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.