Saturday morning was spent poolside at the hotel, with Ellery and Fletcher playing their wonderful imaginary games. Around 1 p.m., it was finally time to say goodbye, check out of the hotel and head, almost literally, across the street to the tiny Placencia airport and fly to Belize City, and then to Houston.

At the hotel in Houston, we were greated by friends Leslie and Phil and their kids, Rachel and Gabe, for a late by satisfying dinner. Then, this morning, it was back to the airport and the flight home.

And so, we are home. At least physically.

written by  shoshtrvls on September 5 from Houston, United States
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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Early in the morning, we set out with Rene, Billy and the crew to Laughingbird Caye, a small atoll about 1/2 hour away by boat. Along the way, we had the good fortune of being followed for a bit by several dolphin, which gave the kids a real thrill.

The Caye is tiny and uninhabited with the exception of the park ranger who makes sure that there's no fishing and no removal of coral or shells from the area. While Billy and Rene went scuba diving a bit offshore, the rest of us went snorkeling ... and it was fabulous. We saw a greater variety of fish than I've seen anywhere else, parrotfish and angelfish and barracudas and nurse sharks and dozens of others. The coral itself was not particularly vibrant but the fish more than made up for it. Lunch was on the island and then a second snorkel/dive and home we came.

The rest of the day was pure relaxation ... napping, sitting by the pool, and enjoying dinner with the Raineys. The evening ended with a spectacular full moon over the ocean (I really couldn't capture it on film but I tried) and a painful sunburn ... but well worth it.

written by  shoshtrvls on September 4 from Placencia, Belize
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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Once in Punta Gorda, we immediately jumped onto the Belize equivalent of a chicken bus -- an old school bus that does the familiar hop-on, hop-off type of route -- and made it to Mango Creek in 2 hours. Then it was a 20 minute boat ride on the Hokey Pokey Water Taxi to Placencia, otherwise known as Paradise. Or a movie set.

Our final destination of the trip, Turtle Inn, like La Lancha, is owned by Francis Ford Coppola and consists of a number of Balinese style luxury huts sitting on the beach, which is raked daily. Among the huts are a few swimming pools, restaurants, and a beach bar. It is, in essence, a movie set. And not unexpectedly, it is populated by a good assortment of beautiful young couples and "industry" people.

Ellery immediately staked out her territory -- a 6 year old named Fletcher. Fletcher came attached to a 2 year old sister, Sophia, a nanny named Ariel, and parents Renee and Billy, tv producers from Los Feliz. And there were great people, so while the kids played, and then ate dinner, and then had a "dessert party," the adults sat and talked and drank and generally had a wonderful evening together before stumbling back to our respective huts on the beach.

written by  shoshtrvls on September 3 from Placencia, Belize
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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Shortly after 4 a.m., Gustavo, our driver for this leg of the journey (too much to do in one day by bus) arrived and we loaded up, heading for Copan, Honduras. Ellery and I slept for the first few hours, but eventually woke up for a second roadside breakfast around 9 a.m. During this break, we had time to chat with Gustavo, an adorable guy who spoke terrific English, thanks in large part to his having visited his sister in Atlanta every year.

Crossing the border into Honduras was fairly straight-forward, owing in large part to the fact that visitors to Guatemala often make this journey to Copan. And it is definitely worth the side trip.

Copan is very different than Tikal, and we had a great guide, Juan Carlos, to show us around. Because the stone in Copan is hardened by the lava of the volacnoes, unlike Tikal, much of the carvings are in terrific condition. So, while the scale is not the same, the quality is supurb -- Mayan kings, serpants, and jaguars all come to life on the massive stones. Just as facinating is the history of the excavations, including the diversion of the Copan River, which had been erroding much of the site. Copan also has a fantastic on-site museum, where many of the sculptures are displayed.

After about 3 hours in Copan, we proceeded to Puerto Barrios, on the Carribean coast. Again, the landscape changes were very evident as we returned to the land of tropical plants, cowboys and thatched roof huts. Still, not all was unfamiliar -- at Ellery's request, we stopped for lunch at a McDonald's.

Gustavo dropped us off at the dock in Puerto Barrios where we hopped on a skiff taking us to where we would spend the night, Livingston. Livingston is a tiny town at the mouth of the Rio Dulce and, I confess, there's little to recommend it. The "capital" of Garifuna culture, it's little more than a main drag, a few tattered restaurants, and a few even more tattered hotels. Garifuna is similar to reggae, and clearly music is very important to the people here. And the language is certainly a unique one -- not Spanish, not a Mayan dialect, not English -- it's unlike anything I've heard before.

Anyway, our housing options were limited and night had fallen, so we ended up staying at what was probably the most tattered of "hotel" of them all. Without going into details, suffice it to say, it was the opposite of where we had been and where we were going. We slept on top of the sheets and didn't use the bathroom (which we paid extra for). It was, however, less than $9 for the night.

However, the stop was worthwhile simply for seeing the place, and for meeting Phillipe. Phillipe appeared at first to be your average hustler, trying to get us to buy things, taking us to hotels and restaurants where he would receive a kick-back from the proprieters. But, he was facinating in his own right. If his stories hadn't been so detailed, including facts that you had to live to know, I wouldn't have believed him, and I'm still not sure I do. But Phillipe, born and raised in Livingston, found himself with admission and a scholarship to the University of Illinois thanks to the local priest. With a dual degree in music and environmental sciences, he went to work for the US Navy at Point Mugu in California. But neither navy life, nor life of a scientist suited him, so he went back to music, playing all up and down the west coast and in Mexico. Eventually, he returned home, and found himself hanging out with Jerry Garcia. (I checked out this last one and apparently the "rumor" of Garcia hiding out in Livingston is not just Phillipe's). In any event, whether any of this is true or not is almost beside the point; Phillipe was a great story-teller and made the night a most interesting one.

written by  shoshtrvls on September 2 from Copan, Honduras
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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We started the day, as we always do, wandering the local market. Here, while the food and produce was mostly sold in the typical crowded maze with tarps overhead, the rest was along much wider paths, open to the sky. Here, the market backs up to the chicken bus station, and the array of brightly colored buses was as much a treat as the bright fruits and vegetables.

After the market, we did the historic church/monastery/convent tour, stopping at the Church in the Parque Central, Las Capuchinas Convent, La Merced (which houses a fabulous museum of ecclesiastic art), and the Church of San Francisco. All of these buildings, whose origins are deep in the 16th and 17th centuries, have been partially destroyed as a result of several large earthquakes and yet, the fact that they are mostly in ruins simply adds to the atmosphere.

Two items of note: first, in one of the markets, an American began talking to Ellery -- the type of American I will never become. A bit of dialogue revealed the following: he's a former marine, he moved to Guatemala because he didn't want to pay "those ridiculous taxes" (HELLO ... who paid your salary when you were in the service?), Obama is going to decide who my doctor will be, and .... the man speaks barely a word of Spanish after being here for over a year. How is that possible? I wouldn't have believed him had he not gotten into a car bearing license plates from ... Pennsylvania. I am shamed.

The other item is more humorous. After our church-in-ruins tour, Ellery and I stopped at a cafe in the Parque Central. We oohed and aahed at the pastries in the case but, having just eaten lunch, resisted them. Good thing too, because as I was sipping my cappuccino, I saw one of the barristas remove a packaged frozen cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory and slide it into the pastry case!

Tonight will be an early one for Els and I because tomorrow is a long one; at 4 a.m. we leave for Copan in Honduras, and from there to Puerto Barrios and on to Livingston for the night, before returning to Puerto Barrios for the boat back into Belize.

Oh, and finally, this hotel rocks. An incredible building, incredible rooms, incredible service, all very understated and comfortable. The perfect twin to our hotel in Atitlan.

written by  shoshtrvls on September 1 from Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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The morning started with breakfast on the patio of our stunning hotel, and then continued with a walk through the gardens, where parrots and toucans looked on from overhead. From there, we road into town in one of the many tuk-tuks that ply the roads, and headed out for sea -- or rather, for lake.

The lake is routinely traversed by a variety of different types of boats. First, there are the flat-bottomed, traditional wood canoes used by the fisherman. Next are the launches that regularly cross the lake, takeing people from town to town, or even from a solitary dock to the next town. Like the collective minibuses, they ply the routes and pick up and drop off passengers along the way. And then there are the larger tour boats, and the smaller kayaks, all of which give the lake a unique charm.

We first took a launch to San Marcos La Laguna, a tiny village that must house about 30 yoga and spiritual retreats. There's nothing much there, but Ellery and I found a quite little bit of rocky beach and had an improptu swim in the lake.

Then we moved on to San Pedro La Laguna. Again, there wasn't much to the town, but it was well situated to take in the view of all three volcanos. Here we rented some horses and while the landscape was not particularly pretty or interesting, it had the benefit of having horses that could actually be riden (as opposed to being brainwashed trail horses) and Ellery for the first time experienced the comfort of cantering and the joy of riding without restraints.

The third and last village we visited was the largest and most interesting, Santiago Atitlan. The residents of Santiago speak only a Mayan language; very few spoke even Spanish. And the dress was also unique -- men wore white pants with birds and flowers embroidered on them; women wore head dresses that were what appeared to be very long red belts wrapped around their heads. The main path from the dock was lined with the usual assortments of shops and stalls, although with the addition of art galleries featuring paintings in traditional Mayan style.

And just out of town was what has to be one of the most bizarre religious shrines I've ever seen -- a small little building housing the evil spirit of Maximon. Maximon is a wooden figure festooned with silk ties ... yes, silk ties and scarves. There's a cigar in his mouth and two ashrays at this sides. And the Mayans bring him offerings. Really, really strange. (And I'm particularly upset that this picture of him is also blurry, since I paid a good Q5 to take it).

From there we went to the Church, dating from the 1500's. Again ... not your typical sight. The wooden sculptures of the saints were covered in garish fabrics and the really special ones were wearing, yes, ties.

After a visit to the produce market in Santiago, we returned across the lake, taking in some last beautiful vistas before leaving this paradise and taking a minibus to Antigua. The road to Antigua has little of note along the way; even worse, at one point you pass through the ubiquitous third-world urban sprawl of concrete buildings that are either falling down or unfinished (you can never tell), piles of trash along the roads, and huge trucks spewing out black smoke from their tailpipes. I confess, I feared that this was a preview to Antigua, but I was very wrong. At least, I think I'm wrong.

We arrived in Antigua after dark, and just as it started to pour, so thus far we've seen only our hotel, but what a hotel it is. A 16th century palace just off the main square, very recently redone as a luxury hotel. The rooms surround a Spanish style courtyard, with open air hallways lined with comfortable couches ... one of which I am sitting on right now, finishing up this installment of our travels.

written by  shoshtrvls on August 31 from Panajachel, Guatemala
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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But first, back to Chichi. Unfortunately, Ellery had quite a stomach bug overnight, so we got very little sleep. Fortunately, by morning it had passed, and so we were able to take in the market day we had so looked forward to.

And what a market it was. The town is completely taken over by the stalls, and the streets were so packed it was nearly impossible to get through them at times. What an amazing assortment was spread before us -- from produce to flowers to spices to brightly colored weavings to wooden masks, live chickens and goats, and dead ones as well. And we shopped and shopped and shopped, often from stalls but also from women and children who simply walked the market selling what they had. We bought fabrics and masks and small figurines -- Ellery even found an elephant to add to our collection.

A favorite purchase was a traditional outfit from the area. Which is not to be confused with the traditional dress from Santa Cruz or Sacapulas or Acul. Each town has a distinctive fabric skirt and a distinctive type of blouse, and all were on display on the women selling their harvests and wares.

By noon, we were worn out, and took respite in our beautiful hotel until 2 p.m., when we caught a minibus to Panajachel. Along the way, the clothing changed again -- in Solola, men wore colorful embroidered pants, while in Panajachel the woman wore headresses of dark purple velvet. Like the road into Chichi, this one also wove it's way along and up the mountains, eventually descending into the valley. And I'm not sure I've seen anything so spectacular ... a huge beautiful lake, surrounded by imposing volcanos, their tips barely visible among the clouds.

We opted to stay just a bit out of town, and while I rarely will rave about a hotel, this one is a stunner. Spanish in style, the grounds are botanical gardens, filled with dozens of different kinds of roses, orchids and other flowers, and birds of every kind, some in cages but others simply drawn to area. And each and every room in the hotel has a view of the lake and the volcanos. Really, if there's a paradise, this is it.

After cooling off in the swimming pool, we headed into town for a few hours. Panajachel is like a mini-Kathmandu, a haven for backpackers and what passes for hippies in the 21st century, yet it still feels very much like a small Guatemalan town. After making plans to take a boat around the lake tomorrow, we decided on a vegetarian restaurant with a distinct Woodstock feel, followed up with desert and coffee at a nearby cafe ... a sweet ending to another wonderful day on the road.

written by  shoshtrvls on August 30 from Chichicastenango, Guatemala
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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Our next stop was the small coffee plantation on the south side of the town, where we were given a wonderful, brief tour of the different kinds of coffee beans and how they are grown, harvested, and roasted. The tour ended with a cup of coffee – a good one, but not as good as the one in the market.

We then checked out of the hotel, determined to make it to Chichicastenango by nightfall. To do so, we had three options: taking a bus down to Guatemala City, and then minibuses to Antigua and then one to Chichi; engaging in the “wave down” process through the back roads of the Western Highlands, or hiring a private car and driver. I confess, not wanting to risk being at some crossroad in the middle of nowhere at night, I opted for the private driver. And thus, we were picked up by Armando and Manuel promptly at 10:00 a.m.

Initially, Armando wanted to take the route through Guatemala City, a bit longer milage-wise but much faster due to the good roads. And, there was the small matter of the road to Uspantan having been buried under a massive avalanche a few months earlier. But after many inquiries and confirmations that the road was reopened, Armando agreed to give that road a try. I think if he had known it’s true condition, he wouldn’t have taken it, but I am so glad he did. The road winds high into the mountains and the scenery and views, even though marred by the obvious clear-cutting of the forest, is spectacular, and rivals that of Bhutan, Colorado, and every other mountain range I’ve been lucky enough to see. The road, on the other hand, is unpaved, single lane, muddy, and treacherous. But Manuel, the driver, navigated it well, and it took us only about 3-1/2 hours to reach Uspantan.

One of the more interesting sights along the way, which I'm sorry I did not get a picture of, was a woman spinning thread ... spinning it out of some sort of plant. Even more interestingly, she was doing it by the side of the road, on what looked like an old bicycle tire, the the line went way, way down the road along small branches along the road, almost like miniature telephone lines.

However, if ever there was a cautionary tale about the problems of deforestation, the avalanche is it. A huge area of what was once a stately mountain looks like it has simply been sliced off. As you get closer, and then as you drive through it, you can see how it has all fallen into the valley below, both huge chunks and boulders and tons of dirt and debris. Thirty people were killed at the time; it’s amazing there weren’t more dead.

From Uspantan, it was an easy, although equally curvy, paved road through to Chichi by way of numerous several towns and villages. We could tell when we were getting close to a village because of the road bumps, or "sleeping policemen" as they are called. Why they are needed, however, remains a mystery because, really, it's impossible to go very fast on these mountain roads.

After Uspantan, there was no mistaking the fact that we had started up to the highlands. The tropical jungle plants gave way to the type of forest more common in the U.S., with pine trees and dense brush. The houses and small outposts also changed, from wooden huts with thatched or corrugated metal roofs, to mud brick buildings with red tiled roofs. Cattle returned to the scene, along with sheep and goats, and the wardrobe of the women became more colorful, and more detailed. And corn …not an inch of cleared space was without corn growing on it.

We arrived in Chichi around 4:30, well before dark and, quite frankly, well before we would have gotten here had we taken the Guatemala City route. Our hotel is a large one, colonial in style, with rooms surrounding a lovely courtyard. But we didn’t rest long, because we wanted to take a walk around town before dark (since we’ve been warned not to do so at night, and while I’m not a fearful traveler, with Ellery in tow, it’s advice I didn’t want to ignore). We were treated to a small preview of tomorrow’s market day, as many of the stalls were being set up and the sellers already hawking their wares. It definitely looks to be a huge undertaking worthy of its fame. We also took a look inside the two main churches which, like another we had visited earlier in the day, was rather plain, with the exception of the beautifully-carved wooden statues of just about every saint imaginable. But the main church in Chichi has an added attraction – down the center aisle are square stones with flower petals and other offerings on them. As Armando had explained, in Chichi, Catholicism and ancient Mayan traditions mixed together to form a unique blend of beliefs, and the offerings in the center of the Church were evidence of that.

written by  shoshtrvls on August 29 from Uspantan, Guatemala
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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We arrived at the bus station in Santa Elena at 5:45, perfect timing for our bus to Coban, in the center of the country. Except it wasn’t a bus, it was a minibus. With our bags on top, the van could seat 14 and the driver in modest comfort. And we started with a mere 12, consisting of the driver, the driver’s assistant, six Guatemalans, a dashing Italian couple, and Ellery and I. But the difference between a bus and a minibus is that a minibus will stop to take on passengers every time it is waved down (that’s where the driver’s assistant comes in), and will drop off people along the way. Except there are usually more getting on than getting off, such that there were generally about 20 or 24 people in the van, and sometimes the driver’s assistant would sit on top with the bags. Did I mention that the van didn’t have air conditioning?

The people getting on and off were a wonderful assortment of Guatemalan peasants. Early in the morning there were ranch hands heading to cattle farms and women bringing big baskets of goods to where ever the next town was; by late morning it was parents picking their children up from school and men with machetes on their way to the coffee fields (at least, I hope that’s what they were planning on using the knives for).

And where the roads crossed, a unique form of “musical minibus” would take place, with people getting off of one bus and getting onto another, in different combinations.

As we drove south, the cultural and geographic changes were evident. We started seeing women wearing traditional clothing, long dark skirts and loose, poncho-like tops and men wearing jeans, rubber boots and cowboy hats. And the open ranch land cleared from the jungle gave way to dramatic mountains covered in both natural vegetation and man-made corn fields … except these weren’t flat fields; rather, corn was planted up and down the sides of the mountains. And the closer we got to Coban, the more winding the road became, as it wove it’s way through the mountains. The villages and towns we passed were varied. Some were like those near La Lancha, little more than a few buildings and food stalls along the side of the road. But two stood out from the rest.

The first was Sayaxche, a town on the banks of the Rio de la Pasion. To cross, people ride on brightly colored boats while cars and buses are loaded onto a wooden ferry that looks like it would sink under the weight of a feather. And yet, it makes it across the river with ease. Like the boats, the buildings of Sayaxche are a variety of colors and only upon closer inspection would one notice that they aren’t really charming, just dilapidated. Still, it was a unique place.

The other town of note was Chisec, which was one big outdoor market. Here we stopped for a while, everyone piling out of the van to get something to eat, to use the restroom, or to smoke. “Getting something to eat” meant choosing a food stall and asking for tortillas filled with grilled meat, chicken, or sausage – and from the looks of the market, all meat had most likely been running around enjoying life just a few hours earlier. They were delicious. (And yes, traveling and vegetarianism do not go hand in hand).

We finally reached the outskirts of Coban around 11:30, which is as far as the van took us. Although it could have been walked, the Italian couple, Ellery and I took a cab to the center of town. Ellery and I quickly found a suitable place to stay, something between a hotel and a guest house right in the middle of town, with a certain colonial charm – dark Spanish-style furniture in musty-smelling rooms surrounding an overgrown courtyard. Begin in the center of town, it isn’t very quiet, but it is very convenient.

After a brief respite, Els and I toured this little town, taking in the center plaza and, more importantly, the market a few blocks away. Like most markets in small towns, it was a mix of hard goods like shoes, fabrics, and electronics and fresh vegetables, fruits, and breads. And every so often, an old woman selling tortillas out of a large basket lined with brightly woven fabric. A real treat. As usual, the rains came about 4 p.m., and Ellery and I have settled into a quiet afternoon of reading and journaling, and will soon be headed to dinner, most likely in the elegant looking dining room attached to the hotel.

written by  shoshtrvls on August 28 from Coban, Guatemala
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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The drive to Ixpanpajul passed through much of the same territory as before, but after the turn off at Ixlu, there was a decidedly different atmosphere along the road. Many small guest houses, hostels and roadside restaurants lined the road; people moved with some sense of purpose, whether it was on foot, on horseback, or on truck. And churches … every few kilometers there was a simple, stucco church. The lake side was thick with marshes, crude wooden docks jutting into the blue lake, and horses grazing in the small grassy areas between the road and the water.

Eventually we reached Santa Elena, a standard-issue concrete commercial center with all the usual trappings, including a small airport, a Burger King and a Pizza Hut. However, just 5 miles away was Ixpanpajul, a private jungle reserve where one can ride horses, walk along a skyway, hike, or do as Ellery and I did -- tour the jungle canopy by zip line. Although only a fairly small track of 6 lines, it was tremendous fun and quite different from our South Africa experience. Ellery even did 2 of the lines on her own, without anyone helping her. Ixpanpajul also brought us another crocodile (I’m sure that, like the crocodiles in Tikal, these are imported for the tourists) sighting and a few more exotic birds that we hadn’t seen before.

We then headed to Flores for lunch. While it is touted as a “quaint colonial town” on an island in the lake, quiet doesn’t begin to describe Flores. It’s dead; almost all the shops were closed, and there were more people working on the roads than anything else. But we had a nice lunch at a restaurant overlooking the lake and then took a leisurely boat ride around the lake.

We returned to La Lancha to swim and relax (some more), again just before the afternoon rains, and settle in for our final night. Tomorrow, we leave at 4:30 a.m. to catch the 6 a.m. bus to Coban, spending a night there, and then making our way to Chichicastenango by Saturday night so as not to miss the “not to be missed” Sunday market.

written by  shoshtrvls on August 27 from Tikal, Guatemala
from the travel blog: Belize, Guatemala and Honduras (2009)
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