Bloated On False Hopes

Tecal was incredible. We set off through trail after trail discovering temple ruins of the ancient Mayan society. Some temples and structures were smaller than others, but some peaked the high trees of the forest. A man we met on our way in told us that we needed to check out temple 5 as the sun went down because that was where the greatest view of Tecal could be seen. The sun had begun its descent and after a hearty amount of sight seeing, we started to follow the tattered wooden signs towards the temple.

At this point, we were traveling light. We had a bottle of water, and our less than trusty rough guide. From the moment we had entered the ruins, Anne and I had been talking about how little we know about this society (and really by little, we meant nada). Fortunately, the rough guide actually had a decent narrative on the Mayans, and it had been planned that we were gonna do some catching up on the Mayans when we got back to the campsite.

Anyways, we followed the trails and eventually made it to temple five and it was gigantic. It was the classic temple structure with the large and steep stairwell leading to the top, but there must of been hundreds of steps before you plateaued. The entrance to stairwell was also blocked off which was probably for preservation sake. There was however, a rickety and steep ladder you could climb to get up there. It looked very unstable and was too steep to climb with any belongings so we decided to leave the water bottle and the rough guide at the bottom. We briefly thought about thieves, but there wasnt anybody at the site. The sun was going down and the place was empty.

We climbed and climbed until we finally made it. When we got up there, we were greeted with a spectacular view of the sun setting over a canopy of trees with little patches here and there where you could see the tops of other temples. We could also see groups of howler monkeys staring back at us and swinging quickly from branch to branch. It was also silent, with the exception of the swinging monkeys and the occasional bird.

We reveled in it until the sun was gone and then made our way down the catastrophe of a ladder. I reached the bottom first and grabbed my water bottle. As Anne was still coming down the ladder, I started the search for the travel guide, eager to get going on the little bit of history that was waiting. I looked all around the ladder and the bottom of the temple but I couldnt find anything. Anne then joined me in this search, but we quickly realized that it was gone. How? We werent sure. There was nobody there, and we didnt think we saw anybody when we were on top of the temple. Either way, somebody clearly made off with it.

We headed back to the camp site grumpy about the recent happening. The travel guide that had literally brought us nothing but misfortune held one useful piece of information in it and as soon as we knew this and were planning on taking advantage of it, it was gone. Outside of that little frustration, we concluded that getting the travel guide taken from us was probably for the better and also took some passive aggressive pleasure in knowing that it was going to torment and grossly mislead its next captor.

At the campsite, we changed clothes and headed up to the little restaurant to see how pricey dinner options were. At this point, we had maybe twenty dollars (in Guatemalan currency) to spend between the two of us. The restaurant turned out to be very expensive, just like everything else in the little town. For those who stay in Tecal over night, you should hope your pockets are full. Ours as luck would have it, werent. We feasted that night on a small bowl of bean soup and listened to the sound of our stomachs yelling at us as we left the restaurant. We had eaten next to nothing that day and unfortunately, there was no sign of that changing in the future.

The night was brutal. Mosquitos were at ever turn and the humidity had our skin sticking to anything it touched. on the bright side, we were on solid and flat ground tonight which was more than we could say for the past few. Still, catching a wink of sleep was easier said then done.

Come morning, we were ravaged from the hot night, but our spirits were far from broken. We rose with sun, snacked on some oranges we had saved and headed back into the temple grounds. There we hiked just about every inch that we hadnt the night before. We even hitched behind a few tour groups and tried to listen and translate what the guide was saying about the structures. I cant quite remember what we deciphered, but one of the structures was used as a very large sundial. Hours passed and fatigue came and went. our stomachs rumbled, but there was ground to explore. At one point we came across a group of tourists and recognized a couple that we had seen in Flores. We started talking to them about the misleading directional routes of the country because it seemed like for every step forward we wanted to take, we had to backtrack a long ways. They told us that they had it figured out and just used the chicken buses to get around. This was exactly what we wanted, but we just couldnt seem to escape the tourist routes.

They asked us where we were going next and we told them that we needed to plan out where we were going according to where there was an ATM. They then mentioned a place called Semuc Champay and raved about its beauty, but more importantly, that there was an ATM in Lanqin, the town right next to it. We had been planning on heading to Semuc Champay, so it this little bit of good news was a boost to our spirits and bellies. They also told us that they had figured out a great way to get there that was very cheap, and pretty much strictly Guatemalan. We took the information from them, thanked them and headed on our way.

We made it back to camp just in time to pack up our gear and make it on the 12:00 van back to Flores. This time there was no hassle with flat tires. It was a straight and easy forty five minute jaunt back into the strange little island town. Once we were dumped off of the Van, we hoofed it back over the bridge to the bus station and picked up two tickets to a place called Saxaxe (pronounced Sayache).

This leg of the trip was going all too well. We had a list of very strange directions to follow, but we bought our first bus ticket and promptly boarded it. I'm sorry, this was a van. We piled into a van which quickly reached capacity. This time, my guitar was strapped to the roof along with all the other luggage. We would make frequent stops as we traveled the rocky dirt road and nobody was getting off, but in typical Guatemalan fashion, people continued to pile in. Anne and I werent sitting next to eachother this time. We had both scored end seats next to the window in the van.

We barreled down the dirt roads with our capacity constantly expanding. Crushed against the window, I came in and out of consciousness with each turn. At one point, I woke up and began to count the number of people in the van. Mind you, I was stuck in the middle and due to the impacted nature of the minivan, could only see so far. That being said, I counted twenty nine people crammed into this little space including the driver and the door boy (there is always a kid who opens the door and collects fares) who at this point was riding on the roof. amazingly, it was pretty cozy and not suffocating like our overnight chicken bus. Everybody crammed in was in high spirits too, yelling, laughing and exchanging stories.

The road was intensely rocky. We were being thrown from side to side. Every time i would nod off, we would hit some pot hole or rock that would send my head flying into the window or the poor passenger next to me. After realizing that I wasnt going to get any sleep on this leg of the trip, I looked back to see how Anne was taking it. She was out like a light and her head was flying from side to side. She would slam into the window and bounce back to the man next to her and then head right back to the window. It looked amazingly painful, but she was out cold... astonishingly not from multiple instances of blunt force trauma to the head. Purely out of exhaustion.

We were in the middle of nowhere. On one side of us, a cliff, on the other, a crag filled mountain. As we headed south, it dawned on me that this was probably a part of Guatemala that many people do not see. We would pass shanties full of people in some of the most extreme poverty I have ever seen. Dilapidated wooden huts, no electricity, no running water. The way of life in these back mountains is entirely removed from the rest of the world.

As we continued on, the passengers finally started to thin out. People were getting off at random stops instead of getting on. Now that I was a little more awake and had some room to move around, I started listening in on the conversations to see what everybody was talking about. The more I tried to listen, the less I understood. My spanish comprehension isnt that great, but I eventually turned back to Anne because I was starting to think that they werent actually speaking Spanish. When I turned around, she had the same look on her face and we quickly had to take stock of where we were. Check. we were still in Guatemala. Check. National language IS Spansih. This language they spoke was not.

The bus continued to file out and once there were only a few people left, once of the passengers turned to us and asked us something in his foreign tongue. He saw the confusion on our face and then asked us if we spoke spanish. We started talking to the man and found out that the language everybody was speaking was an ancient Mayan language retained by this isolated community. Most of them spoke spanish as well, but it was their second language. This cemented the fact in my mind that not many people get to experience something like this. This community, so estranged from the rest of the world had held onto their cultural roots and language for over a thousand years after the fall of their civilization. For us, it was something to marvel at. for them, it was their way of life, and the only life they knew.

The directions that the couple back in Tecal had given us were strange to say the least. They had told me that bus we were on would take us to a little stream which we would need to pay a toll to cross. We waited and waited as the van threw us from side to side and took hard turn after hard turn. Eventually, when barely anybody was left, we came up to a little stream. The driver kicked everybody off and we followed the small group of people down to the water. Waiting for us was a small little motor boat. The stream, was no more than maybe 200 yards long. We filed onto the little boat along with the rest of the Guatemalans, payed the 2 Quetzal toll that the couple told us we would pay, and we were off to the other side.

A few minutes later, we were there and I pulled out my journal to see the next step in our trek. After crossing the stream, All I had written was "white bus to Lanqin (2 Hours))". I looked up towards the small town and sure enough, a white bus was collecting passengers up ahead. We boarded the bus, paid the fee for our ride, and Anne asked the driver if there was an ATM in town. He said there was. We quickly rejoiced and then gave us directions to it. I stayed at the bus to make sure it didnt leave before Anne got back. The driver quickly grew antsy and started the motor. He began to take off and I ran up to let him know that my friend was in fact, coming back. He assured me that he wouldnt leave without her, but kept moving forward. As he turned up the street, I saw Anne heading our way. We stopped, picked her up and began the trip to Lanqin. I asked her if the ATM worked, but I could tell by the frustration in her face that it hadnt. Once again, it was either broken or out of money.

At this point, we were hungry. Hungry and with just a few dollars left. The bus driver assured us that there would be an ATM in Lanqin but our hopes were dwindling. Fatigue had overtaken us and we didnt have too much of a fight left at this point, so we ignored our roaring stomachs and tried to pass out in what was still a bumpy and somewhat treacherous ride.

The direction in my journal said that this ride was only supposed to be two hours, so we waited patiently. about two and a half hours in, the sun began to go down and we started to wonder if maybe there was another white bus we were supposed to get on. Either way, we had learned to take travel errors like this in stride and were prepared to ride it out. On the bright side, when we boarded the bus, the driver did tell us we were going to Lanqin, so we held on to his words closely as we made turn after turn through the mountains.

About a half hour later, we pulled into a small town that emerged from the winding trails. Electric lights lit up shops and homes from this little town and people on foot hurried through the streets to their destinations. We came to an intersection and the Bus took a sharp left and then stopped. Everybody in the bus (there werent many) got out and the bus driver told us we had to get out as well. We asked him if we were in Lanqin and he told us we werent, but his bus would be here at 4AM to continue the trip. We didnt quite understand. The man had told us we were going to Lanqin and now he was kicking us out of his bus? Every time we tried to figure out what was going on, he would just repeat that we needed to be at this very spot at 4AM to continue the ride. Where were we?