Disjointed musings on Belize and Honduras

I'm really glad that David has decided to meet me in Nicaragua (tomorrow!), which forced me to hang out in Belize for a week. Belize is really cool, and it was nice to communicate in English. I hung out with Carmine, a really cool guy from Pennsylvania, as well as Sharon and Anthony, a couple from Florida and Argentina (they met each other while travelling through Indonesia a couple of years ago). I didnt make it to Caye Calker, which is all the rage in the backpacker scene, but I enjoyed Belize so much that I would consider going back and checking out the cayes.

After leaving Belize last Friday, I ended up in Utila, the cheaper of the Bay Islands. My intuition led me there, as did the budget lodging and cheaper food prices. Utila's very cool, very chill, but oh so gringo. There were so many foreigners there! Almost every dive instructor I saw was from somewhere else. Except for my dive instructor, Marvin, who is originally from Tecugigalpa, one of the major Honduran cities.

This is the back of Marvin. I regret not getting a photo of his front, as it is a beautiful front:


My time in Utila was really relaxing. The beaches were pretty ugly and the sand flies were terrible, but being introduced to diving was amazing. I was feeling down Monday and Tuesday because this time of the year brings memories of my dad dying, and I think that diving was the perfect thing to do to distract myself and stay positive. The fish were incredible, they were so colourful. I didn't see any whale sharks or eagle rays or anything else super exciting, but there was one moment when the sea wall dropped like crazy, and the ocean was the bluest blue I've ever seen and a school of fish swam by me and my mind was completely still. I am sad to report that, after snorkeling in Placencia and scuba diving in Utila, I never saw a single dolphin. And I met three other divers who did!

I really enjoyed the day I spent biking and hiking around the island. Sunday morning, I rented a bike and cycled out to a marshy area where there are supposed to be lots of birds. Actually, it wasn't the morning, it was around 1 in the afternoon, which is probably why I ended up seeing more lizards than birds. I played hide and seek with an iguana at a construction site, saw neon green gekos, and nearly ran into a giant snake that had already been run over by some motorized vehicle, and that was being attacked by a vicious swarm of flies. CREEPY. Later that afternoon, I hiked up Pumpkin Hill with a Dutch couple I'd met in Placencia, and some of their colleagues at the Utila Centre for Marine Ecology (where they're doing volunteer research on whale sharks).

This is my iguana friend:


In addition to running into the Dutch couple, I also saw a woman I'd met at the beach in Monterrico, Guatemala, and three other kids (I think they were Scandinavian) I'd met in Flores, Guatemala. For the past month, I've been hearing about travellers who run into each other in different countries and thought that it was hokus pokus. Now I understand that everyone is using the same damn guidebook (Lonely Planet's Central America on a Shoestring), and is roughly following the same itinerary. This makes me feel lame.

Saturday night, I FINALLY had my first ever, real night out (drinking more than 3 drinks, dancing, getting felt up by a French man, escaping the heat from a fire-twirler). I can't believe I've been travelling for over a month, and I've only partied once. For some reason, all of the travellers I've hooked up with have been invested in early days, either because they're studying Spanish, going hiking, exhausted from travelling, or whatever. I've been going to bed uncharacteristically early myself; I'm usually ready for bed by 11!

I left Utila Tuesday morning, and caught a bus to San Pedro Sula. I stayed the night in San Pedro, and left this morning on my long journey to Nicaragua to meet lover D. Because I really wanted to see Lago de Yojoa (where there are 373 bird species) and Pulhapanzak Falls, I caught a bus to El Mochito and asked the driver to let me off at San Buenaventura. I walked up hill for about 15 minutes with my pack on, and eventually found the falls.



After hiding my bags inside the restaurant, I went for a quick dip in the falls, took some photos, and then decided I had better catch the bus to Tegucigalpa. After asking around, I found out that the bus to Tegucigalpa doesn't stop in El Mochito, and was told to take a bus to Caracol. So I did. And, as soon as I stepped off the bus, a bus to Tegucigalpa drove right by me, and the driver completely ignored me as I ran, and waved, and ran, and waved. Luckily, a man in a van stopped and told me he would take me to Tegucigalpa, where he was headed. Surprisingly, I didn't really hesitate to get in his van. There were no ringing bells, just a desire to get to Tegucigalpa before dark so that I could catch my morning bus to Managua, Nicaragua. As I settled into my seat, though, I thought to myself, “Erin, you're HITCH-HIKING in Central America, BY YOURSELF.” Herman, the man who picked me up, was really nice. He bought me juice and water and corn soup, and lectured me about staying in my hotel and not going out by myself (apparently, Tegucigalpa is one of those Latin American cities our mothers fear and loathe).

A note on Honduras, which is so unbelievably different from Guatemala. It seems more westernized (Pizza Huts, Burger Kings, Wendys, KFC, everywhere, all the time), more sexualized (the women here dress scandalously!), and the men are pervier. They STARE. And STARE. I cannot understand Honduran Spanish, it's like they speak out of the backs of their throats.

I'm stoked for my tropical tryst with Davey!

Safe in Honduras

Just a quick note to let you all know that I´m safe, I´ve been beachin´ it the past week in Placencia (with a little skip and a hop over to San Ignacio to see some ruins, a butterfly farm and the Garifuna Museum in Dangriga). I´ve been gloriously lazy, finished reading Rushdie´s Midnight´s Children (which was brilliant, such a rich piece of fiction, if I ever teach a literature class it´ll definitely be on the syllabus).

I arrived in Honduras today after a full day of travel, and am staying the night in La Ceiba before heading over to Roatan, one of the Bay Islands renown for its snorkeling and diving. I´m hoping for dolphins!

Will give a more detailed update soon...

some pics of Tikal and Flores

i love the murky waters



tikal






that's a howler monkey, they sound like dinosaurs



i climbed up a really steep set of stairs to get to the top of one set of ruins so that i could look out over the jungle at some other ruins

A lone, woman, surviving the rough rough waters

The last week has been a whirlwind of Guatemalan buses, shuttles and death-defying boatrides.

Guat City, en route from Lago Atitlan to Tikal:

Bush a la merda And a noisy demo And a knife-selling man wants to know me better And
look at the mighty palms! And many fingered-cacti reaching for the sky, fresh cut wound on a moon-faced Guatemalan boy And bandito-tripping bus stops And skipped meals

Livingston, Guatemala:

I was really excited about Livingston, as the Lonely Planet guide says that it's one of the most interesting places in Guatemala. Interesting, I'm assuming, is euphemism for sketchy, dirty, indigent. Livingston is a dump. I'm pretty sure I'd have enjoyed it more had I been with someone, but the confluence of dirtiness and guys hitting on me every two paces made me feel like I'd stepped into a cesspool of sleaze.

I feel bad writing this because it's so poor, definitely the poorest place I've been in Guatemala, but I just didn't feel safe. Lecherous stares from men of every age (I'm SO SICK of men, especially old men, staring at my breasts), hey babies, that irritating beyond belief cat-hiss that Latin American men feel they are entitled to perform whenever they see a pair of tits.

I did meet a very nice soul at the Rio Dulce Hotel in Livingston (not the hotel I was staying in). I was passing by the hotel, purse gripped tightly against my side, when I was invited into the hotel restaurant for fresh cut coconut and Livingston history. The man's nickname was Tiki Tiki, his birthname escapes me, and he was so nice. He owns the bar and runs the hotel in the owner's absence. Tiki told me to watch out for the Livinston playboys, all the young guys who like to hit on the girls and laze around without goal or job, and I laughed knowingly because I'd already come across a few of them. Tiki asked if I like bikes, and I answered in an enthusiastic affirmative because I LOVE bikes and miss my red 21 speed buried beneath Toronto snow.

It had started to rain, so I ran back to my hotel to grab my hoodie before setting off on this voyage of Livingston discovery. The bike was old and the brakes were even older - they were the ones you activate by pushing back on the pedals - and Tiki had us going down steep steep hills, across wet dirty beach paths, on beaches themselves, up hills down hills through Garifuna neighbourhoods Maya neighbourhoods whore houses and past playing children (all of whom seemed to love Tiki, who would tousle their hair and grin at them lovingly, all the while reminding me of my dad who had that same magic touch with children of every age). Even so, I found myself clinging to caution, and couldn't really let myself just BE. I clutched onto the bike in fear as I rode down those steep hills, envisioned myself flying unhelmeted, headfirst into rubble and ditch. Worried about Tiki putting on his best kindness performance to lure me into danger (at one point, we entered an abandoned, unlit bar, and I, confused, met Tiki's explanation of "es me casa" with a blank stare and a quick move towards the door. Tiki, I think, immediately recognized my unease, and shrugged it off).

I've been cautious as hell this entire trip, full of stories and images of rape and murder and don't travel alone at night and flashlight on and knife and whistle at the ready. All this is fine, but it's taken me awhile to shake the panic and heart pangs that come whenever I'm confronted with a dark or abandoned street or a prolonged, icy stare. I feel that traveling alone as a woman is the bravest thing I've ever done, but it's also scary and has left me thinking that it might be my last solo trip. Not that I haven't been enjoying myself, but all the caution and suspicion has definitely gotten in the way of superenjoyment and getting to know people. I'm thankful that I've at least moved beyond feeling panicky when I'm in a new place alone and not sure if I'm safe, but I wish I could trust people implicitly. But then I'd probably end up in a ditch somewhere for reals.

So back to the bikeride. My favourite thing about Tiki: he stopped a boy from littering. While riding back to the Rio Dulce Hotel (after it started getting dark and I told him, in my best broken Spanish, that I wanted to return to the town centre because I was feeling "tired"), we passed by two boys. When one of them threw a chip bag on the ground, Tiki stopped his bike and told the boy to pick up the bag. Then he took it from his hands, sighed heavily, and muttered something about kids not learning and not having respect. I have a feeling that the boy already knew Tiki, and Tiki's obvious disappointment in the boy hopefully means he won't be littering again any time soon.

I thought I was stuck in Livingston for a few days after finding out that the next boat to Belize didn't leave til the following Tuesday and for Honduras until Friday. Fortunately, my determination to get out of Livingston superceded by ability to acquiesce to the situation, and I figured out that I could take a boat to Puerto Barrios, another Guatemalan port town, and then a boat to Punta Gorda, Belize. So I woke up early Wednesday morning (after a mosquito-swatting filled sleep), caught the 7:30 boat after passing by a man who just happened to ask if I needed a lancha, visited the immigration office in rainy Puerto Barrios, paid my exit fee, bought a ticket for the 10:00 boat to Punta Gorda, and survived what has to be the craziest, wettest, most dangerous ride I've ever encountered outside of an amusement park. It was POURING rain and water was spraying into the boat and I was near the front so got the worst of it and I had a rain cover over my head the whole time and actually found myself PRAYING to gawd knows who (I seemed to be imagining a mighty life-protecting force surrounding me in the energetic form of my dad, paternal grandparents, uncle joseph, and maternal grandfather, all guiding the boat to belize). I honestly didn't know if I would survive.

But i did, and clearer skies in Belize. I arrived in Punta Gorda just in time for the noon bus to Independence, from which I caught ANOTHER boat to Placencia, a sleepy sleepy beach town. It's unseasonably cold and windy here, they say, but it's not raining and there were periods of sun today. And it's Caribbean lovely, white sands and blue waters and palm trees everywhere and few cars and beachside cabanas And I found a hotel for dirt cheap even though everyone says Belize is the most expensive Central American country.

Tikal!

I visited Tikal today! I was supposed to go yesterday (Saturday) with George and Caroline, but sleeping pills and drugged miscommunication got in the way. I left Lago Atitlan Friday morning at 9 a.m. with the understanding that I would arrive in Flores, one of the towns near the ruins of Tikal, at 10 p.m. My bus turned out to also be a postal service, however, and I had to wait for a long time in some random town while the driver and employees at some makeshift postal service took parcel after parcel out of the bus. The ride turned into a 16 hour affair and I didn´t arrive in Flores until 1:30 a.m. Since I was completely exhausted (I had barely slept the previous night due to my new phobia of scorpions), and assumed that the girls would also be getting in later than expected, I took the opportunity to get some medicated sleep. Unfortunately, George and Caroline arrived ontime at 6 a.m., and could barely rouse me. When I finally woke up, I told them I needed some more sleep and thought they´d agreed to wait for me. Not the case. It was really nice to see them both again, though, and am quite regretful that the three of can´t travel through Central America together.

I woke up at 4:30 today to catch the 5:00 bus to Tikal. The ruins were awesome! Tikal is more peaceful than Chichen Itza, the ruins that I visited in Mexico last year; it´s less touristy and it doesn´t seem to have the same air of sacrifice that pervaded Chichen Itza. In Mayan, Tikal means ¨The city of whispers¨. After my tour finished, I sort of wandered around the main acropolis for a bit, and there were hardly any other people around, so it was really quiet. All I could hear were the leaves rustling in the wind, the intense dinosaur-like screeches of howler monkeys (I also SAW howler and spider monkeys today, they were SO CUTE!), and birds. It was so beautiful the way the birds were playing together amongst the ruins.

After Tikal, I caught a shuttle back to Flores, and began my 2 hour hunt for cash. Every cash machine I visited was either busted or out of money, so I decided to walk to Santa Elena, a town across the bridge from Flores. On my way, I heard someone shout ¨sister!¨; when I turned around, an excited man was waving at me from across the road. I walked over to talk to him, and he was elated to see another black person in these parts. His name was Carlos, and he was travelling home to Livingston, which is on the Caribbean coast of Guatemala. The Caribbean coast of Guatemala is very different from the rest of the country, as it´s mainly populated by the Garifuna, descendants of shipwrecked African slaves who intermixed with the indigenous Maya of Guatemala. I told Carlos that I´m heading to Rio Dulce and then Livingston tomorrow morning, and that I was looking for a functioning cash machine so that I could pay for my hostel, dinner, and bus ticket. He was super friendly, and told me all about Livingston and how great it is there and how everyone would be so happy to meet a dread from Canada.

Carlos had been arrested crossing the border from Mexico into Arizona, where he was hoping to find some work. He was supposed to spend 6 months in prison, but was let out after one month on good behaviour. He has a Maya wife and 4 children at home and was so excited to be on his way home to see them. He had no money, though, so I told him I´d give him half his bus fare once I found a cash machine. Carlos helped me find an ATM (took us 4 tries), told me that he´d tell everyone in Livingston about me and feed me fish that he´d catch himself, and I told him about Canada and Toronto. It felt like my first authentic encounter with a Guatemalan (and was obviously aided by the fact that Carlos speaks English -- the Garifuna speak Spanish, English and creole).

I had a great day, I´m feeling healthy again, David´s coming to Nicaragua with me at the end of February, and I can´t wait to get to a beach!