Guatemala - Tecun Uman to San Pedro La Laguna

If you thought our pre-trip understanding of Mexico was modest, then consider this humble fact -all we knew about Guatemala was the names of its currency and capital city, and the ancient Mayan ruins at Tikal. Yep, our knowledge stretched all of two, maybe three sentences, and only then if you had asked me what the national sport was (I would have correctly guessed football). Guatemala really was a land of mystery to us. We crossed into Guatemala via the border towns of Cuidad Hidalgo (Mexico) and Tecun Uman (Guatemala) in late January. The border crossing was exceedingly sedate. After paying our 'non-immigrant departure tax' (I'm always fascinated with the names each country gives what is really the 'Let's make sure we get that last bit of cash from each tourist' tax) of US$20 each to the Mexican border guard, we ambled across a bridge into Guatemala.

Entry into Guatemala was simple; a 90-day visa was issued for $1.50 each that covered four countries (Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua) with a minimum of fuss. Our next mission was navigating the slightly unruly town of Tecun Uman - we needed to get to the bus terminal, which according to the local Tuk Tuk touts was a grueling walk of many kilometres (translation - a flat, simple walk of about 2km, or 15 minutes). The next challenge was getting the correct bus or minivan to our first destination in Guatemala, namely the town of Retalhuleu. The first touts insisted the mini-van was the best (translation - only) option; our guide book said otherwise. What is it about the very first person that rushes up in an attempt to 'assist' you?; almost without fail these are the guys trying to confuse you for the sole purpose of making some extra cash for themselves (in this case more than double the actual cost). Alia and I simply walked away from the tout in question and went to ask people whom we perceived at least would have no commercial interest in our trip (and therefore no reason to lie) - namely, a lady and man sitting nearby. Sure enough, they pointed us towards the bus sitting around the corner from us (the touts had purposefully guided us away from the bus area) - it was headed our way, and was ready to go. Vamos!

We had originally expected to get a 'Chicken Bus' from Tecun Uman to Retalhuhue - these are ex- yellow U.S. high school buses that now sport a profusion of obtuse colours on their wrinkled bodies and that are generally rammed full of humanity (three people to a two-person seat), and that stop for everyone and anything along the roadside. I'm not sure whether they still carry the chickens they are named after but it wouldn't surprise me if they did. These buses are cheap and great for short distances, not so much for hauls over a two hours in length. Our bus (see picture) though was an ex-coach, one that had certainly better days (during the Lyndon Johnson presidency perhaps) but that included much more leg room, less people (it's a bit more expensive than a Chicken Bus) and a quicker transit time (it only collected people at set stops). Well, it would have been quicker except for the military stop that led to the unloading of a vast amount of boxes from the bus' undercarriage. From what we could work out a man on the bus had failed to pay the appropriate import duty (or perhaps the GST?) on the goods in question, and as such the numerous boxes of household-type goods were being taken back by the government (ie. police). It's hard to argue with a bunch of guys carrying sub-machine guns yet our importer gave it a go. Suffice to say his boxes had as much chance of being returned sans-tax as we had of meeting David Beckham on the same bus.

The bus eventually continued its journey along the Carretera al Pacifico, one of the two main highways that run through Guatemala. Running along a flatter part of the country the Pacifico glides its way through a softly undulating scenery complete with farms and the odd small town. It was a prettier place than I had expected; trees were abundant, towns and urbanisation happily less frequent, and the views of the highlands to our east impressive.

Visiting Retalhuleu, population 42,000, was less to do with tourism and more to do with getting settled in our new country. There are a few 'tourist' sights near Retalhuleu, including the wonderfully underdeveloped Mayan site of Abaj Takalik. The town's main plaza isn't too bad, either, particularly when the local band turns up to perform a couple of robust Guatemalan tunes (the boys on trumpets certainly worked up a good sweat when I saw them perform). We had simply wanted to start out in a town that was pure Guatemala; a town where a dusty street corner served as the town's main bus terminal, homes and shops were simple utilitarian constructions of concrete and wood, the few colonial buildings were faded relics of yesteryear, and where traditionally-clad (Mayan) women walked about with pretty much everything balanced on their heads. And Retalhuleu delivered for the two days we were there.

Getting to our next destination of San Pedro la Laguna, on Lake Atilan, was simple enough. Catch a Guatemala City-bound bus further east along the Carretera al Pacifico until you reach the junction with Highway 11, and then see what heads in the direction of Lake Atilan. Sure enough, it was really that simple. Not that I understood one word of what a few guys at the local bus station said when I asked them how to get to San Pedro. Two different guys pointed to two different buses. So we took the one that looked better to travel in - another coach rather than a chicken bus (we had caught a chicken bus the day before to get to Abaj Takalik, so we weren't avoiding them altogether). The driver, a nice bloke who looked like he enjoyed a taco or ten each evening for dinner, all washed down with a liter or three of beer (yep, a man after my own heart), ensured we got off at the correct intersection an hour and a half later. A few minutes after that and we were on a chicken bus headed for Santiago Atilan, a town located just a short boat ride from our final destination of San Pedro. Upwards into the Guatemalan highlands we went, we and the seemingly hundreds of other locals who travelled at least some part of the journey with us. The air cooled, the mountains grew, and the foilage thickened.

Catching a chicken bus is simple but it may help to know the following; it may or not come to a complete stop where you're meant to board so its best to be ready to literally force your way on when it's moving at its slowest; squeeze your way as far back as you can so as to minimize the vast number of passengers who will need to pass you as they're getting on or off; two people on a seat is never enough, there's always room for one more no matter how generous one's girth is; finally, two guys generally run the show - one drives - well, cajoles and coerces are better decriptions - the bus, while the other keeps mental tabs on who has paid and who hasn't (people board first and pay later)...this is the guy you would take to Vegas with you to help count cards. What a memory.

We arrived at Santiago Atilan and caught a small boat across Lake Atilan to San Pedro, arriving just after 4pm. The lake, located at 1600 metres in altitude, is surrounded by various volcanoes and mountains, with San Pedro sitting directly beneath a 3000 metre volcano of the same name (see adjacent picture of Volcan San Pedro). It's truly an impressive setting. San Pedro is renowned for its Spanish schools, one of which, the Cooperativa, had come recommended. As such, there are plenty of us Gringos around town, although for the most part the town hasn't lost its Guatemalan flavour. Just a few streets up from the tourist section of town and you're back amongst the locals. They also seem to be doing OK from our presence in town, highlighted by the two banana bread ladies who take up strategic positions along each end of the main pedestrian walkway each evening. "Quiere Banana Bread (Do you want Banana Bread)? Quiere Banana Bread', they ask each time you walk past them. And that's regardless of how many times or how often you might pass each of them in an evening - the question is repeated. And repeated. And repeated. If they don't convince you in the walkway, they change tack and get you at your restaurant table. Smile in tow, the question recommenses...'Quiere Banana Bread? Quiere Banana Bread?'. Finally, if that doesn't do it, in come the cute children, often as young as 6 or 7...and that's usually where we capitulate.

The banana-bread ladies strike again.


Apart from our time at Spanish school, which entails four hours of one-on-one tuition each day(Alia is pictured here with her teacher) under thatched-roofed huts in a wonderful outdoor setting, we have managed to learn some salsa and hike up 1,500 metres (3,000 metres return) to the top of Volcan San Pedro. The latter was a killer, a 7-hour hike that left our jaded legs begging for some serious deep tissue manipulation. The view though was worth every againising step, as per the image below (of Santiago Atilan).

Alas, our fatigued legs were quickly called back into action by a Cuban salsa beat; our school put on a free group lesson in salsa last night, so off we went. Of course, I wanted to ensure I gave it my all, so on went the dancing (hiking) shoes, tight black trousers, gold chains and white shirt (casually) unbuttoned to my navel (yes, it's amazing what I can fit into my small backpack)...and off I went. Memories of my (in)famous Stags two-step - honed after many a night on the dancefloor (nee carpet) of Auburn RSL's once ritzy nightclub - came flooding back. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three...yes, one more step than I had been used to at Stags perhaps. But it wasn't long before my gold chains were swaying in rythym to the Caribbean beat...well, OK, almost. Not. At all. That I can barely count to three in Spanish let alone move my legs to what was to me a complicated beat was an immediate issue, one compounded by the very real threat posed by my heavy hiking shoes crunching many an unclad female foot. I did manage a few delicate moves, a jink of the hips here and a flick of the head there, yet most would agree my best move was away from the dancefloor altogether.

OK, back to reality now. We depart San Pedro this Saturday for the colonial town of Antigua. After that, it's an overnight bus to Flores, a town located not too far from the Mayan ruins of Tikal, and then off to Guatemala's Caribbean coast near Livingston. Until then, all the best to you, and thanks for reading.