Arriving in Rio Dulce

The last day of our central America trip has arrived, and we are in Tulum, only about two and a half hours by bus from the airport in Cancun from where we fly home this evening. One more time we'll have breakfast outside in our shorts and sandals, one more time a mosquito net was part of the room decor. Has it really only been three and a half weeks? It feels like much longer. Every day brought its share of new experiences – none of them of the kind I would want to forget – and I feel richly blessed to have been able to travel once again in this part of the world that has become very dear to me. I'm still not finished writing about all the places we have seen: we left Semuc Champey a week ago, and many kilometres of bus rides lie between there and where we are now. Back to the minibus in Lanquín, then, which was to take us to Rio Dulce in the narrow part of eastern Guatemala that is squeezed in between Belize to the north and Honduras to the south.

The bus, a bit smaller, older and less comfortable than the one that had taken us from Flores to Lanquín, was not quite full to capacity, which is always a bonus. No air condition would be needed, it seemed (not that there was any): the sky was overcast and it was rather cool, not the worst for travelling. If we had hoped this trip would be smoother than the rest of the last one we were mistaken: the road was quite rough, and this time this lasted for much of the six-hour trip. About an hour and a half after we started the driver stopped at a little restaurant for a baño break, only to return a bit crestfallen with the news that the baño wasn't working. 'Una hora mas,' he assured us, and indeed, this time he was right. Not only was there a bathroom, with a flushing toilet to boot, but also an opportunity to buy some snacks and fruit. The narrow rocky road continued to wind through hills and valleys. Signs of former landslides were frequent, sometimes with only makeshift repairs, and for some kilometres the road was slick with mud from recent rainfall. Our driver and his travel companion were talking animatedly, obviously enjoying themselves, unperturbed by any obstacles in their way

Finally the tight curves ended and we stopped at a lookout: in the flats below we saw the beginning of Lake Izabal. Rio Dulce was no more than a couple of hours away now.

The road improved somewhat, and for a few kilometres we almost dared to believe that the improvement was permanent, that the smoother pavement would last. But no: we had hardly passed the little town where it started when we were back to 'rock pavement' again. But nothing lasts forever, not even back-jerking bus rides, and the last third of the way was almost enjoyable. At about two-thirty we finally rolled into Río Dulce. Here we could see firsthand what we had read about in one of the reviews: heavy traffic, including big trucks, runs right through this little town, with all kinds of shops to the left and right. Crossing this busy thoroughfare is a bit like taking your life into your hands – or rather I thought it was until, on the last day we were there, I noticed policemen directing traffic at certain points. In any case, we were quite glad that we hadn't booked a hotel in town: our 'Casa Perico' could only be accessed by boat and was about ten minutes away.

Waiting for the 'Casa Perico' boat at the Sundog Cafe

The bus stopped close to the marina, right beside the 'Sundog Cafe' where, we had heard, they'd call the Casa Perico that guests were waiting to be picked up. We left our big backpack there and walked the few metres back to town to get some money and a bottle of wine. The bus was still there, and I asked the copilot if they were going to return to Semuc Champey the same day. 'Right away,' was the answer, 'the driver does this every day.' For us the thought of doing this arduous trip twice a day was hard to imagine, but remembering how relaxed and at ease the driver had been, even enjoying himself, I suppose it's different for him. The copilot told us it wouldn't be for him either; he usually guides groups in Semuc Champey, but didn't have one lined up today so came along for the ride just for fun.

Back at the Sundog Cafe we ordered something to eat and asked the waitress to call the Casa Perico for us. It didn't take long until the boat arrived. We sped across the lake for maybe ten minutes and then slowly entered a channel through the mangroves which led by a couple of other houses until we docked at our hotel. Here, the main building is connected with three or four outlying ones by wooden walkways. The jungle was all around us; even when I showered I had a prime view of vine-wrapped trunks rising straight from the swamp. All day the light stayed diffuse, and bird voices were the loudest ones we heard: the busy road was reduced to a slight humming in the distance, if we heard it at all. This would be our home for the next three nights.