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…to me, Happy Birthday to me, HAPPY BIRTHDAY deeeeearrrrrr Trevor, Happppppy Birthhhhhhday to me.

 Well, a new decade.  And, what a way to kick it off.  I had the fortune of a birthday bash in Guatemala.  Sean and I are currently back in San Marcos.  Returning to attend the Lunar Course at the Las Piramides Meditation Clinic (more on this later).  There are around 27 students and 23 showed up for my birthday dinner.  It was truly remarkable.  Hugs, birthday cards, gifts…

Talk about a Saturn Period transition.  Entering your thirties while living in a Pyramid and attending 4.5 hours of Yoga and Meditation a day.  What an exciting way to enter a new phase of life.

Cool thing, I think…In one of our classes this week we learned about Mantra Meditation.  Chanting the word ”Om”.  Now, imagine 27 people in harmony, while inside a Pyramid Temple, chanting…sweet, I know.  Now, guess who got the honorary ”best om award”.  That’s right, yours truly.  Sean actually had to try and block me out over 27 other people for fear of immediate ascension to the fourth dimension, or perhaps for fear of busting out in laughter.  Picture me smiling with pure joy while oming.  Truly fantastic.

So, at my birthday dinner…instead of singing ”Happy Birthday” we ”om’d” at the dinner table.  Again, face filled with joy I blew the socks off my fellow classmates with a deep, bellowing, ”ooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmm”.

Not to mention all the amazing ‘’signs” I’ve been seeing.  Lorencia, from Montreal, was kind enough in her birthday card to explain a vision I had.  During a guided meditation I approached a chest, opening it I found and endless amount of skeletal remains.  Apparently this is a symbol for discovering the higher self.  I also saw a dice with the five side up…signifying great change had just passed or a break through in the ego.  The first day of class there were 22 people.  22 cards in the tarot.  I sat in seat 1, the Magician.  The Magician symbolizing again great change…the seer of all.  Also, according to the Mayan Calendar this next year is my Dragon Year.  Still more to discover.  Week two deals with Dreams and Astral Traveling.  Perhaps I’ll visit all of you in your sleep, tapping gently on your third eye.

Just thought I would share a wee bit of my birthday joys.  Thank you to my parents.  Love you both.

Wishing you all well.

We arrived in San Pedro via a water taxi from San Marcos.  San Pedro definitely has it’s gringo influences while still trying to maintain it’s Mayan roots.  Where ever possible there are coffee trees, avacado trees and corn stalks.  Laundry and showers were even done in the Lake.  We lucked into a hotel room right on the lake so we booked it for three nights ($8 USD a night total).  This included a great view of the lake and Mayan laundry and showers from sun up till afternoon.

We also celebrated Thanksgiving here…which we’ve already posted.  As that was more time sensitive in us wanting to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving from Guatemala.

After settling in and a hearty Thanksgiving meal we decided on another hike, Volcan San Pedro, and another go for the big guy.  It was time for Trevor to get back on the horse or never dare to climb a Volcano again.   And boy did we ever pick a steep one.  Again through our brillant Spanish we were able to organize a guide and park entrance for Volcan San Pedro which from our understanding was a casual hike to the top.  We meet our guide and two other hikers in San Pedro proper at around 6 am under the assumption that we would have transportation awaiting to take us to the park entrance.  What we soon found out was there was no transportation for us except for our feet.  Halfway awake and no breakfast we started hiking Volcan San Pedro essentially from our hotel room and through the back streets of San Pedro to the Park entrance.

Volcan San Pedro towers above the village to a height of some 9,900 feet.  From the park entrance, which is at 6,000 feet, 2.5 miles are traversed to reach the top.  Quite a steep ascent over a relatively short distance.  At this time our guide informed us that most hikers don’t make it to the top.  Probably something that the tour agency should of pointed out before we booked.  At the halfway point (which Trevor and I thought was the end of the hike) stood El Mirador a lookout with great views of San Pedro.  Again our guide shocked us with new information, another 2.5 hours to the top with it being much steeper and tougher…Oh boy!…contemplation of ”can we do really do this” was written all over our faces.  We were already sweating with legs burning from the first 2 hours to El Mirador.

The two others in the group turned back at that point and headed back to town with the guide.  The guide left his son, Edgar, to lead Trevor and I to the top.  After another 30 minutes you could just see the pain in Trevor’s eyes…through the sweat.  We were told only another 2 hours to the ¨ultima vista.¨  His decision was made, he had gone far enough.

<<Trevor>>   ”Not to mention, every step up made me want to you know what in my pants.  I mean come on…I hiked straight up from 6 am until 9 am in the morning.  My lord, where was that in the brochure…oh wait, there wasn’t one.” 

After a 3.5 hour hike from the Hotel to the top of Volcan San Pedro we (Edgar and I) reached the ¨ultima vista.¨  We spent about an hour on top having lunch, Edgar pointing out Pavos, and taking in the views of Lake Atitlan from 9,900 feet.

That’s our guide, Edgar, who is 12 and has hiked Volcan San Pedro everyday for the last 4 months… all while in loafers, not breaking a sweat, or stopping to take a sip of water.  As we neared the top I was stopping every 10 mintues to catch my breath and wipe sweat from my face.  All I could hear were the words coming from Edgar…¨you champion…vamos….veinte minutos…rapido¨  How could I let Edgar down, he thought I was a champion.  At every little milestone Edgar would smile give me a high five and then a bump.  For most of the hike my head was down and I was slowly moving forward but I could hear Edgar pointing out different plants, flowers and animals.  He’s going to be a pretty excellent guide in the future.  He’s already ready for the Leadville Trail 100.

Edgar was eager to get back down after lunch and still had so much energy so he convinced me that we could run down the volcano….¨rapido…you champion.¨ I couldn´t let him down.  So we ran.  The trip down and back to the hotel as 1.5 hours. 

The following day, legs exhausted [and were for the next 5 days or so], moping around the town we noticed that the Algere Pub was showing different sporting events.  And what did we see on the listing for Saturday…

2:30 Kansas State v Fresno State.  Can you believe it!?  In a town of 2,000 people mostly being Mayan and without TVs, we find a pub that has a satelite dish that only gets Fox Sports [I think Fox Midwest since the Chiefs were on the next day].  As we settled down for an afternoon of burgers, buffalo wings, and litres of beer we realize that Fox Sports has changed the KSU game to the OU vs. OSU game…Really!?!  KSU lost anyways so better not to watch it but just seeing Kansas State on the T.V. schedule in the streets of San Pedro, Guatemala was good enough for us.

Regardless, we stayed at the pub all afternoon, with the company of our friend Volker.  An energetic Austrian living in Tucson, AZ with his own travel blog <Click Here for Blog>.  Naturally we exhanged info.  From one critic to another.  Although, he gets paid for his work while we do it out of love for our readers.  Another debate, who’s a better writer…for love or for money?

After nearly 10 hours at the pub we decided to take a shot at our first full moon party (our first late night)…which was more or less a Kansas high school party/rave.  At 1 am the locals started wondering around gathering the tourists at the dock.  Having to take a boat to a private house where music was playing.  As we walked up the grass to the dance floor we saw multiple people dancing with trees and cornstalks.  Felt like home, hah!  We stayed only a short while, as 3 am was far longer than our average bed time of 9 pm, catching a boat back to San Pedro.

The following morning we checked out of our lakeside hotel, leaving the feeling of pure exhaustion behind us…

On the 21st Sean and I left the hustle and bustle of the city life behind us, heading to a quieter frontier near Lake Atitlan.  West of Antigua through the mountains.  Again, our transport wasn’t without its hiccups.

 We had purchased tickets the evening before.  Well, I did.  Seeing I couldn’t go mountain biking with Sean for fear of ripping my stitches.  So, I organized or travel for 0800 the following morning.  At 0830 we began to question the authenticity of our ticket.  Through broken Spanish/English we managed to find the head office.  I ran there as Sean stayed behind in case they arrived.  As I arrived the minivan was full, I showed him the our ticket, he sighed, gestured for me to enter the van, and we were off.  As we started driving through town I began to wonder if he knew about Sean.  I don’t think he did, so, all I could do was continuously yell, ”Mi Amigo, Mi Amigo, Umma Gumma”.  It worked, flipping around and picking him up.  In addition we piled in two more people, fitting a total of 16 persons in a Toyota minivan.

The drive wasn’t peaceful either.  Sean had the unfortune of sitting in the front middle seat, knees jammed in the dashboard for three hours.  So, I thought I lucked out.  Having my own individual seat, the only uncomfort…a backpack resting on my leg and foot.  Wouldn’t be though.  The older lady in front of me got sick through the mountain pass as we careened down hillsides at 50 KMH over the speed limit.  As we indicated she was getting sick you would assume a stop would be in order.  Nope, the driver just pulled out an old plastic bag from under the seat.  Turning around as he drove to hand it to her.  As she vomited in the bag it was clear there were many holes.  Vomit leaking over the floor and filling the air with pungent aroma.  I just pressed my nose to the window and tried to relax.

We arrived in Panajachel (Pana Ha Chel) shortly after a photo stop of unexplainable panorama views.

Sean and I quickly headed to the boat launch to remove ourselves even further.  Debating between the towns of San Pedro and San Marcos.  As San Marcos ended up being the first stop we looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and hopped off the water taxi.

 San Marcos is a small town of around 800.  Guestimate, no hard facts.  With ”reborn” Mayans (was Christian but now returning to their roots) living in the surrounding hillside.  At night, near sunset, you can hear them calling to each other in song, perhaps as they did years ago.  Songs peaking all interests.  Even though not understood its hard to not just sit back and listen.

The town has one road.  The rest being simple walkways leading between each structure.  San Marcos today was developed by the start of the Meditation Centre ”Las Piramides”.  Being built 17 years ago by a woman/oracle from Guatemala City.  Afterwards, the students influenced by their studies started other holistic centers, massage, energy therapy, holistic medicinal courses, etc.

As we were in ”Rome” we took part in the 5 pm meditation session.  The full time students were in the fourth week of their four week Lunar Course.  Following the Lunar calendar.  Starting on the Full Moon and ending on the Full Moon.  The students were in a silent retreat, not speaking for 5 days.  So, general information about their experiences was impossible to come by.

Sean and I participated in the intuitive course.  Entering a Pyramid Temple, designed after the dimensions of the Pyramids of Giza.  Also, aligned in the same fashion.  The first part of the class being 30 minutes of silent meditation and the latter hour involving the drawing of cards.  Not having previous experience was a bit tough.  In other words, for the first 30 minutes I had no idea what I was doing.  Just trying to breath slowly and clear my mind, although most of it was spent flying through the cosmos or floating down a river on a log…go figure.

The cards related to the Physical, Emotional, Mental, and Spiritual self.  Each participant sitting in front of the cards, placing one hand over the heart and focusing on the question.  The answer, open to interpretation, lied within the card.  Very soothing experience, and something I’ll perhaps have to look deeper into.  Oh, the cards I drew are in the gallery.  Won’t mean anything to you but, if you’re curious feel free to wonder.

Our stay was short, wanting to bounce to other cities.  But, perhaps a place to return to. 

Quiet.  Clear.

Next stop, San Pedro.

To Everyone, I would just like to say Happy Thanksgiving.  Sean and I searched hi and low for a Turkey dinner.  Sad to say…the only turkey we found in San Pedro, Guatemala was a ”Space Turkey”.  From what we learned…a ”Space Turkey” is a Turkey basted in oil boiled with Marijuana.  Don’t know how exactly that works.  Apparently the Gringos who have overtaken the city are quite fond of it.  Or else they have nothing better to do than create ways to use Marijuana.

One would think with tryptophan and THC you would just pass out.  I could only imagine that there Turkey day was a hoot.  So, we opted for Nick’s Bar.  It had a grilled chicken with a little vegetables, some garlic bread…  We specially requested mashed potatoes with garlic and butter.  Not quite mashed.  Plus we added two liters of Guatemalan wine, Brahva.  Really beer but quite tasty.

For desert we added a cinnamon roll for $.75 US…

Today, the 19th, we signed up for a trek up one of the Volcanoes.  Volcan Pacaya.  One of three near Antigua.  Our start was a bit rough.  The tour agent stated we would be picked up at our hostel, Umma Gumma, at 2 pm.  Around 2:20 we began to ponder the instructions of our agent.  At the same time our hotel manager, a 65 year old Guatemalan woman, approached us with the phone speaking Spanish.  Slight language barrier once again.  However, we did understand ”Volcan Pacaya” and ”Park Central”.  Making a quick decision we huffed it to the center park where our bus was making its last call to Pacaya.

The bus took us an hour southeast into the Guatemalan mountains.  Stopping first for a slight fill up of diesel.  Something we’ve noticed, they never fill up all the way.  Just putting in enough for the trip at hand.  When we stopped three guards surrounded the bus with shotguns and as our driver stepped out you could see the shimmer of the pistol locked in his holster.  A slight wake up call that you’re leaving the security of a tourist area and heading into the hills of a foreign country.  Where guns are legal.  Like the wild west I guess.

When we arrived at the base (1800 meters) you could hear what I thought was a huge flock of birds.  Come to find out it was all the local children selling walking sticks for (5 Qs).  ”Steeeek, steeeek, steeeek, steeeek.”  Perhaps something I should have considered…

Our ascent would take us up 500 m, around 1600 feet, to a height of 2300 m or 7600 ft.  The ascent took us about an hour.  Arriving at the first peak around 5:15 pm.  Not only did the temperature drop but so did our jaws.  The views were absolutely breathtaking.  Well, I mean that literally as well.  As in I had no breath to take.  Mr. Carty experiencing a 100 mile run through the Colorado Rockies had no problem.  For me, my average ascent consists of the 30 foot hike up the cliff in Pacific Beach back to my house.  The last time I was at 7600 feet was my Junior year in highschool.  And I wasn’t carrying 70 lbs of college.

South of the pictures taken above was Volcan Pacaya.  My first sighting of a Volcano up close, watching lava cascade down its side.  Somewhat like my chile snot in Caracol.  As the wind curled over the hill we snapped photos of nature at its finest.  Perhaps because I’m a fire sign something drew me closer to the mountain.  Or perhaps because it was simply put, gorgeous.

Pausing here only to catch our breath, admire nature, and attempt to capture it in digital format we continued on.  A slight decline of 50 m or so.  Coming to rest at the end of the lava field.  After our guide called out a warning to stick together and take it slow we headed off over the lava.

As we traversed the cooled lava field you could still feel the heat radiating beneath your feet.  Wondering if you stopped for long enough, would your shoes melt?  We had heard that in some cases they do.  Depending on the type.  Looking down you could see that the lava rocks were porous.  I stumbled once placing my left hand as a brace and quickly learned that porous means sharp.  I would soon learn how sharp is sharp.

A warning to the faint of heart.  The following is quite graphic…

In the middle of the lava field lay a peak.  What seemed to be the perfect shot for a picture.  Sean, enveloped by the Volcano, standing on a peak in the middle of a lava field.  We nabbed the shot…

…afterwards I returned the camera to Sean and we set out on different courses.  Down the peak and towards the lava.  Sean chose left and I chose right.  I came to a small ledge, those following behind chatting on, ”doesn’t seem like this was the best route.”  It was at that moment that I stepped forward with my left leg, the resting place for my foot just beyond my reach.  This causing me to trust in the rock below me rather than test it with my foot.  As I let my weight take me down I loosely held on to the glass like rock with my left hand.  As my foot came in contact with the lava rock below it gave way, sending me to the uneven ground below.  My left hand in fear of being cut let go.

My fall was braced by my right leg and right arm swooping behind me to slow the fall.  In an instant I felt a jolt of pain run through my body.  I stood up quickly, attempting to regain composure from those behind me.  Not wanting to be ”the guy who fell”.  I looked down to my leg, slightly stinging.  Nothing shocking or out of place.  Trails of blood leading down my leg, staining my socks, from three cuts on my leg.

That I was ok with.  Willing to move on, laughing at myself for my stupidity.  However, it wouldn’t be so.  As I looked down my leg I noticed crimson droplets falling on my foot and the rocks around me.  As if my mind new I wouldn’t be prepared for the sight of it I had turned my wrist away from me, facing backwards.  As I rotated it I saw that my hand was covered in blood.  Originating from a pulsating gash on my wrist.  A half an inch long an a quarter of an inch wide.  The sight was one from a teen drama, slit lengthwise as in an attempt to commit suicide.

It was then that adrenaline and serotonin began to pump through my veins.  Instinct taking over.  I looked around, hoping to find Sean.  I steadied myself.  Placing my left thumb over the gaping wound and walked slowly towards him.  Trying to remain calm and sound as normal as possible I let out, in the exact sound all mother’s fear, a high long winded, ”Seeeeaaaaaaaan”.  From that sound I could see as he turned and looked at me that he knew he wouldn’t find me in an acceptable state.

I walked towards him, he scurrying towards me.  Telling me to stand still.  Using his water bottle he attempted to wash the blood away but it wouldn’t be.  As quickly as he washed it I replaced it.  he grabbed my handkerchief from my backpack, applying pressure in attempt to stop the bleeding.  A small crowd formed around me.  Some girls offering to pour hand sanitizer in my wound.  As I was somewhat ”out of it” Sean wisely told them No.

At that moment an Austrian we had met in Caye Caulker descended over the lava hill.  Having cut his finger a few days prior on a hike he brought with him a first aid kit.  Something Sean and I both had but didn’t carry in our day packs, they were left, laying on our beds.  Following the Austrian was a paramedic with over 20 years of experience.  My team of field surgeons applied disinfectant, bandages, and tape.  Tying it tightly to stop the bleeding.

As I told everyone that I was alright, wondering if I really was, I asked them to head off and continue seeing the Volcano.  Also knowing it was three hours to the nearest medical facility.  I was at the base of a Volcano after-all.  Sean stayed close by checking to see if the blood was seeping through the bandage.  After five minutes it seemed that it had slowed.  The pressure had been applied correctly, indicated by my right hand beginning to plump up.  A resident was also in the group in front of us and he returned to look at.  Ensuring I had feeling in both my hands.

The smile is fake, my subconscious trying to tell me it was alright, ”just pose for the picture Trevor, you’re fine”.  As the majority left Sean and I standing there (the adrenaline fading) the seriousness of the moment washed over me.  As I looked up, watching the lava drip down the mountain side, looking down seeing myself drip down the mountainside…I turned to Sean…filled with emotion I stated ”I think I’m going to cry”.  He replied, ”let it out my man”.  And I did.  Overwhelmed at the beauty of my surroundings and thoughts of loved ones at home I broke down in tears.  Wanting to collapse on the rocks below but only able to stand there.  Leaving more of myself on the mountainside.

After I regained my composure I assured Sean I would be alright.  Not wanting to ruin his tour I suggested he head up, closer to the lava.  Shortly after it began to get dark.  Luckily I hadn’t made it that far over the field.  Returning back to ‘’solid” ground as night, the wind, and clouds set in.  Ahead of us Sean and I had an hour trek back down the mountain.  In darkness using only our flashlights and me with one brace left than I came up with.  Also, leaving our guide and group behind.  Wanting to get down as quickly as possible.

As we headed back to Antigua Sean easily convinced me to go to the Hospital.  A private clinic that was open 24 hours.  Luckily, the woman sitting behind us (Allison from DC) spoke Spanish and was able to convey this to the driver.  Allison was also kind enough to accompany me, during her last night in Guatemala, to the ER.  Fearing no one would speak Spanish.  She conveyed to the doorman and the nurses what had happened.  Shortly after a young Doctor showed up, removing the bandages.  Through all languages, gasps and sighs are easy to interpret.  The nurses leaned in as the Doctor pointed at my open wound.  Speaking in English he let me know how lucky I was.  Missing the vein and tendons by a mere mm.  Through the opening you could see the vein lingering like a small tape worm.

As he cleaned it he reassured me in some way that I had a good trip.  ”Not a good trip to Volcano unless you cut yourself”’.  So, I guess Sean didn’t get his moneys worth while I did.  Costing me 250 Qs for three stitches.  That’s about $31.25 US.  I was’t the first nor will I be the last.  Lesson learned, caution.  The travel agents don’t really paint the whole picture for you.  As he closed me up I have Sean to thank for capturing the moment.

So, thank you to those that helped.  Again, thank you to Allison for her interpretive skills.  It took the stress off in an already stressful situation.  I hope I spelt your name right, it’s the least I could do.  You’ll notice Allison’s walking stick.  Perhaps worth the 5 Qs.  You decide.

Heading inland again.  On the 17th we awoke at 0630 and headed to the water taxi station.  Our trip to Antigua would take us through Porta Barrios via water taxi, then Guatemala City via the BIGGEST bus I’ve ever seen, and finally to Antigua via shuttle bus/minivan.  Talk about traveling in style.  Our ride was 6 hours from Porta Barrios to Guatemala City on a brand new double decker bus.  $10 US for a 6 hour ride, reclining, putting our feet up, listening to the IPOD and watching the countryside  roll by.  Not to mention ”Locked Up” with Sylvester Stalone played on the TVs.  The downstairs actually had private booths with tables and couches.  Missed out on that experience, perhaps next time.

We arrived in Antigua just after sunset.  Sharing our minivan with two girls from Holland.  Currently volunteering in the city.  They pointed us in the direction of a few hotels, but, being Saturday night we found that the hostels and hotels near the city center were all booked up.  As the night set in we trekked through an unfamiliar city bouncing from door to door looking for a place to stay.  As we were lost and looked it, we came upon some other backpackers.  Noticing our dilemma they guided us to a ’’serviceable” hostel for the evening.  Costing us each 50 Quetzales or ”Qs” for short.  Conversion rate is around 7.5 so that equates to $6.50 US a night.  As we were tired from our long journey, after a few cocktails at dinner we both crashed around 8 pm.  Falling asleep with the lights on and in our clothes.

In the morning we awoke refreshed.  Heading out to fill our senses with the city.  A World Heritage site and well preserved.  A vibrant and colorful city nestled amongst Volcanoes.  At one time Antigua was Guatemala’s capital.  Rocked by earthquakes it was abandonded until the 19th century.  Where its beauty and history was realized.

Seems here everyone is in love, or at least lust.  I’ve never seen so many people groping or making out in public.  And, by making out I mean making out.  None of this American peck peck stuff.  I mean full on face mashing.  With no regard for pedestrians.  As the sidewalks are narrow…make out sessions take up the sidewalk…causing one to to enter the street to avoid interrupting the passionate embrace.  Of course, then you have to avoid the cars, motorcycles and mopeds whizzing by.  Which, if you didn’t know…SUVs don’t really need to exist.  I’ve seen a family of five on a moped.  2nd smallest in front, Dad, oldest, Mom holding baby.  Again, a family of five getting 70MPGs on their hog.  Ahhhhmaaaaaazing.

If you remember back to Belize.  I asked, ”have you ever wondered where American school buses go to die?” the answer of course was Belize.  Now, have you ever wondered where Belizean buses go to be reborn/pimped the ”F” out!?  Guatemala my friend, Guatemala.  I’m talking lights, custom horns, paint jobs, decals and wheels that be spinnin, I mean spinnin my man.  They be spinnin and spinnin and spinnin.

I give you the infamous Chicken Buses of Guatemala:

From the Finca we traveled with a group we met while staying there.  A group of Israelis.  A bonus for us because they got Israeli prices while we were always quoted American prices.  We learned from them we were paying double of what they were.  For buses, taxis, hotels, and tours.  The Guatemalans assuming that all Americans are loaded and starting out the negotiation prices at higher rates.  So, we jumped on the coat tails of the Israelis to get a ”free ride”.  Sure enough, as long as we didn’t open our mouths, we were paying half of what we use to.

We took a bus from Poptun to Rio Dulce.  Deciding in Rio Dulce that the only thing to do was sail or take a trip up the Rio Dulce to Livingston.  So, we killed two birds with one stone.  Using the water taxi as our ‘’sunset tour” through the Rio Dulce to Livingston.

Livingston is slightly separated from the rest of Guatemala.  Being inhabited by the Garifunas.  Ancestors of shipwrecked slaves from centuries ago.  More like Belize and the rest of the Caribbean.  I thought dirtier than Belize.  Not to mention a fisherman dried his fish right next to the residential area.  Filling the air…well…with that dead fish smell.

We attempted a drumming session and a disco.  But, weren’t very successful at either.  We were the only tourists at the disco, safety being somewhat of a concern.  It was mainly an 8th grade dance without the chaperon.  Garifunas rubbing on Guatemalans and Guatemalans rubbing on Garifunas.  I thought about breaking out my wedding dance but Sean advised against it.  But, nothing cuts the ice like a little river dance with the running man thrown in.  Best I not show up the locals just yet.

No pictures of the disco.  Even though most of their eyes were rolled in the back of their heads…I thought it best not to disturb the peace and tranquility of a ”lil bump and grind”.

Pop-ta-Poptun!  What a start to our trip to Finca Ixobel, which is a working farm outside of Poptun which is outside of everything else.  After a 3AM wake up for the sunrise tour of Tikal we arrived back at Flores at noon to clean up after a day touring Tikal in the rain and to await our minibus trip to Finca Ixobel.  We figured after an early wake up we would arrange for a minibus to Finca Ixobel instead of the standard chicken bus.  We were picked up at 2pm at the hotel…nice start…and we are the only ones on the minibus…nice we can catch a nap…and we headed out of Flores.  But first a quick stop at the bus terminal in Santa Elena .  Oh boy…we are on a collectivo minibus headed to Pop-ta-Poptun.  For the boys that were in Ecuador this is the same as Riobamba, Riobamba, Riobammmbbbbaaaaa!  We toured Santa Elena for the next 30 minutes picking up Guatemalans to the ever so sweet yell of Pop-ta-Poptun (the drivers assistant consistently yelling Pop-ta-Poptun!..Trevor and I even gave it a shot) until we had Guates stacked on top of each other and falling out of the minibus.  No worries they gave us gringo´s shotgun.  And we literally dropped off anyone anywhere along the road and picked up anyone anywhere along the road.   This actually was quite efficient for the number of people that got on and off the minibus.   But no nap and no relaxation when you have Guatemalans sitting on you.  And in the end it took us even longer than the chicken bus.  All in all the trip seemed perfectly normal and enjoyable….I think we have finally acclimated to being on the road.

Finca Ixobel is described by lonely planet as ¨a resort for backpackers¨ and it actually was in a way.  It felt a bit like summer camp without the parents paying for it.  Dinner was at 7Pm, bar opened at 9pm, the pool was actually a pond, there were activities you could sign up for; river tubing/canoeing, horseback riding, hiking, etc, and everything was on the honor system.  We had to write down everything and pay at the end.

It´s a working farm [couldn´t figure out what though] with dorms, tree-houses, and a campsite.  Even with the Fincas´ numerous activities to do…it was raining the whole time we were there…everyone just hung out, ate, drank, played TAKI [Israeli version of UNO] and the Guatemalan favorite ¨pairs¨.  This was Trevor and I getting a little R & R from our R & R…stranded on a dude ranch in the middle of nowhere Guatemala…good times. 

But never fail Trevor and I saw break in the weather and went for a short hike which turned out to be a muddy climb up a near by mountain nicknamed the pyramid.  logical deduction would of registered that this hike is going to be steep and muddy.  It didn´t until about half way up the pyramid…hands covered in mud, sweat dripping, and no top in sight.  But the views were kind of worth it. 

After an adventurous climb Trevor figured to give Bear Grylls a run for his money and try to ride a wild Guatemalan horse…coming to Discovery Channel in the Spring…¨Trevor v. Wild¨

Flores was our jumping point for Tikal.  Yet another Mayan ruin site on our list of places to go.  And another wonder that is still being excavated today.  It was originally uncovered in the mid 19th century.  And, after just 100 years the forest has already grown over what was earlier cleared.  Truly remarkable, the work that has to go into unveiling the secrets of the Maya.

Sean and I had a different approach for this tour.  Opting for the sunrise tour.  Leaving at 0330.  Involving a 1.5 hour drive, 30 minute hike, and 5 minute climb.  All in the dark.  We left equipped with our flashlights but failed to bring our rain jackets.  And, of course, it was our first day of rain.  So, we rented ponchos (trash bags) for $3 US.  And hiked through the jungle and rain in darkness.  Realizing along the way, our sunrise, wouldn’t be so grand.

We climbed to the top of the tallest structure.  Slowly ascending the stairs as they were steep, dark, and wet.  Wondering which tourist would slip first and cause the domino effect.  At the top the tour guides asked all the participants to be silent in meditation.  As the Mayans did years ago.  Worshipping the rising and falling of the sun and moon.  As I sat on top of the pyramid awaiting the birth of a new day my senses were peaked by the sound of howler monkeys claiming their territory and toucans calling out to each other.  And, then…well…of course the loud American…”What time is it, I have 0535, does anyone know what time the actual sun rises around here?”  I could only shake my head and laugh, returning to the sounds of the jungle.

Despite the lack of an actual rising of the sun it was still a worthwhile trip.  Listening to the sound of nature in the distant and watching the ruins slowly emerge through the mist, rain, and darkness.  All of us huddled on the 220 ft tower like high-school freshmen at their first football game.  That blurry object in the picture on the left is another tower.

After the burning sensation in my nose subsided we headed out of Belize, leaving behind us fond memories of snot flicking and Caribbean breezes.  Heading now for country #3, Guatemala.

Few bumps in our initial travel.  The travel agent we paid for our bus ticket had to go to Belize City to collect a debt of $25,000 from someone.  So, he couldn’t be there to assist us when the bus driver, his cousin picked us up.  He pointed us up the street to a corner and told us just to wait there and the bus would be by around 1130.  So, we headed off, fingers crossed.  Sure enough, the bus came.  But, of course, we find the only non-English speaking Belizean.  And we can see his frustration because no one had told him we would be there.  And, more importantly, no one had paid him for our tickets.  He let us on, driving around the city trying to track his cousin down.  As we tried to explain he was in Belize City.  Eventually, through exaggerated hand gestures and waving $60 in front of him we finally came to an understanding…and headed to the border.

Our bus ride was a bumpy one.  To my confusion, the main road into Guat was undeveloped.  Not being paved for an hour into our drive.  I know it’s an American thought process, but, why pave the road an hour into the country?  Its the entrance to your country, the first people see of it.  I’m not complaining.  It allowed for a slower drive, dodging massive pot holes while avoiding pigs and children.  Perhaps its the engineer in me.

Flores is a beautiful ”island” town in the middle of a lake.  Its sister city being Santa Elana.  Narrow streets and bright buildings.  The center resting on a hill the provides a spectacular view of the surrounding communities and sunset.