TravelStream™ news feed for member sam180 on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/sam180 en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 23 Feb 2009 09:23:22 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1235396340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1235396340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1235396340/tpod.html Mon, 23 Feb 2009 09:23:22 -0500 Guatemala and Belize. A Limited Blog for Limited People

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Scunthorpe, England, United Kingdom

As the sun pierced my curtains on Thursday morning and woke me from my gentle slumber, the realisation that I'd start having to make my way back home hit me again.  I had a hearty breakfast because I wasn't sure when I'd manage to squeeze in another meal, packed my stuff, and headed out to buy a ticket for the midday boat back to Belize City so I could connect to the 2.30 bus to Flores in Guatemala.  But the woman on the desk told me that there was no middy boat.  The only boat before then was at 10 am - in 15 minutes.It's amazing how quickly a mood of sedantry calm can transform into one of mad panic.  And this is what happened to me.  I ran back to the hotel and woke Tom up.  He answered his dor in a half-daze, wearing only boxers and resembling a bright red caveman.  But he agreed to come to the jetty and see me off.We made it with two minutes to spare, but running through the streets of Caye Caulker at 30 degrees with a heavy back pack is not recommended.  Tom and I considered an emotional hug to see each other off, but it would have been frowned upon in these parts - besides it would have been accompanied by a dual scream in pain because of the sunburn on our chests.  Instead we settled on a firm, manly handshake to say goodbye.  The moment was somewhat ruined by a dog on a lead choosing that moment to burst through Tom's legs and jump up at a passenger that it recognised.  The resultant wedie made Tom look very uncomfortable.The boat ride to Belize Cirt was not one to be endured after a hearty breakfast.  In fact, my hearty breakfast was almost the next meal that I saw that day.  But I made it, and staggered onto the shoe at Belize City dock.We hadn't had ay time to look round Belize City when we passed through it before, but my early boat had left me with a couple of hours to kill before my bus to Flores.  So I decided to look round the city.  The guidebook reckons that there's quite a few things to see in Belize City.  But the guidebook is wrong.  Beize City used to be a haven for pirates to rob passing Spanish Galleons from.  The pirates are still here, but these days they pass their time pestering you to buy knock off CDs and DVDs.  I found a quiet place to read the only book that I' brougt with me - Richard Dawkins' "The Selfish Gene".  It's a good book, but not one for you if you are religious and easily offended. Mind you, if you are easily offended you won't be reading this blog.On my way back to Flores, I encountered creatures that I hadn't come across yet on this trip: French people.  These ones were the living embodiment of "The Selfish Gene".  Despite being friends, they each took up a double seat on the bus and refused to move, even when the bus was full.  Maybe they needed the space because they smelled so bad.  They were French, after all.  Anyway, it meant that some people had to sit on the floor, which wasn't really fair.I had an uneventful night in Flores, apart from the first rain that I'd encountered in Central America.  It was very heavy, but very short-lived, and the temperature didn't drop, so it wasn't all that unpleasant.  I finished my book on the dreary eight hour bus ride back from Flores to Guatemala City.  This is no mean feat considering that they were blaring out "The Incredible Hulk" in Spanish all the while.  Which is the same film that they played me on the first bus from Guatemala City to Flores, and from Flores to Belize City and from Belize City to Flores.  I reckon that I could recite most of the film in Spanish now.  The funny thing about the dubbing is that the don't just dub the words; they dub the bits where the Hulk roars.  And the dubbed roars clearly don't fit the screenplay.When I got to Guatemala City, I was confronted with a horde of helpful taxi drivers, all keen to take me to my hotel.  I picked one and he loaded up my stuff and started to drive me to the hotel.  Then he stopped, turned round and spouted something at me in Spanish.  I looked at him blankly.  He made some hand gestures which I read to mean that he didn't know where the hotel was.  I didn't know where the hotel was either so I repeated his hand gestures back to him.  He looked at me blankly.  We were getting nowhere.  Eventually he decided to ring a mate.  We did get there in the end, but it took ages and I'm sure he overcharged me.The thing about being on holiday with Tom is that he's a bit slow and because of this, you do tend to cut things like catching aeroplanes a bit fine.  So on Saturday morning, being on my own, I reacted to this by getting to the airport 5 hours early.  Gutemala City airport is boring.  I'd finished my book, so I thought I'd find a newspaper or magazine at the airport to read.  But the selection on sale was severely limited.  Evetually I settled on the clearly unhealthy "Womens' Health" magazine while drinking endless cups of coffee.  It made the flight a very disturbed affair for me and my neighbours.The most amusing aspect of the five hour wait in Guatemala City airport was the amazing farting chais at the gate.  Watching the disgusted looks on the faces of American women as their husbands sat down gave m endless enjoyment.  Nearly as much as "Womens' Health".On arrival at New York airport, I saw one of the funniest sights I've ever witnessed.  Do you ever see other people do something and think: "I wish I'd thought of that."  This happened to me as I was walking next to the moving walkway in Newark airport.  Someone hit the emergency stop button.  Cue a row of Americans topple like a set of dominos.  Brilliant.American airports are amazingly stressful.  Maybe this is why they have all recently had defibrillators fitted.  Every time I go through one, I vow never to transit through America again.  But I always do transit through America again.  Maybe it's because I like burgers so much.There is a new 'pre-security' check before the real security check before boarding a flight.  This involves a series of questions about why you have come to America.  God only knows why people come to America.  I only came to transit.  At my pre-security check, they marked my boarding pass with a "U".  What could this mean.  Could it mean "upgrade"?It didn't mean upgrade  It meant full body search.  Again.  After the travelling last year I'm almost starting to enjoy them.  The rest of the journey back home was fairly uneventful.  Heathrow lied up to its usual standards for processing arrivals into the UK.  Which meant tht I missed the last train to Lincolnshire and had a "bonus" night in the "Luxury Russell Hotel" (don't stay there unless you like cockroaches) before heading to Lincolnshire this morning.  Back to farming - can't wait!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1235048820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1235048820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1235048820/tpod.html Fri, 20 Feb 2009 09:42:00 -0500 Guatemala and Belize. A Limited Blog for Limited People

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Caye Caulker, Belize Cayes, Belize

We got a water taxi from Ambergris Caye to the neighbouring island of Caye Caulker.  When we arrived, I realised instantly that I preferred Caye Caulker to Ambergris Caye.  It's quieter and seems to more atuned to backpackers than tourists.  Best of all there's very few Americans here.  I'd wondered where all the European holidaymakers come to in Belize.  They clearly come here to avoid the Americans.The evening we arrived, we wandered round the only settlement on the island to find a restaurant.  We found a nice little place serving fresh seafood, overlooking the beach.  There were a few other people in there and, after a few minutes, I realised that I could here a very familiar voice from the table behind me.  I turned round.  It was our old "friend" Steve, the American from the bus between Guatemala City and Belize.  I didn't recognise him at first because his left eye was swollen.  He looked like he'd been punched in the face.  Which is understandable.  We managed to avoid him.Yesterday morning, I met Tom in his room to go for breakfast.  He said:"Did you find the shower really..."At the same time that he said "hot", I said "cold".  This is a problem.  Tom has very bad sunburn all over his chest and can't face a hot shower.  I am a complete wimp and can't face a cold shower.  So Tom has been using my shower, and I have been using his, prompting some very suspicious looks from the people in the neighbouring rooms.Another small shower incident: while I was in the shower, a dog started howling outside my window.  Then another.  Then another.  They only stopped when I stopped singing.  But it was most off-putting.We went for a walk round the island, which is long, thin and sparsely populated.  There is a small wildlife reserve on the island.  Tom and I thought we should take a look round it.  There isn't much wildlife in the wildlife reserve at all.  Apart from mosquitos.  So today I've come up with yet more bites to go with the two hundred and fifty three (yes - 253) that I picked up at Cerres.We ended up at the northernmost point of the island.  Caye Caulker used to be much bigger, but in 1961 Hurricane Janet ripped through and washed away a small piece of the middle of the island cutting it in two.  It's still here today.  It's called The Split.  A more appropriate name would be The Spliff.  There's a a bar there frequented by alternative types (because it's "far out, dude") and you can smell the cannabis from 20 yards away.Today, Tom and I go our separate ways.  I start the journey back to England.  I don't get back there until Sunday evening, but I've got two all day buses to get me to the airport first, then a flight to New York with another overnight stop.  Tom's been able to put his return flight back by a week.  He's off to do some diving, then heading south to Placenta and getting a ferry to Livingston in Guatemala, before cruising back to Guatemala City on a boat up the spectacular Rio Dulce river.  I wish I didn't have a job!
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Flores, Guatemala

A bit of a delay since the last update.  But then all I seem to have done since then is sit on buses.  I was due to get a 2 pm bus from Chichi to Guatemala City and meet up with Tom there.  The bus depot in Chichi was chaotic.  At 2:30 pm I still hadn't found my bus annd I was starting to panic.  But then an angel (disguised as a fat little dwarf) pointed at me and said:"Sam?"  I wanted to hug him, but I managed to restrain myself and followed him to the bus, which had been waiting for me for half an hour.I wedged myself into the last seat available, between Herman - a muscular Austrian man - and Craig - an obese Canadian.  The bus journey, as with all bus journeys in Guatemala, was an experience in itself.  The views were spectacular: plunging valleys and rugged forests.  The bus, however, really struggled uphill.  At one point we stalled and it didn't look like we would make it up a particularly steep slope.  Herman suggested we push the bus; I suggest we push craig out the bus.  Eventually we got going without having to put either suggestion into practice.  With the delay in starting, and the delay because of the hill, we were running late.  It was 5:30 pm by the time we arrived.  In Antigua.  Not Guatemala City.I got turfed off the bus in the middle of the town and at a bit of a loss as to what to do.  Fortunately, there was a Chilean couple in the same predicament as me.  The guy started arguing and swearing at the driver until he agreed to take us to his office.  At the office, they agreed to put us on a connecting bus to Guatemala City at 6:30 pm.I was first on the connecting bus - an unusual experience for me, which enabled me to get the best seat, on my own, next to the driver.  The bus then proceeded on a grand tour of the city to pick up the other passengers.  By 7:30 pm, we had picked up all by one of  the passengers, who hadn't turned up.  I have no sympathy with stragglers who delay everyone else by not turning up on time (unless it's me) and I was glad when the driver decided to leave him behind.  And then it occured to me that it might be Tom that we were leaving behind - as he was supposed to change buses in Antigua.It was a relief when I got to Guatemala City at 9 pm to find Tom waiting at the hotel.  All I wanted to do was eat something tasty and get to bed.  The proprietor offered to cook us the local delicacy of chicken, rice and beans.  So we ordered a pizza and called it a night.The next morning we got another bus to Flores in northern Guatemala.  We were early for the bus.  But Guatemala is a slow country.  Attul would love it here.  The bus was an hour late, which gave us an hour to ;eft us an hour to kill at the most depressing bus station I have ever waited at.  The coffe was only fit for rats to drink.  Luckily, there were plenty of rats about.When the bus finally arrived, it was actually very comfortable.  Even the roadside cafe that we stopped at for lunch was nice.  Tom bought a mango from a lady selling fruit, who generously lodaed it up with a delicious-looking red sauce.  When I turned to fill my water bottle at the drinking fountina, I heard a yelp of pain followed by some frantic panting.  The sauce turned out to bered hot chilli sauce.  I handed Tom my replenished water bottle immediately.Flores is a lovely town.  It sits on an island, in a lake, surrounded by jungle.  Our hostel is comfortable too.  The toilet even has a padded seat, which I haven't come across before.  It's amazingly comfortable.  When I sat on it, I felt I should have had a cold beer in my hand, and an attractive woman massaging my shoulders.  I'm going to get one at home.The next morning we headed to Tikal, Guatemala's iconic Maya ruins.  This time we got the only type of bus in Guatemala that runs on time: a "chicken bus".  These are buses driven by their owner that pack people in and race from town to town.  The more people and journeys that a driver can pack into a day, the more he earns.  When our bus pulled up it stopped using an emergency stop with the handbrake.  The windscreen was broken.  So was the front passenger's right arm.  Not very confidence inspiring.  But we closed our eyes and got to Tikal alive.Tikal was really good, but different to how I expected it to be.  You can't see the whole city from any one vantage point because it's all been overgrown by jungle and the trees get in the way.  But it's kinda cool wandering through the jungle and comnig across a pyramid temple poking out above the canopy every few minutes.  Our guide was particularly helpful.  To put us off roaming haphazardly on our own, he told us one interesting story about two tourists who had wandered off the paths and into the jungle and got lost.  They were gone for weeks, and one of them eventually died.  The other survived only by eating the body - a bit like the film "Alive".  I looked Tom up and down and decided to stick to the path.  There's no way that I could explain that one to his parents.The jungle has another positive side effect.  Shade.  Especially as my sunburn still hasn't healed and my face is peeling badly.  Tom says that this is a good thing.  That I need a new face.  But I'm going to stick to the shade until I recover.In the afternoon, when most of the other tourists had left, and our guide had gone home, loads of animals came out of the jungle and onto the ruins.  Wild turkeys, deer, a strange animal that looked like a cross between a deer and a mouse - I call it a deermouse - and monkeys.  Maybe it's the beard, or just the fact that I was with Tom, but I seem to have developed a special affinity with monkeys.  We saw loads.We got back to Flores in the late afternoon and settled down in the warm air for a beer in the hammocks on the balcony, overlooking the lake.  Heaven.  Tomorrow we head for Belize.
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Orange Walk, Belize

We got the bus from Flores to Belize City at 8:00 am on Wednesday.  You could tell that the driver was from Belize rather than Guatemala.  He turned up 15 minutes early and wanted to leave straight away.  This was before Tom was packed, and before I was out of bed.The first half of the journey was uneventful as we drove to the border.  At the border, we got out of the bus and queued at immigration for about an hour.  Just behind me in the queue was Steve, a loud, overconfident Amerincan gobshite.  Steve is the type of person who would benefit from enforced castration.  He has way too much testosterone flowing thorugh his veins.  He stood in the queue, shouting, swearing, and boasting about his Guatemalan exploits.  At least we didn't have to sit next to him on the bus.But when we got back on the bus, we were sat next to Steve.  Two stern-looking German girls had got on the bus early and stolen our seats.  I wanted to ask them to move.  But they were bigger than me.  So we put up with Steve burping and periodically shouting "Woo Hoo" out the window at passing cars, while I tried to sleep.Belize looked like one large, crocodile-infested swamp from the bus.  That's pretty funky though - it's very different from Guatemala.  The main difference was highlighted by Tom, when we arrived in Belize City.  We went to the information centre, and Tom asked the woman behind the desk:"Hola.  Donde esta el autobus a Orange Walk?".She leant forward, narrowed her eyes, and said slowly:"Do...you...speak...English?"Belize has a relaxed, Caribbean feel to it.  It's hot and humid and they play steel drum music on the buses.  It puts you in a good mood.We were met off the bus in Orange Walk by Lance, a local tour guide, who offered to book us on a tour to the ruins at Lamanai (which is the real reason that we had come to Orange Walk).  We don't like to be pushed around, so we said that we would think about it.  Lance offered to drive us to a local hotel while we thought about it.  The first hotel he took us to was owned by hi brother-in-law.  It was a hole.  Then he took us to his dad's place - a nice place by the river, but it only had dorms.  I'm a holidaymaker rather than a traveller this time and I wanted a room, so I turned it down.  Finally, we settled on Lance's aunt's place, which was ok.For the rest of the day, we walked around Orange Walk.  This place reminds me of Klamath Falls in Oregon: a romantic sounding name, but the town is actually a dump.  In the evening, we went to the only decent restaurant in town - Lance's cousin's place - and had a nice meal overlooking the river, served by pretty Belizean waitresses.  We met a middle-aged, alternative American couple: Keith and Cathy, and got chatting to them."I love Orange Walk." said Cathy.  "It's so authentic."I suppose it is authentic.  An authentic dump.Keith and Cathy were a nice couple, so we stayed for a few drinks with them and the staff, and the rest of the evening passed blissfully away in an alcoholic haze.  I woke up the next morning, not exactly on top form, and staggered over to the bathroom for a shower.  The bathroom was locked.  I looked over at Tom; he was in bed.  So who the hell was in the bathroom?It turns out that you should never close a door in Belize, unless you have the key.  The janitor was very understanding.  It happens a lot.In the day, we wnt on Lance's boat trip up to the jungle covered Maya ruins at Lamanai.  I was expecting the boat trip to be a gentle cruise up the river.  But it wasn't.  It was a speedboat.  If I ever win Bullseye, this is where I'm going to bring my speedboat.  It was awesome - like something out of a James Bond film.  Our guide was called Elvis.  Not only did he have an incredible quiff, he was also amazing at spotting wildlife from miles away, while the boat was travelling at speed.  So much so, that I began to suspect that they were models that he had placed by the river before we started out. We saw crocodiles, iguanas, loads of birds, spider monkeys and howler monkeys.  The howler monkeys were definitely real.  I have an audio of them fighting over territory.  It sounds just like the noise that Tom Sawyer's stomach used to make when the clock ticked past 11:30 am at the NAO.The ruins themselves were good, although largely unexcavated.  This meant that there wasn't that much to see.  What there was, was excellent.  One of the temples stood yards above the jungle and sported panoramic views of the rainforest canopy.In the evening we went back to Lance's cousin Orlando's place for food.  We got chatting to Lance there.  Although I don't entirely trust him (he is clearly some kind of local mafia boss), we agreed to go out on the town with him.  I have already made it clear what type of town Orange Walk is.  So it was no surprise when the first bar we went to was a sleazy hellhole, fulll of dirty old men, lusting after middle-aged barmaids.  Tom fitted right in.  Actually, that's a bit harsh - even Tom was a bit out of place, so we just had one drink and moved on."I know a great place." said Lance.  "It's got kareoke and everything."I view kareoke as a form of institutionalised torture.  Either you howl your way through "My Way", while hoping everyone else is deaf, or you endure someone else screeching Abba songs, while you wish that you were.  I made it clear that I didn't want to go to kareoke."It's ok."  said Lance.  "I know another place."This place turned out to be a long, winding taxi ride into the slummier parts of town."What kind of bar would be here?"  I whispered to Tom.What kind of bar would be here became clear as soon as we walked through the door.  A brothel.  I felt a sudden yearning for the kareoke bar.  I've never been into a brothel before, and I wanted to leave immediately.  But we had no idea where we were and we were dependent on Lance to get us home.  And Lance didn't look like he wanted to leave.  Ever.After what felt like an age of avoiding eye contanct with the ladies of the night (but was in fact only one drink) we persuaded Lance to order us a taxi.  Before we left, Lance asked for our contact details.  I gave him Joshua's.I enjoyed the boat ride and the ruins, but I'll be pleased to leave the town behind.  This afternoon we head to the beaches at Corozal.
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Wootton, England, United Kingdom

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San Pedro, Belize

I was sorry to leave the Cerres Beach resort with its splendid isolation and friendly owners.  Bill agreed to get up at 6 and take us across the bay in time to catch the 7 am ferry to San Pedro on the island of Ambergris Caye.  It was extremely good of him to get up so early.  Tom and I didn't make it up at 6 am.  So we missed the ferry.Instead, we took a flight down here instead.  I've never been on a small plane before, and I was quite excited by the prospect.  The excitement lasted until take-off.  Small planes are bumpy rides - not to be taken after a large breakfast.I managed to misplace my baggage ticket for the plane.  I didn't think that this would matter: we were the only two passengers on the plane; our bags were the only two on the flight; the pilot had loaded them and unloaded them personally.  But when I treid to claim the bags, the pilot refused to give them to me without the ticket.  Eventually he agreed to give them to me only when I could tell him what colour the dirty underpants that I had packed at the top of my bag were withouth looking.We're only in Amgergris Caye for two nights and, looking round the town, two nights is plenty.  It's ok here, but it's the kind of seaside resort that you'd find anywhere in the Caribbean.  Except that it's full of Americans.On our first night, becuase we were by the Caribbean, we decided to drink rum punch with our meal.  Then, because we were near Mexico, we moved onto Tequila slammers.  Then on to some undrinkable local drink.  By 11 pm, I was the drunkest that I'd been in a long time.  So was Tom.  At this point my memory draws a blank, so I'll pick up the story at midnight when I woke up with a start in a beachside bar.  Tom was asleep next to me.  I suddenly got into I responsible mode.  I shook Tom and told him we had to get home.  We checked our wallets - they were still there.  We nearly left Tom's camera, but as I was leaving I noticed it on a nearby chair and picked it up.  Fortunately our hotel was on the beachfront, so all we had to do to find it was walk up the beach.  With one slight problem.  Which way.  We guessed left, and it was with a huge sigh of relief when we arrived at our hotel 5 minutes later.  I handed Tom back his camera.  He said"That's not my camera.  I didn't take my camera out with me tonight."And then it danwed on me - I had pinched someone else's camera.  Horrified, I realised that I had to take it back to the bar and try and find the owners.  I checked the photos so that I would recognise the owners.  I wish that I hadn't  The first few photographs were fairly mundane landscape types.  Then I got to photographs of a chubby, sunburnt couple, who really shouldn't have been taking photos of the things they were doing.  When I got back to the bar.  I saw the couple sitting at the table next to where Tom and I had been sitting.  And then I thought, how can I give the camera back without it looking as though I have been peeking at their naughty photos.  I waited until they were looking the other way and then dropped the camera back on the chair where I had found it.  I think I got away with it.  Hopefully they got it back.Yesterday we went out on a boat to do some snorkelling, and see if we could find some manattees (also called sea cows, or dugongs).  But when the boat turned up, it was full of loud, middle-aged Americans.  And I had a splitting headache.  It made for an immensely tricky morning.  The Americans kept coming out with lines that I can only think they considered to be jokes.  My fake laugh got quite a work out.   What was good, were the manattees.  There were quite a few and they are amazingly cool, docile and inquisitive creatures.  One manattee in particular sniffed around our boat for ages.  I'm just sorry that I don't have a picture.  My camera packed up in Cerres.  I have only been able to take one picture in Ambergis Caye, and that was only to test the camera.We stopped at a small, deserted island for lunch, which I liked.  The Americans had quietend down a lot by now, and some of them even seemed vaguely likeable.  We did some snorkelling, had some drinks, and ended up spending most of the afternoon on the island.By the time that we left, Tom and I were running late to return our snorkelling gear to the hire shop before it shut, and needed to make up time.  But the driver insisted that we stopped at a place called shark-ray alley for a final snorkel.  It was cloudy; the water looked unappealing, so I decided to stay on the boat.  The driver said:"It's really good here.  Sharks come right up to you."Now I've seen Jaws, and I would not describe sharks coming right up to you as "really good" and I told him so."There's rays as well.  You can get real close and kind of tickle their tummies."Isn't that what Steve Irwin said?  I didn't change my mind, but some of our party went.  The upshot was that Tom and I didn't get our snorkel gear back in time and had to pay an excess.To make matters worse, some of the Americans had, by now, got pretty drunk on the free punch that the boat was giving out.  So much so, that one lady was unable to get off the boat when we docked at her hotel.  Another lay on the bow, in her swimming costume, on her back whilst waving her legs in the air and singing.  Not a pretty site.  Especially when her husband went to lie on top of her.Today we catch a ferry to Caye Caulker, another island, which has a reputation as a quieter, more chilled-out place.
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Corozal Town, Corozal, Belize

We were very keen to leave Orange Walk after our experiences there; so we were up early on Friday to catch the bus to Corozal.  We waited and waited at the bus station and watched bus after bus to Belize City, to Belmopan, to Placencia and to Punta Gorda go past.  But none to Corozal.  We'd heard that Corozal was quiet, but there was supposed to be a bus service there.  After two hours of waiting, a friendly Belizean man approached us and asked us where we were going.  Apparently every bus going through Orange Walk stops at this bus station.  Apart from the ones to Corozal, which go from the other side of the road.We weren't staying in Corozal, but in the Cerres beach resort.  Which doesn't have a beach.  Tom was dying to  go there because it has a stellar write up in the Lonely Planet.  It's owned by a lovely American couple: Bill and Jenny.  Jenny picked us up and took us to the resort.  It's very remote - 45 minutes by bad roads from Corozal.  But that's the charm of the place.Bill and Jenny had slightly misread our booking and put us in the honeymoon cabin on a special Valentines deal.  Very romantic.  Shame I'm with Tom.Yesterday evening, we sat down to dinner and shared a starter, which was accompanied by a type of chilli that neither Tom nor I had ever seen before - a Habernero.  Tom looked at it with disdain, and said:"I'm sure I've had hotter in Thailand." before popping the whole thing in his mouth.  Within seconds, he was redder than Santa Claus.  He looked at me with a look of desperation, but couldn't speak.  So how was I to know he needed water?  I looked back at him and waited patiently until he could articulate.  But he couldn't speak.  In fact, he looked like he was going to die.  So he just grabbed my water, and necked it without asking.  Very rude, but he's a mate, so I'll let him off.On Valentines day, we were the only people staying the the resort (which only has 4 rooms).  We spent the day doing very romantic things.  In the morning we went canoeing (NOT canoodling) to the Maya ruings down the bay at Cerres.  My memories of canoeing from New Zealand is that it is very hard work.  But getting to the ruins was easy.The ruins themselves were not particularly impressive.  But what was good was the sea view that the highest mound afforded us.  Amongst the ruins there was a walk called "the mosquito trail".  I like to think of myself a a pretty tough man.  I can handle a few mosquitos - right?  Wrong.  I have never encountered so many mosquitos in my entire life,  I a covered in mosquito bights in places that I don't normally mention in the blog.On the way back, it became clear why the way out was so easy: the current.  I have never attempted something that was so much hard work on my arms as the canoe journey back to the hotel.  Half way back, I realised that it wasn't only my fitness that was causing me a problem.  It was also my weight.  The canoe was sinking.I called out to Tom, who's superior fitness had pwered him 500 yards ahead, for help.  He was very good.  He did a U-turn immediately.  Unfortunately, he was a little too immediate.  He capsized.  Thios prompeted a scene that could have come from a carry on film.  Tom jumped back on the canoe.  It capsized again.  He tried again.  It capsized the other way.  I continued to sink.  Eventually, we both gave up and Tom joined me in trudging back to land through the waste-deep water.In the afternoon we went cycling around the bay.  This was fun.  There are a few interesting fishing villagees around the bay, and it's incredibly friendly.  Everybody smiles and waves at you as you cycle past.  The only problem is that the resort only had two bikes - a man's bike; and a woman's bike.  I got the woman's.This evening, Tom and I had been looking forward to a quiet Valentines special meal together in the restaurant.  But as I sit in the bar writing my blog, while Tom grooms himself in the bathroom, a tour group of middle-aged Americans have arrived for dinner.  There's four of  them next to me at the bar, and they're all trying to impress the barmaids by chatting them up in Spanish.  Despite the fact that English is the barmaids' first language.  They won't get very far with the barmaids.  They both have boyfriends - Tom's already checked.One of the American guys has just turned to me and asked (to show off that he can)"Do you speak Spanish?""No."  I said.  "Only English."  but at least I speak it properly.Tomorrow we're off to Ambergris Caye - an island off the Belize coast.  Which definitely has a beach.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1234045440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1234045440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1234045440/tpod.html Sun, 08 Feb 2009 13:40:01 -0500 Guatemala and Belize. A Limited Blog for Limited People

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Chichicastenango, Western Highlands, Guatemala

On Friday morning Tom left at 3 am for his macho trek up the Tajamulco volcano.  He may be macho, but he is also deaf.  After 10 minutes of his alarm going off and keeping me awake, I realised that I was going to have to wake him up.I had quite a lonely breakfast on my own - I almost wished that I was trekking with him.  At least until Hanse, who picked me up for the bus to Chichicastenango (Chichi), told me that the volcano was still littered with unexploded landmines from Guatemala´s civil war.  Nice knowing you, Tom.It turned out that Hanse had messed up the transfer to Chichi and my connecting bus never arrived. Unfortunately for Hanse, he had left me his telephone number, so I rang it and he had to drive me the 2 hours to Chichi himself.  It was good of him, but I wish that he´d stop trying to tell me stuff.I had thought that my guidebook had thouroughly recommended Chichi; but it turns out that I should have thouroughly read my guidebook.  My first mistake was that I had thought that the main attraction here, the market, was on Saturday.  It isn´t; it´s on Sunday.  My second mistake was that I didn´t bother reading what the guidebook said about accomodation.  It said, if you don´t have any booked for Saturaday night, don´t come.  Friday night was no problem.  But I spent Saturday morning trekking to hotel after hotel looking for a room.  I eventually found some grotty accomodation, closely resembling a stable.  I was hopeful that someone would bring me some gold, frankencense and myrrgh in the night.Midway through the night, the door to my room did open.  But it wasn´t three wise men.  It was a drunken German girl, looking for the toilet.  For a moment I thought that she was going to go in my sink.  But she heard me scream, and was very apologetic.There are no tourist offices in Chichi - which tells you how much there is to do.  So I was completely dependent on my guidebook.  Other than the market, it recommends only two things.  The church: Iglesia de Santo Tomas, is attractive, but after my experience in Antigua I´d rather avoid further churches.  The other recommendation was a trek up a nearby hill to the shrine of Pascual Abaj, where locals offer incense, food, flowers and coca-cola to an idol.  The guidebook did say that the trek was a notorious robbery route, and not to go alone.  But I am all alone here, so what else could I do.The walk was pleasant enough, but on the way up you go through a set of farm buildings where a local family carve traditional maya wooden masks.  The guidebook said that if I greeted the family, and I was especially lucky, the children would do a special dance for me.  Fearing that I´d have to sit through some hyperactive kids doing a weird dance, I made sure not to greet the family.Today I had half a day to look round the market.  Being a man, I feel that half a day shopping is half a day too long.  But it was interesting to watch them set up in the early morning.  Actually, the market wasn´t too bad, mostly because I spent the morning walking up and down the food section, chomping on the delicious fresh fruit on sale.  Because it was sunny, and I am still burnt, I did venture into the proper section of the market to try to buy myself a panama hat to protect myself from the sun a bit.  I followed Jane´s advice and haggled him down to 110 quetzales from 125.  At least I thought I did - it´s a bit difficult haggling in Spanish.  A French guy, who´d overheard the exchange, told me that the vendor had started at 100 quetzales.  Blooming French.  Anyway all that haggling tired me out, so it was back to fruit section after that, dressed in my panama hat, like the man from Del Monte. I have enjoyed it here, but one thing that has frustrated me while I´ve been typing this blog is that there was a 50 year old American woman behind me.  She asked the internet cafe if anyone spoke English. I said yes.  She said:"My you´re Australian."  grrr.  "Do you speak Spanish as well?" I don´t, but I leant her my guidebook, which has some useful phrases in the back.  All she wanted to know was how to say "Quante costa?" (How much is it?).  She´d been in Guatemala for 3 weeks.  If you´ve been in Guatemala 3 weeks and don´t know how to say that, you´re either stupid, or American.On the way out, to thank me for lending her my guidebook, she grabbed my shoulders and started to massage me.  This was not well received.  I´m very sensitive about people touching me - especially Americans.Now I´m headed to Guatemala City, where I meet up with Tom again, if he´s alive, and we head off to Tikal - Maya ruins which are the most famous site in Guatemala.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1233867180/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1233867180/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sam180/2/1233867180/tpod.html Fri, 06 Feb 2009 16:53:56 -0500 Guatemala and Belize. A Limited Blog for Limited People

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Quetzeltenango, Guatemala

It took me ages to learn how to say Quetzeltenango.  Only to find that everyone actually calls it Xela (pronounced Chela).  We waited for a bus here at our hotel in San Pedro.  When a bus arrived the driver shouted:"Antigua! Antigua!" which is in the opposite direction to Xela.  So we ignored it.  Just as he was about to leave, a man ran out of our hotel and told us to get on the bus as it was, in fact, going to Xela.  But when we got on the bus we discovered that nobody else on the bus was going to Xela.  They were all going to Antigua.  We were sat in the last two seats available, which were next to the driver.  He didn´t speak any English, but just looked confused when we said "Xela" and "Quetzeltenango" to him.  We worte "Xela" and "Quetzeltenango" down on a piece of paper for him.  He couldn´t read.  Which perhaps explains why he took our ticket so readily.  So we took the last option available to us: to hope for the best.Xela is about 2 hours from San Pedro.  After to and a half hours we stopped in the middle of nowhere.  The driver fixed his stare, pointed at us, and then pointed to the roadside.  Sheepishly, we got off the bus, unloaded our luggage, and sat on the roadside wondering whether we should try hitchhiking with our pigeon Spanish.Fortunately, after about half an hour, the cavalry arrived in the form of a sturdy jeep, driven by Hanse, a local tour guide with fluent English, who drove us the rest of the way to Xela.  Normally I don´t like to book trips and accomodation much in advance - it allows me to retain flexibility - but Hanse was particularly smooth, and started the hard sell as soon as we got in the jeep.  So before we even got to Xela, we´d booked a volcano trek, a trip to some hot springs and hotels and buses at our next three destinations.  I was feeling trepidation about these bookings, which was not helped when I saw how professional  the sign outside Hanse´s tour office  looked: So yesterday we went on another volcano trek, which like the last one started at the ungodly hour of 4.30 am.  We thought that it would just be Tom and myself, which was good, as we needed to be quick to make it back for our trip to the hot springs in the afternoon.  But Hanse had met an Israeli girl, Anet, in a bar the previous evening and persuaded her to join us.  And she was terrible.  She started panting and sweating before we´d even reached the mountain.When we reached the mountain, I could feel a strange rumbling under foot.  The guide assured us that the volcano was dormant and safe, that the rumbling was from a neighbouring volcano that was too far away to be a threat, but I wasn´t sure.Meanwhile Anet had got worse.  She couldn´t manage 5 yards without a 5 minute break.  It was very frustrating and it began to look as if we would miss the hot springs.  It became a toss up as to who would blow their top first: Tom, me or the mountain.  Tom and I dicsussed what to do.  Anet´s life expectancy didn´t look good and we were in a hurry.  So we ditched her.  This might sound mean, but it was for the best, and we did think about helping her.  And it´s the thought that counts.Further up, the mountain got harder going and I began to struggle.  The guide had told me that I was underdressed in shorts and a T-shirt, but by the time that I´d been going a couple of hours, I was steaming hot.  So, despite the fact that the altitude meant that there was a thick layer of ice over everything, and desite the fact that I´m showing quite a belly at the moment, I took my T-shirt off.  I felt shamefully like a Geordie.When I finally made it to the top, the view was breath-taking.  Xela to the north, a line of volcanoes to the east, an active volcano to the south, and the Pacific ocean to the west.  I do have a photo of me topless at the summit, but I haven´t posted it here for decency´s sake, and in any case, it spoils the view.We sat down for breakfast and watched the volcano to the south erupt.  Now, I have always thought that volcanic eruptions were dramatic.  But frankly, I´ve seen more dramatic eruptions from a tomato ketchup bottle.  The photo of the eruption looks good, but I´ve got a minute long video of it that only a chartered accountant could possibly find exciting.By the time we got down the mountain we were ready for a soothing dip in the hot springs.  Unfortunately, when the bus arrived to pick us up, it was full of Americans.  The only good thing about having to listen to a bus full of Americans is that it makes you feel intelligent.  At least I got to sit next to Tom.On the way to the hot springs, we stopped at the weirdest shrine that I have ever been to.  It was devoted to the Maya god of bad things: San Simon.  The guy smokes, drinks and wears a cowboy hat.  But the best thing about him is that you can offer him a prayer for bad things to happen.  So if some terrible mishap befalls Wendy Kenway Smith in the next few days, you know who to thank.The hot springs themselves were just what we needed.  There were three pools: a hot, a medium and acold (a cold "hot spring"?!?).  We got straight into the hot pool, but it was way too hot.  Especially for my extensive sunburn.  I tried to persuade Tom to move into the medium pool, but he is a bit of a massachist and insisted on staying in the boiling pool.  At least until the group of Norweigan girls moved into the medium pool.This morning Tom and I went on our separate ways for a couple of days.  He set out to climb the highest volcan in Central America for 2 days starting at 3 am.  I don´t think I can cope with another volcano and another early start, so I´m heading for the small town of Chichicastenango for a look round.One difficult thing about Guatemala has been that none of the ATMs accept debit cards.  My credit card expired on 30 January (the day after I got here), but it still seems to work in the ATMs.  Which makes me think I´ll have to be doubly careful to destroy a it when I next throw a card away.  The cash points here are all guarded by burly security men, with pump action shotguns.  You´d think that this might be reassuring, but I can´t help thinking that it wouyld be too easy for one of them to watch you take out cash, and then point the gun at you and ask for it.
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San Pedro, New York, Guatemala

The food here is pretty good - much like Mexican food.  And I´m not one of those weirdo travellers with long hair and a beard who says that all 3rd world food is good; all Western food is bad.  If the food is bad, like it is in China, I´ll say it´s bad.I have had one nasty eperience though.  The chicken fajitas that I had on my last night in Antigua gave me food poisoning.  When I woke up on Monday, it was with the sombre realisation that I had to face a 3 hour bus journey (and the roads are not good) and an hour´s boat trip with a dodgy stomach.Tom, however, has packed a first aid kit to wonder at - everything from insulin to tampons.  My first aid kit consists of half a packet of paracetemol and a second hand plaster.  Thankfully Tom´s immodium saved the day.The boat trip over the lake was the biggest surprise I´ve had since I found out that Mika was actually a man.  The last time I took a boat trip across a lake in Latin America - Lake Titicaca - the crossing was incredibly rough.  This time it was fine, despite it being a much smaller boat.We got off the boat at the village of San Pedro, on the edge of Lago de Atitilan (a big lake).  San Pedro is a nicely set village, at the foot of a volcano and the edge of a lake, but it´s very touristy.  There´s also an unusually large population of stray, and possibly rabid, dogs.As usual we hadn´t booked accomodation.  So despite it being late in the day, we trekked across town looking for somewhere.  The first place we came to was a drab, ramshackle place, one street back from the lake.  We were going to walk by, but a woman tried to shout at us in Spanish from the doorway.  I was going to ignore her, but a couple of passing English nosey parkers shouted after me until I stopped."Are you looking for accomodation?  They´ve got some available." he said."I think we´ll look somewhere else."  I replied.He then turned to the Guatemalan lady and spoke to her in Spanish.  I had assumed that he was explaining to her that we were going to look elsewhere, but when he turned back to me he said:"I´ve booked you in.  Room 101."I said ok, but only if it had hot water.  He assured me that it did, and left.  It didn´t have hot water.  Or towels.  Or sheets on the beds.  But by now it was too late to look elsewhere so we decided to grin and bear it for a night.  At least it was cheap.  But if I see that English couple again while I´m here, I´m going to set one of the rabid dogs on them.After we´d checked in we wandered out to find a quick bite to eat.  The problem with it being such a touristy town is that you can't easily find nice local restaurants.  We ended up at an English style pub, with a Scottish barman.  When we asked him for his recommendation on the beer he said:"Any of them - they're all the same.  All rubbish."  I think his bar might not stay open that long if he gives recommendations like that.The worst thing about the hostel was it´s location.  It was apparently at the end of a quiet street.  But that night a group of random hippies decided to have a bongo party at the end of the street: loud drumming going on untill 3 am.  And I´d booked a trek up San Pedro volcano the next morning, meaning I had to be up at 4.30.  I was not best pleased.  I´ve always thought of hippies as inoffensive and harmless bearded weirdos.  But playing drums outside a hotel until 3 am is unacceptable.  I might shave off my beard in protest.The upshot was that not only did I have to face a 1500m climb in the morining with a bad stomach; I was also knackered.  This made it really hard.  The reason we had wanted to start at 4.30 am was to make it to thetop of the volcano before 10 am when the clouds roll in every day, obscuring the view for the rest of the day.  Depite me slowing us up, we made it for 8.30.  Except that, just this once, the clouds rolled in at 8.00.  And they cleared by 9.30 - after we had left the summit.The climb back down was especially tough, as I was really feeling the heat and suffering from my inability to hold down food meaning I had no energy.  I was a little concerned by the number of large birds circling overhead.  I asked the guide if they were vultures."No.  They´re condors."  he replied.  "They also eat dead meat".  Not encouraging.After the trek Tom decided to go for an hour long massage at the hands of a pretty Guatemalan girl.  This was quickly shortened to half an hour when it turned out she wasn't available, and a man was going to do it instead.We decided to book into separate rooms in a much posher hotel tonight.  It´s got piping hot showers, a sauna, and terrific views.  Tomorrow we head to Quetzeltenango to do some more volcano trekking.  
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