From the Highlands to the Coast, Part 3

Update: I forgot to mention that when Susannah and I were talking to the owner of Johnny's Place and trying to find the best way home, the owner said, "Oh but you must be very careful to leave early, if you don't, you might get stuck in this terrible place called Escuintla that is very dangerous, even for us." When we told him Escuintla was where we spent the previous night, his eyes got huge and then he laughed, a lot.

Before we settled into our beds on Saturday night, Stefan announced, "I will not want to get up in the morning. I will roll over and pull the covers over my head and tell you all to go without me. Make me get up." Come 5am, we all shared that sentiment. I felt greasy and gritty from the heat, the bug spray, the sand. But it was the absolute most comfortable bed that I have slept in so far in Central America. I longed to carry the mattress home of top of the buses.

We rose, dressed, and walked groggily onto the beach, where the surf continued to rage. The world was damp. Sand, dirt, tree, shrub. We walked down the beach to the turtle sanctuary and met our guide, who walked us back onto the dirt road that wound between concrete, thatch and tin houses that at daybreak already had fires going. There were many chickens about, busying themselves in the wet earth. And ducks. A few dogs, lots of pigs. One thing I love about Guatemala: there are hardly any cats about. We cut off the road and walked down a trail that led to the lagoons, where a dozen wooden canoes were tethered to the muddy bank. The canoes were soaked and the wood was swollen from being soaked often, and the paint was peeling off them, and our guide climbed in and began scooping the water out of the bottom of the boat with an old plastic bottle of vegetable oil that had been cut in half.

I spent a lot of time obsessing about what clothes to bring here. Everyone I consulted had different opinions. And because there are dozens of climates throughout the country, it was hard to pack. Still, I knew I would be living here during rainy season. And for some unknown reason that knowledge didn't prompt me to invest in a jacket that was actually waterproof. Instead, I found one whose color I loved -- eggplant -- and that could be stuffed into its own tiny pouch. And even though it was only water resistant and not waterproof, and even though the clerks at REI advised me not to buy it, I did, and have lived to regret it again and again and again. Most recently on a hour and half tour through lagoons in the rain.

So, with the boat empty, we climbed in and launched off. Mangrove lagoons are quiet, dark places, even in daylight. Mangroves, I have been told, can live in salt or freshwater, and their elaborate root systems grow out of the water into labyrinths of tree and leaf and sky. The mangrove tour is supposed to be a bird watchers paradise, but the birds were smarter than us and knew better than to hang out all morning in the rain. There are allegedly caimans that inhabit the lagoons as well, but we never saw any. We did see turtles, and egrets, and herons, and small red and purple crabs that passed time on the mangrove roots.

Despite the wet and the rain and the mosquitoes, it was really beautiful in places and I figured there are worse ways to spend an early Sunday morning. After about 30 minutes we exited the mangroves and found ourselves in open water, surrounded by forest and mist and mountain. It was incredibly breathtaking. The mountains rose through the cloud cover and egrets circled overhead and from a long way off I thought they looked a little like pterodactyls must have.

By the time we returned to our bank, my water resistant rain jacket was entirely soaked and clung to my skin like saran wrap. We headed back to the hostel and on the way there were two huge toads that had been run over. They were the flattened to the size of dinner plates and looked like they had been pressed, like flowers, between the pages of a very large book. Stefan went back to bed immediately, but Susannah and Olivia and I took breakfast on the beach before Susannah and I left.

We had pieced together what we felt sure was a quicker way home. A boat to La Avellana, and buses from La Avellana to Taxisco to Escuintla to Mazatenango to home. We asked for directions to the dock and were told to go back to the center of town and make a left. Doing that deadended us onto the beach, and the wind and rain had picked up and the beach was empty except for a tiny fishing canoe and about 30 men surrounding it. I thought, surely this is not the boat we are supposed to take, and not into the sea, which could be easily described as violent. So we turned around and headed the opposite direction that eventually deadended into a small pavilion on the canals, where again, about 30 men loitered about. We were told we could take a private boat for 50Q or wait 20 minutes and take the public boat for 5Q. We opted to wait.

By the time the boat arrived (shaped like a canoe, twice as long as a limo, with rotting floorboards, two wet rows of seats and a canopy overhead) the dock had filled up, and as more and more people and chickens and baskets of goods and car engines were loaded on, the rim of the boat sank lower and lower and lower into the water. This did not inspire confidence. I began mentally preparing myself for life without my iPod should we sink. We set out, the little engine straining, and before long, the driver reversed us and we headed back the way we came. We came back to pick up two more men and something wrapped in brown paper and plastic twine that was very, very heavy. And thus, the lower we sank. The trip took about 25 minutes, and once I realized we probably wouldn't sink, it was very pleasant. There was a Japanese guy on board, the hippest and most attractive person I have seen in a while, and he spoke perfect Spanish, and he held court at the front of the boat while two dozen men laughed and egged him on.

Again, there was forest on either side of us and gorgeous, cloud rimmed mountains in the distance. And egrets. And crabs. And every once in a while a concrete house that looked flooded and abandoned. Near the end of our trip I noticed in the distance a very strange and beautiful bird, bobbing in the water. I made a note to remember it and to tell my mom about its strange plumage, but as we neared I realized it was only a 2L Pepsi bottle. We arrived in La Avellana and right on the dock was a small green house/tienda with a metal scale hung from the rafter and two parrots swinging themselves back and forth in it. We loaded onto the bus and headed for Taxisco, which the guidebook had said would only be a drop off point along Hwy 2, but turned out to be an actual town with somewhat of a depot. The ride to Taxisco featured the best driver of the entire trip. And by best, I mean the most dangerous. He couldn't have been more than 18 years old. He wore a backwards baseball cap, with long dark hair curling around the rim, and he subjected us to really loud, vulgar rap music. He reminded me of my brother (who I hope has cleaner taste in music) and I loved him immediately. He drove the bus like the hounds of hell were too close for comfort and we were slung around inside. I remember thinking, "thank goodness he knows how to drive." We arrived in no time at all. We had about a 10 or 15 minute wait until a bus arrived with our next destination painted on the top, Escuintla. Boarding the bus, Susannah and I both asked the driver, "This bus is going to Escuintla, right?" and were told yes.

Once we were on the way, the ayudante passed through to collect our fares. We told him we were going to Escuintla and he started talking very excitedly and from what we gathered, we weren't in fact headed there. We got agitated, he was agitated, and we explained to him that both the bus itself and the driver stated we were going to Escuintla. He said, no, we weren't and so we refused to pay him. Instead, we went to a very small place called Chiquimulilla, which wasn't even on our map. Once there, at the smallest bus "station" ever, featuring 2 buses, we were told to get off, and board another bus whose route made no mention of Escuintla. I was, shall we say, pissed at this point. And I mentally took it out on everyone I saw. The sweet women who boarded the bus trying to sell us tortillas. The clerk at the tienda next door. The driver. The ayudante. I listed all the reasons I had to dislike Guatemala and wished I knew how to explain to someone that I had no desire on earth to go back to Escuintla, but I had to, because it was the only way home.

It took an hour for this next bus to leave and I was seething inside. I was seething because I had the not entirely irrational fear that we would get stuck for one more night in Escuintla and have to stay at that dreadful "hotel." As we were finally leaving on this bus, the ayudante kept yelling, "Guat!" and from our map, it looked like the route to Guat totally bypassed Escuintla and would put us some 4 hours east of Xela. I thought, to hell with it. I'd rather be in stuck in Guat than Escuintla anyway. So I began listening to my iPod. Once the engine starts on a bus, it is reasonable to assume that you are almost on your way. The ayudante will generally try to entice more passengers on board until you pull out of the depot, but from there, the bus has left. Not so with this driver. We CREPT along through town and at one point parked in the middle of a 4 lane road and waited for more passengers, while other buses' horns screamed at us as they flew by. I should have been too weary to be angry at this point, but it too angered me.

Finally! we we off. We paid our fare onboard and a few hours later, were dropped off in Escuintla. Que bueno! But we were dropped off at a different location than two nights before, and since there is no map of the town in Lonely Planet, because Lonely Planet acknowledges that the town sucks, we didn't know where we were. We asked several drivers of different buses where to find the bus to Mazatenango and they kept telling us that there was none, but would be happy to take us to Antigua. You get this a lot. Sometimes other drivers are very helpful and accomodating and sometimes because they want your business they will lie to you and tell you the bus you need doesn't exist. I got really irritated at these drivers and for the first time since I have been here I yelled at someone in my unintimidating Spanglish. We then asked someone else where the center of town was and headed that way. Once there, there was no bus to Mazatenango either, and we just kept walking until we found someone who looked trustworthy enough to ask. We ended up asking 3 or 4 different people where to find the bus, and with less and less crude directions each time, we finally ended up in a place that looked somewhat familier and behold there were 3 buses and they all said Mazatenango on them. Such relief!

We got on that bus, and because it was both muggy and rainy and I had my saran wrap raincoat zipped up and we had been running around desperately for the past half hour, I was drenched in sweat. And did I mention how hot it is on the buses? I thought I might never dry out. The ride to Maza was uneventful, if climbing back into gorgeous mountains can be considered such. And the ride home from Maza to Xela was lovely. Tranquil and quiet. Lots of farmland. Mules but no donkeys, which perplexes me.

The Minerva bus station is Xela is maybe the ugliest part of the whole city, but I have never been as happy to see it as I was last Sunday. I disembarked and meant to head to the mall for more cash but on the way I discovered my shampoo had exploded in my bag on the trip, including all over the library book I had borrowed from school. At that point the only thing I had the energy for was to head to my favorite pupuseria and get my bearings again. I was able to clean the book mostly off while I waited for my pupusas (a delicious corn tortilla filled with beans and cheese, then grilled, then served with slaw and salsa). After dinner and a stop by the grocery for new shampoo, I headed home and took a longer shower than we are really supposed to, and collapsed into my rickety, lumpy twin bed, happy to have been near the ocean and totally OK with never seeing the Guatemalan Pacific coast again.

From the Highlands to the Coast, Part 2

To continue...

So, according to the Lonely Planet, which is 10 years old now, we should have arrived in Escuintla around 7:30pm. From there, we were allegedly 1 hour from the coast. Olivia was nervous that there wouldn't be a bus out of Escuintla so late in the day, but I was comfortable and had been listening to lovely music and at that time had the utmost faith in Guatemalan transportation. At 7:30 we arrived in a more populated area. We had a brief conference to determine who out of the 4 of us had the best Spanish and would help navigate us to our next bus. I allowed that it wasn't me seeing as how I sound like a Spanish dictionary that has been run through the blender. Nevertheless, I asked the man across from me if we were in Escuintla and he said no, but soon.

The rule here is don't travel after dark. Even if you're male. Even if you have dark skin. By the time we rolled into Escuintla it was very much dark. We were dropped off at a 5-way intersection and had no bearings whatsoever. I tried my broken Spanish on the man from teh bus once more, and I was stuttering and finally he put his hand on my shoulder and said in English, "where are you trying to get to, dear?" When I told him he cringed and said we had missed the last bus out of here by 3 hours. Escuintla is the 3rd largest city in Guatemala, and also we learned one of the most dangerous outside of La Cuidad, but it doesn't even rate its own map in The Lonely Planet because the only purpose it serves for tourism is catching the next bus. Not knowing what street we were on, we asked some folks loitering in front of a nearby tienda, and knowing what street we were on helped us not one bit since we didn't have a map. We were finally directed to the center of the town and from there we stood under a streetlight to see what Lonely Planet had to say. It did not inspire confidence that LP said this place is nowhere you want to be stranded, but if so, head to the only safe hotel, Costa Sur. We took a taxi to the hotel, checked into two rooms and were going to meet in the lobby in a half hour. I shared a room with Susannah and the "air conditioning" turned out to be a fan and the TV that was supposed to be locked in a metal cage, like a circus animal, had been stolen. It was hot, too. Very, very hot. And there was bird crap in between my sheets, and the shower curtain was 6 inches too short. And there was no showerhead, only a spigot, with a gush of ice cold water, and because the curtain was too short I ended up flooding our nasty, moldy bathroom.

I tried to call my mom, because I knew she would be worried, but my phone wouldn't make international calls for some reason. So I called MRM and said, "we are stranded in what my roommate has not so affectionately called "the hoodest place on earth" and we don't know when we'll get out of here, but for right now, I am alive. Only, don't tell my mom that. Tell her we missed our bus and checked into a nice hotel and will be back on our way at daybreak."

When we met downstairs the owner told us not to leave the hotel, not to even cross the street, because it is too dangerous here at night, even for locals. Still, there was a bar across the street and a bar might mean food, so we set out. It was a hot cramped space with plastic chairs and tables and a jukebox that played music so loud you could feel the fillings rattling in your teeth. In the back was a bathroom that reeked and a stovetop and a grill top and a cooler of beer. The woman asked me what we wanted and she said they had shrimp and some other word that none of us knew. I thought I told her we only wanted a drink, but after we had been sitting there for a few minutes, drenched in sweat and drinking ginger ale, she came to the table with 4 plates of grilled shrimp and frijoles and grilled onions. The shrimp were intact, you had to first behead them and strip the membranes in order to eat them. Olivia was feeling sick and the sight of the shrimp plus the water they were "washed" in sent her over the edge, and she bailed on us. The rest of us accused everyone else of ordering food but none of us had. Still, for all the dump-ness and creepiness of that place, it was the best seafood I have had in Guatemala yet, including the coast.

After dinner we walked across the street, avoiding the man on the curb who had passed out and looked like he'd peed at least a liter of urine on himself and the sidewalk. We headed to our separate rooms and I tried to sleep, but it was hard, having found bird crap in my bed, and it was such an oven in our room that I cracked the window, and below us on the dirt street kids were playing soccer with empty plastic bottles. Things you never have reason to think about until they are keeping you awake: how profoundly loud is a plastic bottle on a dirt road. I became a little enraged. It was after midnight and they were kids. Kids who were not at home in bed where they belonged. Somehow, I fell asleep, and awoke to a sweltering brightness. Susannah and I decamped and went to see if the others had made it through the night. They were still in bed and said they didn't want to leave so early. Susannah and I wanted to get the hell out of there and decided to leave without them, but in the end we didn't have to.

We trundled down one of the main streets in search of the Scott 77 gas station and the bus station behind it. We were escorted to our bus rather quickly and then sat there, waiting for it to fill. I don't think I have ever sweated so much in my life. All the windows on the bus were closed, I was sitting in the sun and almost melting from the heat. I don't think anything makes me as uncharitable as heat. I become almost homicidal in it. Soon enough however, we were off. After about an hour, on a paved highway and near a closed waterpark, we were dropped off on the side of the highway and told to wait for the bus to Ixtapa. That bus was soon to arrive, but it wasn't a bus, it was a van, and it was already full. There was about 8 inches in the last row that I was motioned towards, and there were already 4 people in the row. To get to I had to work in stages, manuevering my body this way and that until I finally was able to get one hipbone lodged into the seat. Let me tell you, we were all up in each other's business in the back of that van. The others got the jump seats which were slightly less crowded. We got into Ixtapa and proceded to drive people personally to their houses. Ixtapa is tiny and there are no roads, only dirt lanes and most of them were flooded. The cement and tin houses are right up on the lanes and it felt incredibly intrusive scuttling through them as we did, and being witness to the private Saturday morning rituals of peoples' lives. After leaving the residential section of Ixtapa we were dropped off at a tienda and told to wait another half hour for our last bus. At this point everyone was exhausted and hot and irritable and we wandered down the dirt lane, looking for a place to sit down. Only, we passed about 6 places to sit down, but no one was happy with them, and in the end we turned back around and settled at the original tienda we were dropped off at. I bought an agua pura and a bag of potato chips and Stefan and I split the last of the Bake Shop cookies and sure enough, a half hour later, a new van pulled up and we loaded into and then waited and then headed out. We were allegedly 1km from the coast at this point, but the drive from Ixtapa to Monterrico took anouther hour. But it was pretty, and the van wasn't crowded.

It was a very bright day. Again, I wish I knew plant names. But from what I have gleaned from the guidebooks I think what I was marveling at was jacaranda or possibly bouginvilla. Who knows. There were lots of palm trees, and volcanoes in the distance, and though it was hot, the air felt clean. We finally arrived in Monterrico and were dumped at a 3 way stop on a black top road, again, with no bearings. We said, "la playa?" and people pointed, and we followed. We walked for about 20 minutes, passing this tiny dirt lane, and soon after passing it a man approached us on bicycle and informed us that we had left Monterrico and were now headed inland. We should have taken the unmarked tiny dirt lane. So we turned around and about half way down the dirt lane was an enormous pelican that began to charge us and snap at us. I had my daypack clipped on my waist and out of fear Stefan grabbed it and hid behind me and put me directly in the path of the raging pelican. We made a run for it and soon our little dirt lane dead ended into a sand path and on that sand path was our hostel, Johnny's Place.

Johnny's Place is right on the beach, with little bungalows and fresh water pools and hammocks and an outdoor restaurant and bar and a covered patio with couches and loungechairs and more hammocks. Also, being the Pacific Coast of Guatemala, the beach was black volcanic sand and this was endlessly cool to me.

We checked in, scored a private bungalow with a private bath, and walked to the restaurant for lunch. Johnny's Place is home to the worst fish tacos I have ever had, a major disappointment. But they had one of the best piña coladas ever, with fresh juices and that made up for it. From lunch, I headed straight to the hammocks on the beach and remained there for hours. About an hour before sunset I began walking down the beach collecting bits of rock and driftwood, and headed back in in time to watch the sunset from the patio. I am my parents daughter. The Pacific is incredibly loud in Monterrico. During my walk, I looked up because I thought jet planes were flying overhead and I thought that was really weird, and then I realized it was the sound of the surf. It is not a very good swimming beach because the undertow is so powerful, but it sounds so incredibly gorgeous. Also, coconuts wash ashore! I thought that was the greatest thing ever.

After sunset I showered (in salt water, muy sticky, ew) and we went to dinner at the Lonely Planet's top pick. The restaurant was cozy and airy at the same time, and turned out to be the home of the pelican from earlier that day. Also living there was a grey cat that looked exactly like my sister's cat, and 3 dogs. I ordered the risotto del mar and it was a little on the gross side. The seafood tasted like it had freezerburn and the risotto was undercooked. Strike two, Monterrico. But we went back to Johnny's Place for piña coladas on the patio which almost made up for the insanely expensive and yucky dinner. If you like to party, the best thing about Johnny's Place is that it is right next door to a discoteca. If you prefer to fall asleep before 4am, the worst thing about Johnny's Place is that it is right next door to a discoteca. Also, we were in mosquito country, and malaria country at that. So we had to shut the doors and windows of our bungalow at dusk. This made for an incredibly hot, loud night. And we had a 5am wake up call because we had booked a sunrise boat tour of the lagoons.

Late for dinner again, will finally wrap this sucker up this weekend. Ciao!

From the Highlands to the Coast

Well, we made it to the beach. And back. This school week is already half way over, which is hard to believe. Time is funky, here. It drags and races simultaneously.

So on Friday, we met at the school around 2pm and had several errands to make along the way to the bus station. The bus station is in Zone 3 and we all live in Zone 1. We could have taken a microbus from the park to the bus station, but we needed to go to the Bake Shop and the mall for cash. The Bake Shop is only open on Tuesdays and Fridays and has American pastries and we were all very much in need of them. Olivia and I bought donuts filled with fruit and Stefan bought an assortment of cookies for all of us and Susannah bought some apple muffins. From there we walked to the mall, one street over, and then had about an 8 block walk to the Minerva bus station.

The station itself is half market and half parking lot. I can't remember if I have mentioned chicken buses here, but they are the way you navigate the county unless you have the cash to spend on a private shuttle. Chicken buses are US school buses that have been retired. I have no idea how many miles they have to have before they are retired in the States, but eventually they end up here and they are refitted with larger engines and longer bench seats and luggage racks. What we have learned is that the more flamboyant the bus, the better shape it is likely in. Because if the owner can afford disco balls and airbrushed flames he can probably also spring for new brakes. So you arrive at the bus station and the back half is people selling all kinds of food and drink and trinkets and the buses are lined up in long rows with the routes painted on the front and you're immediately accosted by lots of drivers who, more than they want to know where you want to go, want to take you where they are going. And you never go anywhere directly here, so you need to know what the next connection is. We thought we had 2 connections, but it turned out to be six. Or maybe 8. I can't remember. So amid the hustle and bustle and exhaust, we found our bus and climbed on and set out. Well, almost set out. Before you go anywhere, vendors climb on the bus while the driver waits for it to fill and they try to sell you things. Newspapers. Tortillas. Empanadas. Water in a plastic bag with a straw tied to it. Gum. Also, the seats are designed to fit two adults each, but that is really just where it all begins, because you could have 3 or 4 adults in each seat and also people crammed into the aisles, and because the seats are longer than they were in the States, there really isn't much aisle left. When we headed out of Minerva I was sitting with Susannah and Stefan and Olivia shared a bench. But we didn't have that much room for long. Our route was Xela to Mazatenango to Escuintla to Ixtapa to Monterrico. But we didn't know that then.

The drive from Xela to Mazatenango is my new favorite in this country. It is absolutely gorgeous and I spent a good deal of those hours in awe of the scenery. I felt like I was, once more, in Avatar, or the opening of Jurassic Park, or even Land Before Time. When I think of mountains, I think of being above the timber line, but here in the highlands you are surrounded by the the most radically green mountains I have ever seen or imagined. And there are so many different greens up here, and the textures are so rich. I wish I could convey the beauty of it all. And I wish I knew plant species, but I am pretty sure I saw every species of tree at some point over the weekend. So there is much green here and there are mountains you can't see the tops of through the bus windows without sticking your head out of them. And there are clouds everywhere because you're up that high. And incredibly steep cliffs and rivers flowing through canyons and tiny towns sheltered at the the bottom. And amidst all this are buses racing precariously along the mountainsides, passing each other around curves, getting air over bumps in the road.

The trip was just a rush of images and scents for me, because the buses go so fast. A woman and a girl washing laundry in a canal. The bloody corpse of a dog, stuffed in a clear plastic bag, thrown into a ditch. Barefoot, sooty children standing in dirt yards. A thick, almost smoky twilight as we descended into more warmer climes. Rivers of mud. Destroyed homes. Men soldering water pipes after the storm. A colorful cemetery perched on the slimmest bit of cliff, overlooking the town below. Someone coming on the bus, selling something in a cooler that smelled exactly like soggy dog food that had been heated up. A dry valley of lovely boulders, a dog picking his way among them. The wet feel of the weather changing, becoming tropical. The damp weight of other peoples' bodies swaying into you around turns. The lushness of the rain forest, things growing on everything that is already growing, giving the scenery this wonderful carpeted feel. The scent of charcoal and burned meat.

Guatemala looks like everywhere. Texas. Kenya. The Carolinas, especially the Low Country. Coming down out of the highlands, the air began to change before the scenery did. But soon there was more field, less forest, and when we slowed down you could hear the dry clatter of palm branches. It got humid, which was not exactly good news on a bus crammed with people. But even so, it was nice to be moving. I didn't even really care where we were going, only that we were going.

We arrived in an empty parking lot in Mazatenango around 5:30 and were shooed off the bus and onto a coach. Now, this coach was probably older than me, with cracked leather seats and this saggy, beaten look to it. But I cannot begin to tell you how absolutely First Class it felt after the chicken bus. There was room for us all to have a private seat. And they reclined! I was in heaven. At this point we were headed to Escuintla, and were told it was an hour or so away. It was beginning to get dark and I was keen to arrive and make our next connection as quickly as possible, but also, I was so comfortable and a little drowsy from the heat that I didn't care what happened. And this would be, of course, where things got a little wacked, but that is to come, because I am now late for supper.