From Flores to Semuc Champey

Already I'm behind again in my posting; it seems I'm either busy doing something or tired from a bus trip. Let me see if I can get back on track ...

It's not even a week since we came back from El Mirador, but it feels like much longer. Before we left for the hike we had booked two nights in a hostel in Flores. We were quite sure we needed a day of rest before we embarked on another long bus ride. This time our hotel was not on the island of Flores itself but right across, only about five minutes maximum by lancha (boat). This had the advantage that it was a little less noisy than close to the beach in Flores where parties seemed to be going on every night.

We had reached Carmelita at 11:30 on Friday morning, not bad after walking 17 muddy kilometres that morning. The people at Carmelita were going to cook lunch for us, and since we had about half an hour until that happened we all attacked the mud clinging to our shoes and boots with brushes and rags supplied by the manager. It was great that we could do it there; I'm sure no hostel/hotel in town would have been happy to have us walk in looking like we did. There were showers, too, for those who wanted to get cleaned up right away. Lunch was delicious, like most of the food we have had here in Guatemala, consisting of the obligatory rice and beans, chicken or pork, and salad. As dessert we got to taste a specialty not only in Guatemala but other central American countries as well: horchata, a frothy drink made with rice soaked in water, then blended with sugar, peanuts and cinnamon – muy rico!

The ride back was just as bumpy as the way there, but the road had dried a little bit, and at least we didn't get stuck. I'd say it was as strenuous as half of the seventeen kilometres of walking ...

We arrived back in Flores just in time for sunset, as beautiful as ever on the lake, dropped our bags at the Carmelita Cooperative's office and walked across the bridge to the supermarket in San Elena, the modern part of Flores, to get a couple of bottles of wine: we had earned it, we felt, and had no plans whatsoever for the next day except to relax and get our clothes washed. There was to be some special entertainment that evening, however, the celebrations I mentioned earlier with fireworks all around the lake.

On Sunday morning the Hostal San Miguel's boat took us over to Flores where we caught the bus to Semuc Champay. The sixteen passengers were all backpackers (hence the sign 'Turismo'), squeezed into a Toyota van with working air condition – big sigh of relief. It actually was one of the more comfortable mini buses we have ridden in. The luggage was stowed on the roof, and off we went. After about an hour and a half we crossed a river by ferry, the first of several bathroom stops; this is by no means the case on every bus ride here and was much appreciated. The landscape was varied and beautiful: lots of the typical Brahma-type cattle along the way, sleek and well fed in green pastures, little villages and single houses strung out along the road. The driver, just like most of the others, had no qualms about disregarding any speed limits, and as usual honking was the means of communication for passing manoeuvres: one honk to say 'please let me pass', one more to say 'thanks!'

The roads were nice and smooth until we came to Cobán, a relatively large city where we stopped at – of all things! - a MacDonald's, right across from a big new mall that could have been found anywhere in North America. A big cone-shaped artificial Christmas tree was the centre piece near the entrance, and Maya families, most of the women in traditional dress, lined up to have their pictures taken in front of it. Here was a welcome opportunity to draw money from an ATM; we weren't sure if we would be able to in Lanquín, the town closest to the hostel we had booked for the next three days.

A man in his thirties asked me where I was from and told me he had worked in Georgia for eight months, until his company went broke. He would have liked to work there longer since he made good money. He asked where we were headed and what we had seen of Guatemala already. Most of it, he said, he had not seen himself yet: most people make only enough money to get by, not enough for extras like travelling.

"Christmas Market" in Lanquin

After about an hour we were on our way again, and this time it didn't take very long until the good road came to an abrupt end. For about fifty or sixty kilometres we were shaken about, the driver changing lanes according to where the deepest potholes were, until we finally reached Lanquín. Here we were right back in Maya country; hardly any woman wore modern dress, people carried heavy loads on their heads, hills were steep and cobble-stoned. The bus stop was in the middle of town, and we had hardly opened the doors when the first calls came for the different hostels: from here we were going with four-wheel drive trucks belonging to the hostels. About eight of us climbed in the back of the 'GreenGo's' truck, fitted with two opposing benches and a metal roof, our packs shoved under the seats. Another hour of being bumped on even worse roads, and we had finally reached our destination.

GreenGo's is a backpacker hostel, frequented mainly by people in their twenties, by the looks of it, beautifully designed with many thoughtful details. It is not cheap for backpacker budgets, but the ample meals are, and the food is very good. We had booked a private room and got a nice cabin beside the small river, away from the loud music at the public space, its balcony with a hammock and chairs. After supper, accompanied by a litre of 'Brahva' beer, we were ready for bed. It was not even eight-thirty!