I had more opportunities to write when we were cycling through North America, even with the many days of isolation that trip entailed.
Alas, we are now in the so
mewhat worn yet atmospheric colonial city of Leon (pictured to left), in the northwest of Nicaragua. We've been here for two days and basically have used that time to catch up on some much needed sleep, and to wander around this compact town of 145,000 people. A prominent town during the country's revolution (this is where dictator Anastasio Somoza Garcia was assisninated in 1956 by Rigoberto Lopez Perez), it also includes Central America's largest church (construction commenced in 1747 and continued for 100 years) and the home of Ruben Dario, renowned Latin American poet.
mewhat worn yet atmospheric colonial city of Leon (pictured to left), in the northwest of Nicaragua. We've been here for two days and basically have used that time to catch up on some much needed sleep, and to wander around this compact town of 145,000 people. A prominent town during the country's revolution (this is where dictator Anastasio Somoza Garcia was assisninated in 1956 by Rigoberto Lopez Perez), it also includes Central America's largest church (construction commenced in 1747 and continued for 100 years) and the home of Ruben Dario, renowned Latin American poet.This leg of our journey began with a hair-raising (yes, even a few of my depleted folicles managed to rise) mini-bus trip from San Pedro to Antigua (still in Guatemala). The first part of this trip took its toll on Alia's sensitive stomach, and suffice to say we were lucky we had a spare plastic bag with us. Once we reached the main highway (the Interamericana) she was fine; it's just those agressive twists and turns that have her stomach in knots. The three-hour trip ended in the graceful ci
ty of Antigua, which sits precipitously beneath three volcanoes, the most prominent of which is Volcan Agua (Water - pictured to the left), at 3766 metres. It was difficult not to continously stop and admire the nearby volcanoes, one of which (Fuego, or Fire) remains active and continues to emit gas clouds every few minutes (something we enjoyed watching whilst sipping on a cold beverage). The town itself was a treasure-trove of old churches and civic buildings, some of which have been left in-situ after one of the many earthquakes that have hit this city in the years since the Spanish first built here (1543). It was originally the capital of Guatemala until it was completely destroyed in an earthquake in 1776; the capital was then moved to Guatemala City, about 45km to the southeast.
ty of Antigua, which sits precipitously beneath three volcanoes, the most prominent of which is Volcan Agua (Water - pictured to the left), at 3766 metres. It was difficult not to continously stop and admire the nearby volcanoes, one of which (Fuego, or Fire) remains active and continues to emit gas clouds every few minutes (something we enjoyed watching whilst sipping on a cold beverage). The town itself was a treasure-trove of old churches and civic buildings, some of which have been left in-situ after one of the many earthquakes that have hit this city in the years since the Spanish first built here (1543). It was originally the capital of Guatemala until it was completely destroyed in an earthquake in 1776; the capital was then moved to Guatemala City, about 45km to the southeast.The street-food here was great as well; we managed to eat quite a bit at the Plaza adjoining the Iglesia (Church) Merced, usually tacos or sandwiches filled with pork, sausage or beef and salad.
A 6am pickup had us on our way to Volcan Pacaya (pictured), an active volcano to the city's southeast. The hike itself wasn't too strenu
ous, delivering us to an outlook just below the smoldering cone of the volcano. This volcano erupted as recently as May last year (hence not being able to walk to the cone at the moment), the remenants of which were easy to see (we were literally crunching and sliding our way through the former lava flow). Our guide, who managed the ascent dressed in well-worn black leather slip-on shoes (last seen the night before in a nearby nightclub), had gathered a heap of dry tinder on the way up; he threw these into an open trench, at which point they exploded into fire. I'm not sure whether this was a party trick or an efficient means of keeping us gringos on the designated trail.
ous, delivering us to an outlook just below the smoldering cone of the volcano. This volcano erupted as recently as May last year (hence not being able to walk to the cone at the moment), the remenants of which were easy to see (we were literally crunching and sliding our way through the former lava flow). Our guide, who managed the ascent dressed in well-worn black leather slip-on shoes (last seen the night before in a nearby nightclub), had gathered a heap of dry tinder on the way up; he threw these into an open trench, at which point they exploded into fire. I'm not sure whether this was a party trick or an efficient means of keeping us gringos on the designated trail. The same evening had us travelling 8-hours northeast, via Guatemala City, to the town of Flores. This small town, which sits on a tiny island in Lago de Peten Itza, is the main jumping-off point for the majestic Mayan ruins of Tikal (70km to the north). The overnight bus trip, which wasn't the best experience considering they gave us the two seats at the front of the bus with the least amount of legroom, had us arriving in Flores at 5.30am.
Ble
ary-eyed we trudged around the town looking for a room; the first hostal was full, which turned out to be a good thing as the second option, Hotel La Union, included a small balcony overlooking the lake with its modest but clean room. And didn't I give that small balcony a good shake each evening around 5pm as I watched the sunset over the lake, beer firmly in hand. A small wharf beneath our room was the focal point for many a local and Gringo alike; many jumped into the seemingly pristine waters for a swim, whilst others just did as I did and had a few beers whilst watching mother nature do her thing each evening.
ary-eyed we trudged around the town looking for a room; the first hostal was full, which turned out to be a good thing as the second option, Hotel La Union, included a small balcony overlooking the lake with its modest but clean room. And didn't I give that small balcony a good shake each evening around 5pm as I watched the sunset over the lake, beer firmly in hand. A small wharf beneath our room was the focal point for many a local and Gringo alike; many jumped into the seemingly pristine waters for a swim, whilst others just did as I did and had a few beers whilst watching mother nature do her thing each evening.The next day had us departing for Tikal at 4.30am. The main reason for the early departure is it offers the very real chance of seeing animals at their most active, just after sunrise. Tikal was different to what I had expected; the crowds simply weren't there. And that wasn't just due to the early hour, as it was just as quiet when we departed at 12.30pm. This gave us the solitude we had craved, and an even better chance of seeing animals. And we weren't disappointed; plenty of howler monkeys were to be seen along the many jungle-enveloped paths that linked each of the site's temple complexes; two coatis (small pig-like animals) made an appearance; green parrots squawked from above; and then, the highlight - a clear view of around eight brightly-coloured toucans from a distance of 10 metres or so. It's a bird I've longed to see (Ok, ever since the bird became the emblem for a breakfast cereal, Fruit Loops I think. Not that my parents let me eat Fruit Loops when I was young, as they had WAY too much sugar for this growing boy...), and I couldn't have hoped for a better sighting. We were at the top of Temple IV when we saw them - this 64-metre-high temple has trees clinging to its sides most of the way up, so you get to be above the jungle canopy as well as amongst trees as you ascend.
Tikal, which was largely built between 250 and 900AD, is as majestic for its steep-sided pyramids as it is for its tranquil location. It's easy to find peace and quiet at many a temple complex, to get the mental space you often require just to sit back and digest what you're seeing. This space was a much rarer commodity in many of the Mexican-based Mayan sites. Often we also had the top of each temple to ourselves, giving us time to sit back and admire the vast jungle canopy (which was shrouded in an early morning mist) spread before us. It's natural I think to ask yourself why the Mayans deserted many of their cities, although when you consider most relied almost exclusivley on rainfall for their water supply (there are no rivers in the near vicinity of Tikal, nor near many of the other ancient Mayan cities in the Yucatan) you can at least imagine a scenario that could prompt people to leave in droves. Additionally, when you consider that sacrificing people was a means of encouraging rainfall (the blood was meant to please the Gods), you've likely got another damn good reason to hit the road come times of drought. Adios indeed. And rapido. Muy rapido, por favor.
Our next stop was quite a nice contrast to what we had seen so far, an isolated set of thatch-roof cabins set amongst th
e mangroves and jungle of the Rio Dulce (Sweet River - pictured with water lilies) in southeast Guatemala. Only accessible by boat, the retreat - Finca Tatin - included numerous huts (rooms) all joined by concrete walkways to a central hut large enough to accomodate plenty of lazy gringos laying prostrate in hammocks and couches. This is the sort of place that legitimises laziness; not only does the sultry heat encourage little more than ambling to the nearest hammock, the retreat itself adds to the desolutery atmosphere by promoting such 'activities' as deep-tissue massages and/or reading. As if that isn't enough to get your pulse snoozing, all meals are provided for in an eating area not more than 10 metres from the main hangout.
e mangroves and jungle of the Rio Dulce (Sweet River - pictured with water lilies) in southeast Guatemala. Only accessible by boat, the retreat - Finca Tatin - included numerous huts (rooms) all joined by concrete walkways to a central hut large enough to accomodate plenty of lazy gringos laying prostrate in hammocks and couches. This is the sort of place that legitimises laziness; not only does the sultry heat encourage little more than ambling to the nearest hammock, the retreat itself adds to the desolutery atmosphere by promoting such 'activities' as deep-tissue massages and/or reading. As if that isn't enough to get your pulse snoozing, all meals are provided for in an eating area not more than 10 metres from the main hangout. Alia and I did managed a few activities whilst there. We swam a bit. We saunered (is that even a verb? Even my verbs are lazy). We sat. We even managed to kayak for an hour. After that though it was back to the sauna. And into the adjacent river for a quick swim. We then sat around some more. Drip-drying, you know - that's still an activity in my book. And, oh, what time do you have now darling? 5 o'clock? Really? Well then, we all know what time that is...beer time. And what a well-earned thirst I imagined I had.
The only distressing part of this adventure was when the launcha (like a communal power boat) we were in (when leaving the town of Rio Dulce) hit a small carved-out wooden canoe piloted by two young boys. One managed to jump off just as our fast-moving boat struck theirs (we actually went over the top of their boat, we were travelling that fast); the other, younger boy didn't fair so well and was likely hit by the side of our boat (as best I could guage). We swung around and collected both kids; the young boy writhed in agony as one of the passengers hauled him out of the water. We last saw both boys as they were dropped off at the Rio Dulce town wharf, the young one being carried to a nearby doctor.
We spent two wonderfully relaxing nights at Finca Tatin. And we needed the rest considering our next two days had us on the road, travelling across two borders. The first stage had us on small launcha travelling further down the Rio Dulce, through steep jungle-clad limestone walls filled with birds until the water flows into the vast expanse of the Carribbean at the port-town of Livingston. From there it was another 30-minute ride in a launcha to the decripid and filthy town of Puerto Barrios, from where we (very quickly) caught a mini-bus for the hour-long ride to the Honduran border. The rain began to tumble as we arrived at the tranquil border post; luckily it was just a short walk to the nearby bus station (well, the small gravel car park that served as the town's bus terminal) for our relaxed chicken bus ride to Puerto Cortes. Just under two hours later, after a quick changeover on the side of the highway, we were on an express mini-bus to Honduras' second largest city of San Pedro Sula (in the country's northeast), an hour or so away.
San Pedro Sula was little more than a town to spend the night, as we booked seats on the next morning's (5am) Ticabus for Leon, Nicaragua (11 hours away). What we did see was an amazing array of well-stocked and fancy shopping malls, certainly on par for glitz with anything we had seen anywhere in the world. Quite the sight after spending so much time in rural Guatemala and Honduras. To ensure we kept with the Western feel of San Pedro, we devoured some fast food (KFC) in one of the mall foodcourts...when in Rome, hey.
Which leads us now to where we are, in Leon. Nicaragua certainly 'feels' different, but just how to describe what that means is too difficult at this early stage of our time here. Our next stop is the northern highlands, specifically the city of Matagulpa, about three hours by bus from here. After that we'll head towards the capital Managua, and then onto Masaya and Granada. Alia and I adjusting to Central America quite well; the food isn't sending us to the washroom in any hurry, our Spanish is making us (largely) understood, and we're clutching down the gears somewhat in terms of how much we do each day. Nice and easy does it. And we're learning plenty about the local history and culture, something we both find as fascinating as it can be sad. Poverty is everywhere, yet there are also plenty of people that appear to be doing OK for themselves - plenty of teenagers with mobiles (I'm not suggesting that's the definition of modernity, far from it, just an indication of what people can afford), and plenty of others with enough cash for a beer or three at the local. Extremely anecdotal I know, but it's tough to judge prosperity when you're just passing through. The backpacker scene is varied, although as we've noticed since entering Guatemala the hippies are certainly out in force...and there's always that guy who insists on playing a guitar in communal areas even though many of us would rather have peace and quiet. What is it about these guys? Do they really think their guitar will get them laid??
Thanks again for taking an interest in our trip. I hope to write a bit sooner next time.
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