Costa Rica

16th to the 21st of July.
OK OK so I've been totally slack at updating my blog since we left the hammock strewn sunny beaches of Costa Rica. I will however try to recap some of the past events below...
We started early on the morning of saturday the 16th of June to beat the crowd at the border crossing into Costa Rica. I was still feeling pretty set back from the ongoing bug that had knocked us down in Nicaragua. But early was the right option and as such we didn't have any issues with crowds and queues - something we had been warned about. We caught a bus once on the Costa Rican side that took us to Liberia and from there caught another to Tamarindo.
Tamarindo aka Tamagringo had a reputation of being highly westernised and unauthentic and yes it is...but it isn't as bad as many let on. Yes, there are many bars, restaurants, shops and hotels, but I think you could probably have a good time if you had a fun crowd - something like Seminyak in
Bali. In any case it didn't matter because we didn't intend on staying around. Instead, we caught a taxi out of town some 15km further south to Playa Avellanas which gained a reputation in the popular nineties surfing movie 'The Endless Summer II' although I had forgotten this. The township of Playa Avellanas wasn't much more than a gravel road with a couple resorts and other smaller accommodation options scattered along it.
We settled on a cabana at a place called Mauna Lao which seemed pretty nice with a pool and air conditioning - something a little nicer for out last days in the tropics.
We kept to a pretty leisurely routine for the following three days. Lazy mornings in bed, then walk down through the mangroves to the beach, set up hammocks, I surf while Jane reads, more relaxing in the sun, delicious lunch at nearby 'Lola's on the Beach', head back for showers then look for an impossible to find good dinner option.
In the end our impending departure loomed and we set off to experience Tamarindo for the night before heading off to San Jose where our flight on to the US awaited.
The last thirty six hours in Central America were pretty uneventful. Our night in Tamarindo was pretty sedate. A good meal and a couple drinks at a nearby bar. The bus to San Jose was hot, long and uncomfortable and our hostel in the capital wasn't much better but as the wheels of our plane left the Tarmac I could only hope it wouldn't be too long before our next chance to practice our Spanish and savour the flavourful hecticness of the Latino shores.

Northern Nicaragua goes Boom!

5th to the 7th of June
The memory of the previous night was still pretty fresh in our minds as we woke to a beautiful sunny morning in the city of Leon. Stuck at some random petrol station the night prior amid raging rain and thunder, we had been unable to get a bus to our final destination of Aposentillo. Also known as La Boom we had heard rumours of a great wave in northern Nicaragua. All you had to do was get to Chinandega from where everyone would know how to get you to La Boom. Last night at least, it had seemed an impossible task to everyone we had asked and so we had decided to catch the bus to the comfier setting of Leon to rest. It had been an incredibly long and tiresome day and by the end, the last thing we needed was that bad news. I could tell Jane was getting to the end of her tether regarding hell raising missions to find secluded surf breaks and I tried to make it up to her that morning the best I could. While she had a lie in I tried to gather as much info as I could to make the next journey as painless as possible. Then we had a great breakfast of blueberry pancakes, fresh juices, coffee, fruit and granola then indulged in a little retail therapy, although Leon had pretty limited stock on display at the markets.
Eventually by mid day we set off once again to try to make it to La Boom. We arrived back in Chinandega, an approximately forty minute back track, just in time to miss the bus to the beach. Today though, everyone seemed to know La Boom so this time we just worked out a reasonable price with a taxi and took the easy route. The easy route never felt better as we zipped through the lush green countryside and passed the bus we were supposed to have made to see people squashed up against the windows and hanging out the doors. Thank you very much!
After a little scouting we eventually picked a slightly pricier, but much nicer hostel/surf camp right in front of the surf break.
The wind was up, so I didn't surf that day, just hung with Jane. We took a walk along the beach together and feasted on some tasty, although rather expensive food (by central American standards at least). Then later that night, we were witness to mother nature's best party trick - the biggest craziest lightning storm ever. For about three hours just before bed, the rain bucketed down as the lightning and thunder roared to life. Every two to three seconds the whole sky would light up and soon after a crack of thunder would erupt so loud that the foundations of our camp seemed to shake. At times the clap would sound so close that we thought we might find a tree or hut in flames but it never happened thankfully.
The next morning I woke at 4:45am to find the storm had passed and the silent glow of dawn was now burning on the horizon. In the past day, the owners had delighted in telling me a number of stories of injuries at the now notoriously heavy break. The owner himself had recently broken his foot and his back and I was rather hoping not to be surfing alone that morning. Alas no one was up. Maybe I shouldn't have got up quite so early, but the tide was meant to be best then, and at the last break we'd surfed in El Salvador, there were often already a handful of surfers in the water before daybreak. After a few stretches I made my way down to the beach to be greeted by a picture perfect set up. Peaks rose, tipped and broke in perfect form as far as the eye could see across the pink glassy stretch of the ocean. As I headed to the waters edge I was thankful to notice another lone surfer making his way up toward me. He later told me it was pretty rare to have the place to ourselves as we did that morning. We surfed the perfect waves to ourselves for two hours or so until we were eventually joined by a handful of "late" risers. I had my fill of great waves and knew it was time to get out when one of the locals took off on a bomb in front of me, hesitated, fell and came up with his board in two pieces. Tide was getting too low, time to call it quits. I was hoping that my board might make it to at least Costa Rica.
Jane was able to set up her hammock right outside our front door overlooking the hostel lawns and after my surf we spent the rest of the day just hanging. I nipped back into the ocean at dusk just as a big storm rolled in and spun the wind offshore again but I was back in my hammock again by the time the light show started again.
By the next day the swell had dropped only a touch and I was feeling a lot more confident. That morning I was first in the water and scored a whole heap of great waves. Stoked and satisfied I was ready to hit the road again and head further south.

Struck Down in Southern Nicaragua

8th to the 15th of June
Shortly before lunch Jane mentioned she was feeling a little odd. We were back in Chinandega and had just booked tickets for Masaya from where we would connect to Granada. Granada had rave reviews in the Lonely Planet as a beautiful town and Jane had expressed that she would like to hit up one more colonial town before we hit so called "Americanized" Costa Rica.
At 1:30pm we squashed into two very tight seats on one of the now familiar old buses and set off on the three and a half hour trip down to Masaya. It was hot, humid and the seats were arse numbing. We jumped off amongst a throng of activity in the hectic bus yard of Masaya and just managed to throw our bags onto the roof of another bus before our connection pulled away. By now Jane had gone very quiet and was obviously not feeling very well at all. A half hour later we were weaving our way through the colourful streets of Granada trying to guestimate when to jump ship. Finally we were dropped at some remote dead end where we flagged down a taxi to take us to a hostel of some sort.
In response to the rave reviews of Lonely Planet I must admit I expected a little more of Granada. Don't get me wrong, it's still a very pretty city oozing of latino flavour, with houses of every colour of the rainbow, as well as a just as bright a selection of local characters. But apart from the central plaza and some nice old churches it was all pretty familiar territory. Maybe it was just a little simple, which, to many a traveling wannabe locals is a great thing...but for us, we were ready for a little comfort and our hostel afforded only scarcely that.
Unfortunately for Jane, she never got to see much of the town itself. Whatever it was that had taken her ill was now in full force. That night she had a high temperature, was nauseous and was unable to eat. We kept her fluids up with water and the odd smoothy, but that was all that passed her lips for about the next 48 hours.
By the third day she thought that she might be pulling through and we opted to head to the coast and out of Granada. We did it the easy way this time with a door to door taxi costing a little more from our purse but invaluable for Jane as we soon realised that she was still sick as a dog.
We arrived in the picturesque town of San Juan Del Sur early in the afternoon as the sun was beaming down on the colourful streets. I had done minimal research on where to stay other than to realise most hostels in this now increasingly popular town were full. I had one name and an address and as it was we chanced into a great hostel. Owned by a Frenchman called Baba, up on the hill, a couple minutes walk out of town centre, the Buena Onda Backpackers provided spacious breezy timber clad rooms with king size beds and private bathrooms for $10 per person. With the best views in town it was absolutely worth every penny.
I tried to occupy myself as best I could while Jane rested and recovered. On the second day I caught a ride with one of the other backpacker shuttles to the nearby Hermosa beach. The ride, perched on the back of a pick-up truck was stunning as we cut through a bumpy jungle track, crossing dry riverbeds awash with dazzling butterflies and eventually emerged onto a long sandy stretch. The surf was good although not great in comparison to what I have been getting but there is no doubt I have been spoilt. And beautiful all the same.
On the night off the third day, while out running some errands I finally managed to catch up with Marco, a friend we'd met way back in Pichilemu, Chile. Marco had also been traveling at the time and it was he who told us to come to SJDS where he was now making a go of it. Marco had until recently been running a fishing/surfing tour operation with his own boat but before going away for a year had decided to sell up. He had just recently sold his boat which was bad timing for me as I would have loved to use his services to explore some of the off the track surf breaks and fishing spots but it wasn't to be.
Nevertheless as soon as we'd exchanged pleasantries, Marco was already on the phone organizing a fishing trip for us. We'd be leaving at 6:00am the next morning with a local Nicaraguan skipper named Pepin. Quick work - good stuff!
I felt pretty sorry for organizing the trip that evening as I would be leaving poor sick Jane in bed for the best part of the day and if she felt worse or needed anything, there would be no one to turn to. I think she understood though that this was something I'd wanted to do for quite a while, and was happy for me to be going.
That evening while I lay in bed, I felt the first tickle of a cough in my chest.
In the morning I rose at 5:00am and headed down to Marco's place to help him carry his fishing gear and supplies to the boat. I was now starting to feel a little dizzy as well as continuing to cough but I didn't want to let Marco down who had done so well to organise the trip at the drop of a hat. We were joined at the dock by another local friend of Marcos', Andrew, and his visiting friend, Chris, from Anchorage in Alaska. Pepin, the skipper, was there waiting for us at six on the dot and we were soon headed out to sea in a thirty or so foot fiberglass Panga. Pangas are the most commonly used boats through Central America and the workhorse option for just about anything the locals might want to do on the sea. Long, thin and sturdy, they don't need monstrous motors and reach decent speeds easily.
As we headed out to see there was a fair breeze but nothing that would stop us fishing. We rigged up a couple rods with lures, flipped them over the side and brought the speed down to trawling pace.
It didn't take long for the first bite. Only just out of the bay Marcos' rod bent back and he swiftly pulled in a small black tuna. I was next and as soon as it hit we could tell it was something bigger. It fought hard and I had to let it as I wasn't sure what the gear could take. After a couple minutes, a silver reflection appeared under the boat and the captain grabbed the gaff. A big Trevally of some sort finally appeared at the surface before pepin gaffed it and dragged it onto the boat. I was pretty chuffed! He said it weighed somewhere around 15lbs but when it was swimming, boy I can tell you it felt like a lot more than that! It was my only fish that morning. Andrew caught one as well although he missed god knows how many. Whatever lure Marco had rigged that rod with, the fish seemed to going crazy for it. Andrew wasn't much of a fisherman though, and didn't quite get the keeping the line taught part, which made for many more happy fish than happy fishermen - but probably better that way although i'd have preferred to release AFTER catch. Anyway, after Andrew had missed one too many we passed the magic rod over to Chris who then managed to catch himself two Trevally. It all went dead after that and although we trawled for a good while longer, there was very little action. Eventually, as the wind continued to chop up the sea, and after one too many waves splashed over the bow drenching us, we decided to head back in. It was a pretty unenjoyable ride back. We were ploughing right into the offshore wind and sea, getting drenched every couple of waves and it wasn't until we were well within the bay that the waves finally subsided. By the time we got back on land, unloaded the boat, gutted the fish and dropped the gear back at Marcos' I knew I was gonna be getting sick as well. I expressed my thanks to Marco, said my goodbyes then dragged my feet up the hill back to Buena Onda Backpackers. When I got there I was surprised to see Jane swinging happily in the hammock.
"Look babe" she says "I'm outa bed!".
"Great!" I say "but I'm afraid that's exactly where I'm headed!".
That night it was my turn for a high temperature and cold sweats. It took me three days in bed before I was able to drag myself beyond the confines of the backpackers. Each morning I thought I was nearly better, then by lunch I would slow and by evening I would be hit by fatigue and nausea again.
Eventually by day four of my sickness, and our seventh day in San Juan Del Sur I bit the bullet and decided we should try to get to Costa Rica. We had originally planned on having ten days there but now, following our spate of illnesses, we were reduced to five, two of which would be needed for traveling. I still wasn't one hundred percent but as long as there weren't too many bus transfers or hassles, I should be fine...right?

El Salvador

29th of May to the 4th of June.
In comparison to the previous days experience, the six hour trip from
Antigua in Guatemala direct to El Tunco, El Salvador was a breeze. After five or so sweaty hours in a cramped mini van, we emerged out onto a winding road that led us along the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean coast for the last fifty kilometers of our eastward journey. Every now and then a glimpse of stacked frothy waves momentarily appeared through the lush vegetation revealing another one of the countless pointbreaks for which this part of El Salvador is famous.
El Tunco is a small one street village of small eateries and hostels that runs perpendicular between the main road and the coast. It has that "tranquilo" (aka laid back) Central American feeling and is a good stop for traveling surfers with a couple of breaks within walking range: La Bocana and Zunzal - one a bouldery beach break, the other, a long reeling righthander.
We settled on a hot clean little room in the Papaya Lodge and were joined there by a friendly Aussie couple, Pete and Renee also from Perth, that we had met on the bus.
At this point both Jane and I were both down in the dumps so we laid pretty low for the next couple of days. I missed a small swell on the first afternoon of our arrival when I was feeling ill and groveled around in pretty average waves as I slowly recovered during the following days.
On the third day we caught one of the refurbished school buses into the nearby town of La Libertad to grab a few provisions. While in town we took the opportunity to visit the fish markets, set along a jetty that runs out to sea. At the seaward end, the locals haul their long narrow boats via an old rusty crane. The boats are then lined up along the central area of the pier while they unload their catch, and at the landward end a small canopy covers a multitude of fish mongers selling their produce. Tuna, snapper, lobster, prawns, it can all be found here. Although slightly more worrying were the tiny hammerhead sharks left beheaded and de-fined lying in a bucket along with butchered beautiful spotted eagle rays. The sharks would have been no bigger than a foot in length. A sad sight.
It is slightly concerning the amount of fish on display at these markets. When one considers how many of these markets occur daily all around the world, it is a worry that as humans, we appear to be taking fish as an infinite resource. Unfortunately the message is not quite out yet that it is not.
After a quiet night back in El Tunco we decided it was time to leave. A new swell was due soon and as the breaks around La Libertad experience big crowds during the weekends when locals descend from the nearby San Salvador, it might be good to escape. And so started one hell of a ride. Six different legs of cramped buses, hot taxis, and backs of pick-ups took us on a roundabout trip through the El Salvador countryside until we finally arrived some seven hours later at Flores, hot, sweaty and exhausted. Mentioned in my surf guide as the Savage East, the area around Flores is meant to be quieter so you can perhaps understand my surprise when we arrived to find the place packed full of surfers. We soon figured out that most of these "traveling" surfers are camped up in the luxury surf resort of Las Flores and travel around in fancy AC four wheel drives. Lucky them. It just doesn't feel right that they should be able to surf the same waves as those who fought hard to be here but hey, whatch'ya gonna do about it?
Besides being busy the surf at Flores was good...for the first few days at least...then...it got GREAT! The tight pack of surfers that crowded the tight take off spot whilst the surf was small were quickly scattered once the proper swell hit. A moderate rip current made sure of that as solid walls of water were sent pouring down the point. This sorted the men from the boys and finally Flores was worth the long bus rides, the cramped prison cell like accommodation and the inscecent mosquitos. Thank you to my beautiful patient wife for putting up with me and my endless search for waves. You make me a happy man...Is now a good time to mention that I have no effin idea how we're gonna get out of here? Ouch! We had planned on catching a boat from a nearby town across a large bay and arrive direct in Nicaragua avoiding Honduras all together but we simply didn't have enough information to go by and it sounded like we would need to be at least six people. It was too far and too much of a gamble. As it was, there were three of us. Jane, myself and Robert, a friendly yank from Austin, Texas that we had met back in El Tunco. Rob had attempted to cycle from La Libertad to Leon in Nicaragua but after having spent his first night in a small town where the only accom was a pay by the hour hotel (if you get my drift), he only made it a little further before he had his bike stolen on the second night.
And so it was that the three of us embarked on another "great" journey through to Nicaragua. Seven legs this time, two border crossings, and some nine hours of travel saw us end up in Leon, unexpectedly actually.

Guatemala to El Salvador - Fail...

Monday 28th of May
We started to get the feeling that things were amiss when our mini van made an unscheduled stop in Antigua city in Guatemala. We had booked the tickets from San Marcos to San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador, the day prior with the reassurance that it would be a direct ride in a comfy shuttle. All for $25 each, it sounded like a good arrangement for a supposed nine hour journey. When we had to swap shuttle in Antigua we still weren't bothered. The next mini van was waiting and the swap was quick and fairly painless.
Next stop, Guatemala city. The capital of Guatemala is a pretty run down city and the source of many dangerous stories of thefts and muggings. We had hoped to avoid it, and so we had been told by Mike, the English tour operator back in San Marcos. Yet, it seemed our driver had other plans as we pulled into a sorry excuse for a bus terminal in a run down suburb of the city. At this point our driver went into the "terminal" that looked more like a small shop and purchased two tickets from a ticket counter behind bars. He exited a few moments later, handed us the tickets, told us a bus would soon arrive and take us the rest of the way, Only an hour and a half to wait. Slightly perplexed, an before the driver who was now back behind the wheel of his van could drive off, we asked to borrow his phone to call Mike and clarify the situation.
Mike said that this was news to him, that he was sorry but that on the upshot it was a larger bus that would have toilets! Just great!
At 3pm, half an hour before we were supposed to leave, a local man approached me and asked if I spoke any Spanish. 'Si, hablo un pequeno' I told him. It turns out the bus isn't running today. Mechanical problems (or possibly just can't be arsed!). Next bus, mañana at 5am. Adios!
Back on the phone. 'Que effin passa Mike??!!!'.
In fairness Mike did his best. He was subcontracting through another agency who eventually sent their driver back from Antigua. Two hours later, the same driver as earlier turns up, picks us up and drives us back to Antigua where we will have to spend the night. By the time we get there, it is near 6pm, it is getting dark an even the poor drivers boss won't pick up. Mike eventually lets up and says that he'll cover our nights accommodation and the remaining money required to book a shuttle for the next day. Departure scheduled for 8:00am.

GuateMaya - Lake Atitlan

25th to the 28th of May
We arrived in San Marcos on Lake Atitlan amid a massive downpour. Torrents of water were gushing out of the mountainside onto the tarmac as we descended the steep switchback road that dropped steeply toward the lakes edge.
San Marcos is one of the smaller lakeside towns and the spiritual hang out for many hippies, try-to-be hippies, or travelers seeking a slightly different experience. There are several other places to stay and most chose the slightly larger hub of San Pedro which is a little more touristy but also very nice. We chose San Marcos as it had been recommended by many of the people we had met along the road and specifically the Hostal Del Lago. Although not much to look at the hostel had friendly owners as well as many nice guests, and locals just hanging out.
Our stay on the lake was intended to give us the time to relax and allow Jane to get in some serious Yoga time - and that is pretty much how the following days unfolded.
Jane was able to practice yoga in the mornings within the hostel itself with the British lady co-owner named Sarah while I took the opportunity to swing in a hammock and read - perfect.
The lake itself is beautiful with crystal waters, pebble beaches and surrounded by many volcanoes although as we were now well within the rainy season, the peaks only revealed themselves sporadically. As a result of the seasons change, the towns were pretty quiet which only helped us relax even further.
As it turns out though, even in sleepy times, there is still a party, or even a selection of parties to chose from every night.
On the second night, the party host was our hostel, so it would have been rude to miss out. A live band provided some great guitar/beat box tunes with local mc's rapping in both Spanish and the local Mayan dialect. The comfortable setting of our hostel was made even cozier with numerous throw pillows and hammocks set up around moodily lit tables. As it turned out, we were lucky to be having a party at all since the electricity had been down since the storm, that had battered us on our arrival, had knocked down a number of power poles. But power had come back just in time to freeze some ice, keep the drinks cool and provide lighting for what would have been a rather dim event otherwise.
It was raining the next day and we were pretty happy about not feeling the necessity to do anything. When traveling as we are, with often limited time in new towns, you often feel the necessity to get out there and soak up as much of the local flavours as you can. So you often feel guilty when you take the time to sit on your arse and do nothing. It's a strange one as we're on holiday and all the planning and moving often feels like work, but thankfully, on this day at least, we weren't going anywhere.
On our last day in San Marcos we chose to visit the local Cacao Shaman aka Keith...Yup, Keith is your typical 60 odd year old, long haired, bearded, spectacled hippy from the states and also a very interesting character with many great stories to tell. We were slightly suprised as we would have expected a local Mayan but the locals seemed to respect him in his role so we would too. He was apparently chosen as a Shaman by the Cacao Spirit himself and now holds Cacao ceremonies three days a week for a number of locals and passers through alike.
When we arrived on Keith's front porch for the ceremony there was already a decent number of gatherers and by the time a few more had arrived and we were struggling for space, Keith finally brought out his special concoction of Cacao drink.
I'd approached this ceremony with an open mind an tried to keep at bay any preconceptions that might drift into my mind regarding the eclectic mix of crystal bearing, dreadlocked spiritual soul searchers. And so it was, that a rather bizarre experience overcame me. I still cannot say whether it was a result of the high dose cacao drink, the long meditative process or the hyperventilating (that I seemed to be doing as I sought to clear my mind) that brought me there, but amongst a strange chorus of breaths and oming emanating around me, I definitely had a strong new feeling unlike any other. A pulsating energy overcame me and kept me locked in a awkward hold until I was eventually able to slow my breath and work my mind out of it...
A few moments later Jane and I were asked if we would like to part take in a joint meditation overseen by Keith to which we agreed (always willing to try something new). Again the energy returned as Jane and I sat surrounded by the others while Keith lead us through a uniting meditation to share and strengthen out love together.
All in all, a very unique and interesting experience was had and we both felt pretty drained afterwards.
I am still somewhat perplexed as to what it was that I felt that day, but it is said that when energy is stirred within the body, one can often feel ill afterward and true to form, by the time we were boarding our bus to El Salvador the following day, the distinct symptoms of incoming illness were rearing their ugly heads.

GuateMaya - Semuc Champey

22nd to the 24th of May
Guatemala has the highest concentration of indigenous peoples of any of the Central American countries (somewhere around 41%). Although the are nearly all Mayan (except a small group in the southeastern corner of the country), they are divided into a number of different groups that speak many different versions of their native language.

Leaving Flores we had another long hot cramped bus ride to get us down to Lanquin. I think all up this ride was 9 hours, so average on a comparable basis. What made it seem much longer was the lack of leg room, the bum deadening seats and the endless gravel roads toward the end. Still, such a trip makes you that much happier to be where you are when you get there, as if you somehow deserved it.
On the way down from Flores, we were continually faced with the sad sight of the jungle being stripped and burned to make way for agriculture. I am well aware that it is only a privileged westerner's point of view to think that this is wrong and my views would unlikely carry much weight against the locals necessity to make ends meet - but it is a shame none the least - to me.
Lanquin is known more for the waterfalls at nearby Semuc Champey, but the town remains very pretty at the base of a jungle valley with many thatched roofes scattered about. We had originally tried to book into a hostel in town but as it was booked out we ended up in Semuc on the river at a hostel called El Portal. Although it took another half hour along a gravel road to get there, in the end we were very happy about it. El Portal had a number of little chalets perched on the grassy hillside above the river and as we arrived at night we could see many fire flies tracing through the bushes giving the place a magical feel. Later, we were witness to an even greater natural wonder when a massive Rhinoceros beetle crashed into the lightbulb and disoriented for a few moments let us handle it before flying off again. Very cool!
El Portal only runs electricity between 6pm and 10pm so shortly after dinner it was time to hit the hay.
On arrival to our hostel we had met some friendly Aussies who highly recommended a tour that took you to the pools in the morning, then tubing down the river before lunch and finishing up with a visit to the nearby underground caves. We only had limited time so this sounded perfect and it is how we found ourselves dripping with sweat, perched on the cliff side, a hundred or so meters up, overlooking the pools of Semuc Champey the following morning. The pools below looked crystal clear and the few people already there looked to be floating in the air with their shadows suspended below them as they dangled in the water. After the tough trek up to the viewing platform, we were quickly scrambling down the other side of the hill and into our bathing suits as quickly as we could.
The water was a beautifully refreshing temperature and we plunged in. Surrounded by a canopy of lush green trees, the water pours slowly over smoothed granite rocks from one turquoise pool to the next so it is easy to escape the surprisingly few other people around and find your own little slice of heaven. We explored a little and found that little slides had been worn into the rocks where apparently previous adventurous souls had passed. It was all pretty fun until I picked up a little too much speed on one and narrowly avoided tearing a but cheek off! All in all though a blissful experience - Paradise on earth (Yes, another one it would seem...).
Following our pool frolicking, a relaxing meander down the river in an inner tube and an adrenaline hit jumping off an 8m or so bridge, we settled into lunch and I think many of us would have been happy to finish the day off there. 'Fraid not! Caves to explore - Here's your candle! CANDLE???!!!
We remained fairly excited as we met our guide, were passed a 6 inch ling candle and dropped into the knee high deep water at the entrance to the cave. Yes! Did I forget to mention that there was water in these caves? LOTS OF IT!
Our guide, who's name was Rojo (Red - although for no apparent reason) had the distinctively sharp features of the local Q'eqchi (pronounced Kekchi) people as well as their inherent short slight build. This made it easy for him to navigate the tight spaces of the caves as opposed to our larger gangly frames.
Today Rojo was guiding a group of twelve people including ourselves although as it would turn out, we were often left wondering who was leading who. By the time we had reached about the third chamber, our guide lead us in until the water passed his neckline and then kicked off in a rapid swim into the near darkness. Luckily for Rojo, he had a waterproof head torch so he could swim with both hands. We on the other hand found ourselves attempting an awkward one handed doggy paddle as we tried to keep our light source alive. To top it off we were told to attempt to keep our feet high and moving slowly so as not to kick any of the sharp underwater rocks that jut out sporadically. As we headed deeper into the caves, Rojo was left at the rear of the group helping the slow while those at the from of the group (yes Jane and I) attempted to recognize our guides echoes shouts of "Vamos! Vamos!". This meant that often we had little idea of what direction to follow with the candles providing scant light in the dark conditions. Often, we had to wait until Rojo made his way back to the front to show us how to descend the ladder into the next void on the right and avoid the hidden precipice to the left we nearly just followed. Yes, it was pretty sketchy... We ended up climbing underground waterfalls, rock jumping into dark tight pools and swinging through a blind drain hole into a hidden pool below and by the time our candles were all but burnt out, boy can I tell you we were happy to see the light of day!
A few beers were downed that night with some newfound german friends in toast to beautiful places, great experiences but most importantly LIFE!

Ancient Maya

18th to the 21st of May
Palenque is a small little town on the boundary of the Mexican highlands and the Gulf coast plains. In its tropical setting it has developed thanks to the popular Mayan ruins located just out of town but it remains a pretty small hub.
It was a sweltering hot and humid day when we arrived having boarded at 7:30am in the cool highlands and we were caught a little off guard at midday in our heavy clothes. As our reserved hostel was said to be only 500m away we thought we'd manage but unfortunately the only thing we managed was to lose ourselves in the fairly simple street layout and ended up walking about 2km! After that, we didn't do too much other than readjust to the warmer climate and laze about for the rest of the afternoon.
The Mayan site of Palenque is one of the best examples of Mayan architecture in Mexico. As with much of the Mayan archeology only a small portion of the total site has been excavated. Apparently Palenque stretches beyond the manicured lawns of the touristic site some 15 square kilometers into the surrounding jungle. We got there a little late having had to organise our following day trip before allowing ourselves the freedom to explore. This meant that by 10am it was already pretty warm and coach loads of tourists were disembarking from their AC atmosphere as we arrived. The ruins are truly beautiful with the grey limestone temples and pyramids forming an angular contrast against the dense green tangle of the jungle beyond (we would later discover that the ruins, which there are typically set in multiples of four at the cardinal points around a central plaza were once stuccoed and painted as follows: north - white; east - red; south - yellow; and west - black). We explored most of the site before finally settling under the shade of a huge tree next to our own Mayan temple a little out of the way and away from the continuous stream of human ants. There we lounged around for a while just enjoying our surroundings and Jane even managed a quick siesta while I wondered off taking photos.
That night we enjoyed a fantastic dinner of garlic prawns (from the caribbean side) at our newfound favourite restaurant before hitting the hay.
The following morning we boarded our bus at 6:00am for a bus/boat/bus ride across the boarder into Guatemala and towards the even more reputed ruins of Tikal.
Although long, the journey was pretty easy. The boat trip was an interesting break between buses and although the engine conked out half way up the river and it looked like we might drift into jagged rocks along the bank, the thirteen year old looking captain managed to get it started again in the nick of time.
We arrived in Flores a small island town joined to the Guatemalan mainland town of St Elena by a single road. Flores was one of the last prosperous Mayan cities but was completely flattened out of spite when the Spaniards, after many failed attempts, finally conquered the town. Now it was another one of the pretty little towns that flourish due to tourism with a colourful array of simple buildings. Our hostel - Los Amigos - was a nice place with an indoor/outdoor vibe and many jungle trees growing within the courtyard between hammocks and table settings.
We met a few nice people but didn't hang out too late as we had ANOTHER early morning planned (wasn't this meant to be a holiday???!!!)
We set off at 4:30am for the one hour journey to the Mayan ruins of Tikal. Following the usual organizational delays we were joined by our guide and eventually headed off along a jungle path towards the first temples of Tikal sometime after 6:30am. We realised we had missed out on a lot by not having a guide at Palenque and it would a welcome addition to have some sound information.
Tikal (supposedly pronounced Tik'Al as in to simulate the sound of an echo) once stretched some 120 square kilometers into the surrounding jungle although only 7% of it has now been excavated. The first inhabitants settled here some 700 years BC and it became one of the grandest trading cities in the Mayan Empire. We learnt that at the time, the jungle was completely cleared to allow for over 100 000 people to live here with agriculture requiring further clearing beyond the city. It is thought that perhaps the exhausting of the natural resources may have played a part in the mysterious disappearance of the Mayan lowland civilization around 900 AD, or so our guide suggested at least...
The day we visited the ruins of Tikal was a special as it was Janes' birthday so after our return to Flores, Jane took a yoga class before we settled into a few mojitos. We were joined by a few fellow travelers we had met along the way but couldn't last long after such an early start and were in bed in shamefully good time.

Mexican Highlands

16th to the 18th of May
The temperature was much cooler in the highlands of Mexico as we unloaded our bags from the overnight bus to San Cristobal de Casas. It had taken some eight hours to get here and after a poor night sleep we now had to find the hostel we had booked into. Booking hostels is not something what the average traveler used to have to do. You used to just rock up and take your chances. These days however with the "wonders" of the Internet, everyone prebooks and unless you are part of the action you'll be left behind. We found this out fairly early on our trip as the best hostels were always booked when we knocked on the door.
Back at San Cristobal it took us a little while to navigate the maze of cobblestone streets to find our way to the Posada del Abuelito but when we arrived it was a nice little hostel with a little inner court and friendly people.
San Cristibal looked like a really nice town with a Spanish architectural influence and a living indigenous population. Every house seemed to be painted a different colour giving the cobblestone streets their now typical latino flair. Most local men wore jeans, cowboy boots, hats and big buckles while many of the women still wore a traditional attire of colourful flowered dresses (or felty furry looking things) with a colourful shawl or vest and their black braided hair tied at the back, supposedly to stop it swinging around and getting in their way.
There were numerous plazas and markets, a number of large churches and cathedrals scattered about the town as well ad countless good restaurants to sample.
On the second day in the highlands we decided to take a boat ride through a canyon. Now entering the lusher parts of Mexico we were entering an area where at every turn there is a new water wonder to enjoy. On our first day in San Cristibal, we had been told that you could take a bus ride for an hour then jump on a boat that would drive you up through a stunning Canyon, and with a little luck you might even see a crocodile. Why not?
The trip didn't disappoint with up to 1000m (!!! if my spanish translation is correct) towering vertical cliffs plunging into the dark green waters of the river below. We even saw two crocs including one rather sizable reptile.
After a second cool night in SC we decided to move on and caught the early bus up to our next destination - Palenque.