Needing a change of scenery…Guatemala anyone?

About an hour ago we arrived at Lanquin, it was a 7 hour drive in a sauna like mini bus but well worth it. We found ourselves a place to stay called El Retiro, and it’s amazing. It consists of pretty little huts (we’re sleeping in the atic of one) scattered along the land surrounding a river, enclosed in gorgeous lush hills with cute ducks and cows living on them. We planned to stay here only 2 nights but have already decided it’s completely necesary for Michael to embark on a 5 hour round trip tomorrow so we can get more cash out and stay longer! We haven’t even seen the rest of the town, though it’s near the notoriously picturesque Semuc Champey, we’ve just become completely entranced by the beauty of where we’re staying. The people here seem really nice and not in that annoying hippy way that they were in San Pedro, and each night there’s an all you can eat buffet…need I say more?

Just makes me wonder, is this too good to be true?

What do they want from us?

Who is that oddly charismatic leader?

On Thursday, in a desperate bid to save some of our precious Quetzales we decided to make our way to Flores on the night bus. Travelling in Asia night buses just aren’t a big deal, they’re a huge convienience and save on paying a nights acommodation, with the high rates of tourist crimes in Guatemala though, it is always recommended to travel by day. This tip  flew out of our minds the minute the lady dazzled us with the fact we could save 100Q if we extended our journey a further 12 hours and travelled by night. Excited by being able to spend the money on extra food we said yes staight away and signed the dotted line, smugly congratulating ourselves on the great bit of shopping around.

As the journey approached though our fears began to grow, Michael instigated the paranioa but seeing as I have a certain amount of bravado that comes from having a St. Christopher in my possecion, I managed to maintain my ever cool demeanor until we got on to the first bus of the trip which was going to take us back to Antigua. The minibus had barely been travelling 5 minutes when a Dutch guy shared the news that as of that day Barack Obama had issued an official warning against people travelling in Guatemala, this was just what I needed to hear. I tried to put it to the back of my mind, after all, there’s no point worrying about it, if something bad happens it happens. The thoughts didn’t reach that far back though as the Dutch guy proceeded to give us the details of numerous on the road horrors encountered by his friends in this country. Focussing on the divine protection that my St. Chris obviously aids me with I came to the conclusion that everything was going to be fine and dandy and turned to look out the window at the lovely views.

Unfortunately the lovely views were 3 dead horses, laying about 20 metres apart from one another having their eyes and flesh pecked apart by some pretty sinister, Steven Kingesque carrion birds. Honestly it was the stuff nightmares are made of, and seeing it seems to be in my genetic makeup to be supersticious for the sake of supersticion I could think nothing other than this was a bad omen. This was very unnerving.

We arrived in Antigua at midday where we had to wait for 6 and a half hours for a bus to take us to Guatemala City. I tried to shake off the bad thoughts by eating lots of sandwiches, cream cheese bagels and cakes (emotional eater moi?), but even this wasn’t enough to distract me from the potential terrors I was to face on the roads that night.

6.30 arrived and we were about to embark on potentially the most dangerous part of our trip, a 45 minute journey into the gangland that is Guatemala City, where we would have to wait a further 2 hours for our bus to Flores. We were going by minibus, which like all the transport in this part of the country had blacked out windows which made me feel better, also there was a nice, calm and friendly atmosphere on the bus so I began to let myself sink back into my happy place once more and try and enjoy the ride. It didn’t, until we drove passed some guy fireing his gun in the street, cross my mind that I was actually travelling on a moving target, that stuck out like the biggest sore thumb ever as it had 8 back packs strapped to the top. Cursing my lack of common sense and praying we’d make it safely I sat there looking like a rabbit in headlights whilst the easy converation flowed through the rest of the bus, to make myself looked normal I focussed on my excitement at cracking open the tube of Pringles we had when we arrived at the bus station, though I’m guessing this just added to the manic look I was sporting.

Thankfully we arrived safely at the bus terminal, which was busteling with tourists and locals and as I begun to stuff handfulls of Pringles into my mouth my stress seemed to dislove as my salt intake hit the roof. Calm was restored.

By the time 9 o’clock arrived I was more than ready to get on the bus and distort myself into one of those cramp inducing  sleep posistions. To get on the bus we had to go through post 9/11 style security which was disturbing yet reassuring at the same time and once on the “VIP” bus I found that it resembled something close to my old school bus but with a TV!

The journey was quite uneventful apart form a few minor inconviniences. One being the man sitting in fron of us who’s snores sounded worringly like he was being strangelled, which it turned out he deserved to be as when he wasn’t keeping the bus awake with his snoring he thought it was appropriate to whistle ear piercing little tunes to himself. Idiot. The other annoyance was that at around 3am the bus was suddenly stopped and I was woken by a woman and 2 men shouting at everyone to get off the bus, and from what I could make out it was so they could search for fruit?!? Although their voices were filled with a certain amount of urgency and people were getting off the bus, I couldn’t find my glasses or shoes rendering more or less completely useless (in my opinion), so I decided unless I could make out some blurry gesticulating I would stay put. My sorry excuse for functionaing eyes never managed to make this out and I allowed myself to drift back into broken, cramped sleep, until at around 6am when we managed to do the undoable, defy the newspapers and the 3 dead horses and make it to Flores all in one piece! I should have been embarking in some kind of proud celebration but I was absoloutely shattered form my night of panic, cramps and salt so found a bed and stayed there until the afternoon!

Thanks to HSBC! Honestly I could use all the blog space there is complaining about how the card we have from the worlds local bank, a card specifically suited for people who travel extensively, has left us in the lurch on numerous occasions. Either because they have suddenly decided to block it because they didn’t know we were abroad (seriously, I’ve lost count of the times we’ve told them our itinary) or like on arriving at Lago de Atitlan where the machines on the island we’re on accept ALL CARDS but ours and the only machine that takes ours is a boat ride away and broken! Ooohhh we were angry and had nothing but a loaf of banana bread to our name and some very bad thoughts being directed to the clowns who were keeping our money from us.

All is well now though and we can finally enjoy the beauty and serenity of San Pedro which before had been blurred by our rage. We arrived here on sunday and apart from our money problems the journey was nicely uneventful, Michael feeling all cool, sombreroed and booted looking like a proper cowboy (bless him) and I, although sad to be leaving our lovely family, was quietly contented to be away from eating 3 meals a day all with 5000 calories in them -my denim shorts aren’t half as fetching as what they were!

San Pedro, where we think we’ll spent the next week or so is on Lago de Atitlan,which is a huge lake surrounded by mountains that Aldous Huxley said was almost too much of a good thing and he may be right. It’s completely different to Antigua, the people are much more laid back and it’s far cheaper, so much so that we’re regretting the amount of time we spent in Antigua. The veiws are just as stunning though and we’re looking forward to taking lots of pictures. To do this though it’s fundemental that we’re both in the mood as I take a painfully long time to take pictures of anything! The tourists here are also very different from Antigua. Gone are all the big middle aged tour groups throwing money about wherever they go, replaced by those that settle on San Pedro. Think lots of friendly people with unsupported boobs, unshaved legs and with massive dreadlocks dangelling off their heads, not quite my cup of herbal tea but fun all the same. I think the point of realisation of how different we are came when a girl was moaning she couldn’t find any inspiration from a Vogue magazine- now that’s almost fighting talk!!

At the moment we’re uncertain of our exact plans, though that’s been pretty consistent for the past 9 months, we’re just very aware that we have under a month now and not much money so every place has got to be a gem and a cheap one at that! The idea of returning home, though really in the forseeable future seems quite surreal, a bit nerve racking but really exciting at the same time- I miss my mum so much. And I must admit I’m really looking forward to some normailty!

Oh by the way on a slightly different note, I really want to get Michael Jackson tickets but can’t out here because of rubbish servers and times differences, if anyone has any they can sell you’ll have a friend for life!

The weekend was very eventful and was seen in with Arne, the German guy who’s also staying with the family’s birthday. Cue lots of el pastel and cervesa in the bars of Antigua and some mildly dehabilitating headaches on Saturday. However we needed to be back on top form regardless of hangovers for the youngest child Gabrielle’s (aka Tony Soprano) 8th birthday. Who would have ever thought that an 8 year old’s party would have resulted in me seeing so many firsts?

The aptly renamed Tony Soprano is the most hilarious child I have ever met, he’s just such a  bad ass. There was something acutely unsettling, yet wholey fascinating about watching the child chase his friends around the garden, face covered with cake, squealing with delight yet waving about a pair of numchucks.Yes the scene was disturbing- but he’s not my kid, so priceless all the same!

If that wasn’t enough to keep me suitably entertained and occupied throughout the party where no one spoke a word of English, there then came the Pinata! Now of course I knew what one was , I’ve seen “Parenthood” but as a novice I was not aware of the raw aggression that this ritual was fueled with. The children took it in turns to savagely wallop the Pinata (a large papier mache model of alomst nearly anything, that hangs from the ceiling) with a decorated club, until they finally “kill” it and tens of dozens of sweets spill out onto the floor.

I was in awe from start to finish. Never have I seen anyone, especially 8 year olds, apply themselves with such immense intensity to a task. They were totally “in the zone”. Then when the thing finally explodes with sweets it’s every man for himself (adults included) in the dive cum scrum to get as many sweets as possible in the Kung Fu Panda party bag. Unfortuanely my Britishness didn’t permit me to get involved in the savage rough n tumble of collecting the sweets and I just stood back to the wall, speechless!

What with it being a children’s party it died down quite early, Tony Soprano exhausted and suitably unsatisfied with the presents we brought him -but what can you buy a kid that swings numchucks? Not felt tip pens and plastercine.

Sunday was also a spectacle but one of more Holy proportions. At around midday Michael and I who were in our room revising were disturbed by Katrina the dog going loco. We went to check on her only to find her getting more and more agitated as the distant sounds of drums came closer. After comforting her as much as we could (she still peed all over the floor) we stuck out heads out onto the street, in perfect time to be greeted by a 6 foot model of Jesus, being carried along with a handful of disciples, on a float with about 20 men and boys in purple robes struggling underneath. He was closely followed by a large brass band (the cause of Katrina’s distress) and a second float this time carrying the Virgin Mary and a lamb.

The streets were in absoloute chaos, quite an organised chaos- we are in the land of guns after all, but people had flocked from near and far to be part of the first of many sunday processions that will go throughout towns and cities until easter. It really was remarkable. It’s a shame that British Protestants can’t muster up enough enthusiasm for JC, it looked to be quite a fun family day out!

And finally…..

….today after 9months Michael got a haircut! It cost Q30 and doesn’t look too bad at all! After seeing the pictures on the barbarshop wall we were pleasently suprised with what his style was turned into, because if the pictures are to be believed a ginger bowel cut is very “now’!

I t really doesn’t. Yesterday what we were expecting to be a pretty docile day finished with our little legs tired from having climbed a volcano! Not quite sure what I expected the volcano climb to be like when my Spanish teacher told me about the trip, though if I had been told that it involved a 3 and half km trek uphill through thick forest and “volcanoness” me being the feeble soul that I am probably would have passed on the opportunity, which although my precious new Ugg boots would still be in one piece (I told you I didn’t know what to expect) I would have missed out on maybe the best experience we’ve had since being away!

We’ve seen some really beautiful views and sights, countless throughout Asia and even the Aussie sky at night deserves a special mention but nothing can compare to what it was like to stand at the top of a Volcano, level with the clouds at sunset and look down at the rest of the world. I wish I had the words to describe how phenomenal it all was without sounding too over the top, but if an artist ever painted what we saw they’d be criticised for lack of subtlety!

The Volcano was called Pacaya and due to literally no health and safety in Guatemala we were able to walk right up to where the lava was and toast marshmallows. This part of the excursion traditionally lasts quite a bit longer due to the novelty of the experience but unfortunately we had to make a sharp exit due to lava suddenly spewing out the sides! The walks up and down were equally tough. The climb up was relentlessly steep and the paths very narrow, which with the aid of the stick I reluctantly brought at the start I could just about manage. To get down was a whole different struggle as by that time it was pitch black and my stick came in useful in the same way I imagine a blind person’s would! We had torches to help find our way, but did you know there’s a lot on the ground to trip over in forests?!

Besides from conquering volcanoes I’ve also started my Spanish lessons and to be quite honest I may as well be Senorita Spaniard- they’re great! The daily classes are 4hour private tutorials and my tutor is a lovely lady called Sylvia who, although she doesn’t speak a word of English, I seem to have built quite a good rapport with! Excited as I am about how far I’ve come along in these past 3days, I’ve decided to do another week next week but with hardcore 6 hour long classes, I’m hoping Sylvia’s feeling said rapport…

Whilst on a bit of a roll with doing new things, we also moved in with a Guatemalan family today! Unless the communication difficulties have led me to completely misread this, they seem to be a really lovely family. The parents are quite young (for some reason I was expecting old people) and have a son and a daughter. Unfortunately I was feeling a bit flustered when we all exchanged mi llamos and have no idea what they’re all called, so for now I’m hoping mi amigo will suffice!

Explorer Franklin

My garden in Essex

Oh no my precious Uggs… Gotta love the stick though!

Michael’s power stance!

Ok so firstly I need to clear one thing, in my last blog I rambled on about how I started Spanish lessons tomorrow and how we were going to have an early one so we could be bright in the morning… It hadn´t occurred to me since being here to actually learn what day I was living in, which may have been a good idea to double check what with the 18hour time difference the general confusion that my days are puncuated with regardless of the country. Turns out that yesterday was saturday, not sunday therefore there was no Spanish class tomorrow morning. We didn´t discover this until gone midnight on what turned out to be not such a quiet night out when the bouncer turfing us out the bar informed us that it was now Domingo. After many No Se´s and ¿Hablo Ingles?es it finally sunk in that yes we were wrong and therefore, apart from having to accept that we´re stupid, we could carry on with our night out!

On leaving the bar we were handed a small piece of paper with the address of a house where our night could continue. After following a group of locals we soon found the street only to be welcomed by police, who obviously aware of the house party wanted to keep trouble to a minimum and promptly frisked Michael, whose Britishness didn’t quite prepare him for the tactilness of the experiance, and asked for our passports. These obviously we weren’t carrying, and wouldn’t have handed over anyway, so after some trustworthy smiles and wide innocent eyes the police seemed satisfied that we weren´’t going to shoot anyone and let us proceed.

I’m not entirely sure how we actually got into the party, and this isn’t due to lack of sobriety, but can maybe go back to the confusion factor! What I can tell you is that one minute we were being told by a big, no nonsense Latino guy that we weren’t allowed in, then after a brief conversation with a massive German who I impressed with my extensive Deusch vocab which goes no further than the word “Schmetaling” (butterfly) we were suddenly being let in- for free!

The party was a complete spectacle, and felt like we had walked into one of those cool Mexican indie films! It was in the garden of the house where a makeshift bar had been set up and everyone was keeping themselves warm from the near freezing temperatures by dancing around the large fire in the middle of the garden. I passed the time testing my painfully broken español on the locals, who, looking back were probably just trying to be sleazy and watching all the hoochy latino dancing that was going on which was hilarious as one couples manic moves meant they were constantly knocking into Michael, who was doing well to keep his patience though sticking out his elbows to subtly retaliate…

Around 3 we decided to leave and did the one thing you shouldn’t in this country and walk home after dark. Fortunately there is absoloutely nothing to report on this, and the next thing I can remember is waking up at 2pm today… We’ll call that jet lag!

So we´re here! After a hectic few days which saw in 2 february 19th´s and enough flights to make me feel like I´m constantly swaying we have arrived in Gautemala! Getting here ended up being quite smooth travelling but at one point was looking to be a potential nightmare and involved enough running through Mexico airport to remind me that it really has been 9months since I set foot in a gym!

After landing yesterday we got a shuttle bus that went to Antigua which we were relieved to find as wondering around Gautemala city with backpacks hanging off you is a big no no, it also saved us the stress of our jet lagged little brains having to think or use common sense which is always a bonus!

Within minutes the journey to Antigua restored all the excitment I have for travelling that Australia sucked out, the country is stunning and quite unlike any others we´ve been to yet…what with it being on a new continent an all!

Despite the fact I have hiccups that won´t shift I´m loving Antigua. It´s a quiet little city, filled with cobelled streets (I´ve only fallen over once), dozens of churches and cathedrals and no matter where you are there is always a view of either the hills, mountains or volcanoes- which we´ll call dormant for now. Another sight with is equally commonplace is the amount of weapons people carry here. You can´t walk down a street without someone stolling past casually weilding a huge gun (being a girl I can´t inform you of the types!), even  in the shop we brought glue from toady we were greeted by an armed gaurd! Anyway it beats waitressing in Noosa…

One issue we´ve had to get around since arriving is that people assume Michael is a local with a gringo, a rather tall one at that, but a Spanish speaker all the same. Unfortunatley not an ounce of Spanish runs through his half Norweigen half Anglo Indian blood resulting in a lot of confused smilling and shaking of heads. So to help Michael´s authenticity we decided to sign up for a week of spanish classes which start tomorrow morning and means we get to live with a Gautemalan family for a week. I´m so excited about this and being the show off that I am can´t wait to get home and impress everyone with my spanish (and you will be impressed). Better still we get 3 meals a day at this place… I can´t think of anything better than free food…

Tonight our plans are to go for a few drinks but try and get an early one so we can be bright little students tomorrow- by the end of the day I´ll definately be fluent!

Right now I’m sitting in an internet cafe in lovely Nadi the capital of Fiji, a sufficient far enough cry away from home to keep me happy about not being there. Up until 24 hours ago though, traveling was not going as my boyfriend Michael and I had planned. Gone were the dusty streets of SE Asia in which every road felt like a new adventure, whether it be down to being chased by the most feral of street dogs, being lured into shop which as Michael puts it looks like “you could quite easily buy something and have a genie come out”, or casually sharing the pavement with an Ox, being there was infinitly more exciting than being in Australia.

Australia was alright but it gave me the rude, back to reality, awakening I was expecting on returning home, not five months into my trip.To do anything that was exciting and travelery in Australia we had to work, and in the blink of an eye I’d gone from being an English teacher in Vietnam to working in a fancy clothes shop. I must admit, I did love my job there (clothes are great) but the trouble I got into there was not something my backpacker state of mind was willing to deal with- who would have thought an unlocked door would result in a flustered me being questioned by 2 very burley armed policewomen?!

So about 8 or so weeks into anticlimax after anticlimax and a few slapped wrists for me, Central America came into the conversation. As soon as the words were uttered we were working out the best way to leave Oz, and after slaving away a fancy reataurant to Noosa for 6 weeks we finally had the money (and the desperation) to leave and start seeing  crazy stuff again. We leave Fiji tonight to fly to LA for 1 night and then to Central America- I can’t wait!I’ve even attempted re-learning Spainish.

So first stop is Gautemala (a country I must admit was chosen at random) and from there who knows? We have just under 2months to spend there, so we were thinking of also exploring El Salvador, though we’re not the worlds most organised couple, in fact we may fall into the least catagorie so I happily can’t say what we’ll actually do and finally end up, as long as it’s not Australia or Essex (and a few other horrible situations) a don’t care!

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