Meandering through Mexico

Ok, so first up let me apologise to those avid readers out there (aka Mum and Gran) who have been waiting so long for me top update my blog. I realise I am at least a month behind by now, if not more, and have long ago traded in North America for Europe, but don’t despair, I intend you fill you in on all my adventures…

From Tulum, we thought we were in need of some more beach time (Tulum had been so rough we couldn’t go in) so we headed straight to Isla Mujeres, bypassing Cancun like it was the plague. We’d heard that it was wonderfully beautiful up there. Unfortunately, it was not the island paradise that we were envisaging. We’ve been spoilt so badly by our adventure to the pristine and untouched San Blas islands. Isla Mujeres was a mini Cancun in terms of the millions of Americans that had invaded the small island. Everyone spoke English, every shop keeper nagged you incessantly to come into their store, it was just so touristy with streets lined with souvenir shops full of key rings and Corona singlets. It was just so un-Mexican. We left early the following morning, not even having spent 24 hours on the island to head to Merida; though we did get to enjoy the best Mediterranean plate and chorizo we’ve had to date at at restaurant called Comono while we were there.

The view from Isla Mujeres back towards Cancun

On the way, we got our first Mexican bus experience – being good little backpackers we booked second class bus tickets for the 3 hour journey because it was at least $10 cheaper. At the time, we didn’t realise that the second class bus was not just cheaper because they lack a toilet and TV. After a good 5 hours on the bus, we realised that the bus was taking an entirely different route to the first class bus, taking an old bumpy highway and passing through and stopping at every minute town on the way. Seven and a half hours later, we arrived in Merida. We never bought a second class bus ticket again.

Though getting there was a huge pain in the bum, we loved Merida. It is a wonderfully vibrant city - everyday the zocalo (the main plaza) comes alive with festivities – music, dancing, markets, and food stalls. We spent days just wandering and watching the local people, including a plaza full of 70-something year olds carving up the dance floor with afternoon salsa, enjoying the buzz that this truly Mexican city has to offer. Annnnnd, I got to try mole (pronounced mol-ay) – the 21 ingredient sauce (including chocolate and chilli) that they like to put on everything, which was delicious!

OK, so this looks a bit gross, but this is mole
sauce you can buy at the markets 

Other adventures from Merida included:

(1) A day trip to Celestun – we made the 2 hour bus journey from Merida to Celestun with the hope of visiting some beautiful lagoons we’d seen in photographs that are home to thousands of flamingos. It being low season because tourists are kept away because it’s hurricane time, it was impossible to get a boat to take us around once we got there. While our potential guide tried to rummage up a few other participants we sat and enjoyed lunch in a beach front restaurant in which, despite my new ability to eat fish when forced, I ate the only non-fish item on the menu. Unfortunately, no one else was around to go on the tour, and when we refused to pay $700 Mexican Pesos to take the trip (the cost of filling every seat – about AUD 70), our hopes of seeing any flamingos or lagoons that afternoon quickly vanished and after a quick stint sunbaking which was cut short by storm clouds rolling in over the mountains, we got back on the bus to Merida. Shame! Though it was probably a blessing in disguise, with one girl at our hostel going three days in a row without one flamingo.

The beach at Celestun and the boats we would have
taken had it not been low tourist season

2) Exploring Chichen Itza – we’d heard from other travellers that the ruins of Chichen Itza were amazing, and being one of the new seven wonders of the world we couldn’t just scoot past it so we got up at 530 to get on the 630 bus to the site. I was most impressed at ourselves – though it was pouring with rain when we woke we somehow managed to get our feet out the door on time to trudge to the bus station, which isn’t normally the case (though I must admit to some umming and arhing about whether to go because of the rain).

The early morning start was definitely worth it – the sky cleared up and we arrived right as the gates to the site were opened so we had the place almost entirely too ourselves except for a couple of other early risers and a random dog that was not interested in our pats what so ever.

The site is amazing – heaps of original carvings of snakes and skulls (a bit eerie) remain, unlike Tikal where there is only the odd relief scattered throughout the site and sheltered from the rain by newly built palm tree branch roof huts; here, they line the steps of the structures as protectors. My favourite spot in the place, besides the El Castillo that stands proud and greats you as you enter the site in the middle of a not so well maintained green lawn, was the Caracol (‘snail’ in Spanish) or observatory. It is amazing to think these people who lived thousands of years ago and had nothing but the naked eye as a tool could be so in tune and accurate in astronomy, including knowing that the solar calendar is 365 days long.

                                 

From the top: the main pyramid at Chicen Itza with
me and the random dog; one of the snakes that protects
the temples; Claire and I in front of the Observatory.

The following night, with it still pouring with rain in usually sunny Merida thanks to a hurricane off the coast of Mexico, we set off from our hostel to walk the 10 blocks to the bus station - We were all set for our lengthy journey to the city of San Cristobal de las Casas, via another site of ancient ruins – Palenque. On our walk to the bus stop, we were greeted by a “Oh my God!! I’ve been looking for you guys!! WELCOME!!” Turns out it was no more than a local drunk that was stumbling around in the rain. He insisted on personally escorting us to the bus stop, though we already new exactly where we were going. He did come in quite handy on the way there, apart from the time when he told us we were now at the bus stop and then replied “just kidding, this is a hospital” (it was a bus station, but the wrong one…), he would run out into the middle of the road, stop traffic, and wave us on like a lolly-pop man on a pedestrian crossing which is handy when you’re carrying 30kgs of stuff and can’t spare an extra second standing around. It did get a bit awkward though when we hit an intersection that was entirely flooded. As we tried to manoeuvre ourselves to the shallowest part, he ran straight through the knee high water to the middle, and with car horns blowing and lights flashing he stood there and said “take a photo… no, I don’t like that one… take a photo…”

After an all night bus ride along a very windy road, we stored our bags at the bus station in Palenque for some ridiculous per hour charge, and got a collectivo to the ruins. However, by this stage we were a bit ruined out, as I’m sure you are by now just from reading this, so we did a quick climb of the main temples before jumping back on the bus to keep going to San Cristobal.

San Cristobal is a wonderful little city. Apart from being a beautifully colourful place, it is full of good restaurants and activities with heaps of Indigenous villages close by to visit – where you can’t take any photos because the Indigenous believe it steals their souls. Shame for us that the entire 6 days we spent there it rained quite badly so our exploring was limited to running between places during breaks in the storms and ducking into the nearest cafe when the skies opened up again. In some ways the rain was a blessing. It gave us a much needed break from moving around so much, and it also meant that we discovered a lot of hidden restaurant and cafe gems. One in particular was a tiny one room and one man operated Italian restaurant called Napoli where we enjoyed the best Hawaiian pizza (which I’ve decided to stick to after a terrible pizza experience while branching out which consisted of 4 ingredients with each slice having a different ingredient. Who does that?!) and home made cannelloni. Having time to chill and sit around also gave us a chance to perfect our “get the local drunken pervert away from us technique.” With “No tocar” (“no touching”) having no effect on this guy who was oozing of booze, when he got too close for comfort for Claire and tried a sneaky hand up the leg manoeuvre I proceeded to squirt the entire contents of my water bottle all over him. He got the message and quickly left us to enjoy the afternoon sun.

                                           

While in San Cristobal, we had really wanted to visit the Canon del Sumidero – a canon that is one kilometre deep at points – so we took a punt and booked it for our last day in San Cristobal, hoping that there would be no rain because we couldn’t find a company that had tour boats with a roof and considering all the rain over the past few days we didn’t feel that hopeful that we wouldn’t get soaked. Luckily for us, it turned out to be a beautiful day and the canon was amazing, though the scenery was spoiled a little bit by all the rubbish that had flowed down from upstream because of all the rain and now covered parts of the Canon from bank to bank. As well as crocodiles and monkeys, we saw some breathtaking waterfalls and cliff faces as we bobbed along in our big orange boat.

 

From San Cristobal, our next stop was Oaxaca. We arrived just in time for the annual Mezcal festival (similar to Tequilla, and most types of it just as disgusting) which we enjoyed twice, sampling Mezcal of every flavour from creamy passionfruit ones to ones that were barely drinkable at almost 48% alcohol content. A little trick we learnt though: if you inhale, then shot, swallow and then breathe out it is a lot easier to shot very strong things. It still tasted disgusting to me, but it did help.

Oaxaca was very busy – we’d arrived just before a big local dance festival kicked off. Though we missed the big festival by a couple of days, we got a sneak peek of the dancing when a big parade made its way through the streets and right past our hostel. Big colourful skirts and bright suits danced down the street. My favourite was the pineapple dancing ladies. For some reason they all dance with a pineapple sitting on their shoulders(?!).

    

Oaxaca was lovely to wander around and explore. We spent a lot of time walking through the markets looking at all the things you can buy – from tiny turtles to giant piñatas. Grasshoppers was one thing we’d never seen before. From far away they look like nothing more than a pile of nuts, but on closer inspection you can see all their little bodies piled up together. Gross! You buy them in some sort of sauce to snack on. We were all game to try them until we saw the pile move and realised that some were still kicking. We quickly decided to pass. Plus there would have been the added yuk of getting grasshopper legs caught in my teeth, which I didn’t really fancy.

 

From Oaxaca we took our last bus ride EVER in South/Central America to Puerto Escondido on the Pacific Coast – famous for having some of the biggest waves in the world. It was a really pretty beach, shame you couldn’t swim, if you tried you would get dumped, swept out to sea in the strong currents that churn up the water or worse yet, die. Not really an enjoyable experience. Signs all along the beach threatened of the dangers, and after watching heaps of surfers partaking in the Quiksilver surfing comp that was on bring in surfboards that had snapped in half, we weren’t even tempted to try. We enjoyed the beach from the sand, Cornetto in hand.
Puerto Escondido, as well as being the most lazy we’ve been the whole trip, was probably also the healthiest we’ve eaten. We stayed the week at whole week at a hostel just up the beach called Osa Mariposa which served delicious vegetarian food. Delicious is not usually a word I would use in the same sentence as ‘vegetarian’ considering how much I love a huge slab of steak, but we ate the hummus plate and falafel wrap so many times I cannot count, and we stayed for dinner on numerous occasions. Just to make you drool – one night we had pasta with barbequed vegies, including lightly crumbed eggplant with creamy pesto sauce. Ok, so it maybe doesn’t sound that good on paper, but I am drooling just thinking about it. It was so good, I asked for the recipe.

Next stop and last stop in Mexico – MEXICO CITY!!

Tulum

With nothing else to keep us entertained in Flores, we headed straight up to MEXICO (!!) via shuttle bus that took us through Belize, the plan being that we’d do the north of Mexico first – the states of Yucatan and Quintana Roo – before heading south and then up to Mexico City, instead of doing a weird loop around the country.

In the end, the shuttle bus through Belize probably wasn’t the best idea. Firstly, it ended up costing us a lot of money: we had to pay an exit tax that is illegally charged by the immigration officials at the Guatemalan border. We tried to get out of it by asking for a receipt, but they just said that they weren’t able to print one at the time and that it was ‘on the computer so it was all good’ – whatever – apparently you should just out rightly say that the tax is illegal and they’ll wave you through without you having to pay a cent, but I didn’t fancy a stint in a Guatemalan prison for questioning their authority to charge us the tax. If I thought parting with what exchanges to pretty much nothing in AUD was annoying, next we had to pay USD 30 (gulp!!) to exit Belize, though we’d been in the country only a matter of hours as we drove through, without even sticking a toe out of the van. The things that tour operators don’t tell you! The other problem was that it ended up taking us four hours longer than expected – the Guatemalan travel agency having  lied to us once again. In the interests of time, we were keen for a direct bus to Mexico. They told us that it would take 6 hours to get to Chetumal (the border town of Belize and Mexico) – it actually took nine. Then they told us that the bus was direct and would not bypass Belize City – the guy even pointed at the map and (following an imaginary line and not a road now that I think back) drew where we would drive – but, surprise surprise, it went through and stopped in Belize City. Grrrrrrrrr.

To top a generally frustrating day that we thought would be reasonably cheap, and reasonably short travel wise, when we arrived in Chetumal Mexico there was no ATM in site. With not a Mexican Peso to our names, we missed the direct bus to Tulum and had to be driven all the way to the local bus station to get money and to book tickets. The next bus to Tulum was a 3 hour wait away, with total bus time to Tulum being another 4 hours. The wait did give me a chance to have my first taste of real Mexican food (of bus station quality) – tacos and a huge pineapple juice that we prayed was not made with tap water, for the grand total of $4 (which is quite pricey really for these parts), but it also meant that the saga continued long into the night.

So, if you’re doing the maths, by the time we arrived in Tulum is was pushing 1 am (we’d left Flores at 7am). Luckily for us, our hostel was only one block from the bus station. Unfortunately for us, it was also the most disgustingly dirty place we have stayed in to date – the sheets were soiled, the bathroom stunk like a man’s bathroom and well, it was just feral and to top it off – as if I couldn’t hate this place anymore, there were only cold showers. Being 1 am and having been on the move since 7 am we were too exhausted to complain until morning, when the receptionist just all our sheets back and gave us a weird awkward laugh. We got our moneys worth in the end by pigging out on the free, all you can eat, breakfast of eggs, pancakes and toast and then we got the hell out of there. We pretty much needed to roll ourselves out of there we were so full.

We had never really intended on staying in the centre of Tulum – there really being nothing of interest there, the town itself is dirty and it’s stinking hot - we were there for the beach. So after escaping from our filthy hostel, we jumped in a cab and headed to the only place we knew along the beach (thanks to ‘Angel’ who had given us its card as we left the terminal) - ‘Playa Papaya’ (Papaya Beach).

The place was beautiful, though a bit on the pricey side at $20 a night for the poor little backpacker (Europe is going to be BADDD!). But for that you got your own private cabana out of the many that were scattered amongst the palm trees, perched right upon the sand; the fresh ocean breeze blowing through the open windows (and salting everything that you own). We could have got a cabana with a sand floor for a bit less, but flash backs of San Blas and sand through everything convinced us to spend that AUD5 extra to get one with a real floor.

 
Our cabana and our view…

We spent our days lounging on huge white deck chairs on the sand. When we got hungry, we wandered up to the restaurant where we feasted on tacos made with chicken, pineapple and cheese and at night, when we got thirsty, we drank cocktails as we sat on swings in the open bar. Luckily for us, our escapades were made a bit cheaper after we befriended the bartender who offered us free tequila shots, weird blue cocktails and whatever his newest ‘invention’ was, including chunky mango mojitos (which were weird - too chunky).

It being turtle egg laying season, one night we decided to try our luck at finding a turtle doing just that. It was only about 11pm so we weren’t that hopeful (they normally come out of the water much later at night than that), but not 30 metres up the beach we stumbled across weird tractor tyre like marks in the sand, though the impressions appeared magically out of the water and continued straight up the beach. Feeling lucky, in the moonlight, we followed the tracks up the sand to a giant form that looked nothing more than a big rock - a ginormous rock at that – it was over a metre wide and more than a metre long. We were still convinced it was a rock until a slow kick of her feet to shift some sand gave her away. We spent the next half an hour sitting not 2 metres from her as she finished laying her eggs and burying them in the sand (me a bit scared that she might discover us and attack to which Claire just said “I think we’ll have time to get away…’). When she was done, we wandered back down to the waters edge with her and watched her wade into the crashing waves and swim away. I wish I could have been there in baby turtle hatching season so I could have helped them make it down to the water!

Turtle tracks up the beach in the morning

We took half a day off lounging around on deck chairs in the sun (and wind – the wind was insane) and walked 3 kms up the road to the Tulum ruins. Though the site is relatively small in comparison to the ones we’ve seen, it was incredibly beautiful – perched on a cliff face that is lapped by the bluest blue water you’ve ever seen.

           
The ruins at Tulum

Tikal

Deciding it was time for a splurge on transportation, we forked out on a private shuttle to get to Flores from where you can explore the ancient Mayan ruins of Tikal. It was pure luxury – with only one other passenger in the van, Neil from Nashville, we spread ourselves out along a bench seat each and slept the entire eight hour drive (though we’d all been told it was five hours – they lie a lot in Guatemala), besides for the quick fried chicken lunch stop where we ran into Georgia and Richard (our batty friends), who were lived with the knowledge that our van was so empty – theirs resembling the public collectivos with limbs hanging out every window.

Finally arriving in Flores, a small island on Lake Peten Itza, we tried to work out how we could get to the hostels found at the gate to the Tikal – we wanted to see the sun rise from the ruins so thought it would be easier to stay as close as possible. Unfortunately, everyone we asked had an ulterior motive, ie. getting our money. They told us that it was impossible to get there that late in the afternoon (3pm) and that a taxi would cost USD60. Annoyed and frustrated that we couldn’t make it there considering that it is so easy to get everywhere else normally, we checked into a hostel, the Mirador del Lago and set off to find some food and to organise a tour of Tikal for the next day.

Red tuk-tuks zooming around the island of Flores

Still hoping that we could see the sunrise over Tikal, we booked a tour leaving at 430am. We thought this would give us plenty of time to get to the ruins. Unfortunately, tour operators here, though incredibly easy to book things with, have a nasty habit of being either incredibly unprepared (the usual) or over prepared; nothing ever goes smoothly. That morning we got a taste of both.

Waiting outside our hostel at the requisite 430am with the other Tikal goers, a slow procession of buses soon arrived, but even though they were all run by the same tour company, we couldn’t get on just any one and fill it up – we had to wait for the bus allocated to us. Buses left half empty or too full. It was madness. Just our luck, our bus was the last to arrive, some 20 minutes late and it had one seat left. Our driver took it upon himself to try and fill the seat – circling the island’s hostels to try and pick up another passenger. We were relived when finally gave up on this plan at about 5am, hoping that we still might get there in time, but here’s were the unprepared element comes in (and this happens all the time) – he then stopped to fill up with petrol. We enjoyed the sunrise… from the car…

When we eventually pulled up at the gates to Tikal, right in front of the hostel we had wanted to stay in, we were introduced to our guide for the day – Caesar. I had instant flash backs of Machu Picchu, Ceasar being quite ‘Freddy’ like (our Machu PIcchu guide), though Ceasar spoke with an American accent, and said “you get what I mean, guys?” a lot. (I didn’t get what he meant and tuned out after about half an hour). Instead of tyring to comprehend what on earth Ceasar was talking about, I stood in awe and gazed at the huge structures that make up the site (and at the coatis fighting on the path).

The main structures of Tikal date from 600 AD (though some outer lying buildings date from 300 BC ). Caesar took us around all the main sites including The Lost World (El Mundo Perdido) where we scaled the steep stairs to the top of the Great Pyramid, which at 30 metres high, is the largest pyramid in Tikal. Sitting at the top, slightly dizzy from the height, we got an amazing view across the canopy to the other structures that poke out amongst the trees for miles.

     

We wouldn’t have seen even half of what Tikal has to offer, one part being a six day hike from where the tourist bus drops you (our guide told us that he did this once in bare feet...) But, I must say, I don’t think my little legs would have carried me much further than what we saw that day. It was a long walk from structure to structure in high humidity. With my ‘I’m not getting bitten by mosquitoes’ outfit on – I was feeling the heat, and smelling it – ever since our trek to the Lost City my backpack absolutely reeks. I thought it might be a bit of a mozzie repellent, but no such luck.

   

Last, but definitely not least, we explored the Great Plaza, the Temple of the Great Jaguar (shrine to King Moon Double Comb…), the Temple of the Masks and the North Acropolis where Giant Jaguar Paw, Curly Nose, and Stormy Sky were buried (what is with these names??) and by the end of all that, we were all Tikaled out.

Time for MEXICO!!!

A batty tale

After having a relaxing few days with concerns no greater than what we were cooking for every meal, we were thrown back into travel in the deep end.

To get to our next stop, Lanquin, we made the overambitious decision to travel the whole way in one day. For starters, this meant waking at 0410 – something we’re definitely not accustomed to after months without bootcamp (though that only involved 520 wake ups…) and months without an alarm, to make the first bus. Our drowsy eyes were soon wide awake as dogs growled and threatened us as we navigated the steep unlit road down back down to town to the bus stop.

Finally on a bus, we got our reward for getting up that early - the sunrise as we cruised along the high mountain road back to civilisation, and this time we could see Santa Mountain in the distance, poking out up above the clouds.

An early morning wakeup was not the end of it - there was more pain in store. The 12 hour trip from Todos Santos to Lanquin entailed 6 buses changes: Todos Santos, Buenos Aires, Aguapula, Sacopulus, Uspantan, Coban. I didn’t even want to know how many we were in for in the beginning, but we soon had a countdown going. As the day grew on, I was ever increasingly thankful for how easy it is to travel in Central America. You get off one bus and as quickly shooed onto another; however, we had now traded our chicken buses for minivans. You’d think that travelling by minivan would make the whole experience a lot more comfortable and enjoyable. When the back of the van is exploding with bodies crammed in at every angle – at least 20 – your mind turns to the ‘luxury’ you once had on the chicken bus in comparison. At one stage, limbs of passengers were dangling out windows and doors; the bus driver struggling to close the door behind them like a badly packed boot that refuses to close. To the drivers disappointment, we refused to add yet more bodies to the back of the van. He then insisted that we get in the front seat that was already occupied with two men - ‘Um, where exactly?’ When our attempts to fit even half a leg extra in the front seat failed, seeing gringo dollar signs, the front seat occupants were kicked out and made to ride with the wind in their hair – gripping on to the back of the bus for dear life – while the driver, clearly forgetting his external passengers, travelled well over 100km/h. We felt guilty, but hey.

By late afternoon our last minivan pulled up at the gates of ‘El Retiro’ – a hostel a few minutes out the other side of Lanquin with cabana rooms (we scored ourselves a loft room, which required a lot of ladder navigating but was well worth it) set amongst a garden of ginormous red flowers on a river bank. With a little restaurant on site run by local Guatemalan ladies serving up concoctions of scrambled eggs, fruit and cornflakes for breakfast and beefs skewers, chicken, spaghetti and various kinds of rice and vegetables for dinner for Q35 (about AUD 4), we never had to leave; though we did venture into town once in a while for a change of scene (aka a hunt for icecream that failed dismally) and to go chicken spotting – they have a weird practice here of dyeing the chicks fluro pink, electric blue and lime green. No idea why, but if you keep your eyes peeled around town you can spot brigades of wandering chicks, each a different colour from the last.

From Lanquin there is a plethora of activities to keep you entertained. Much to Claire’s disdain, first up for us was an adventure of a batty kind. Literally. At 5pm we left the hostel and drove standing in the back of a ute with bat enthusiasts  Georgia and Richard, to the Lanquin Caves, home to a squillion sleeping bats. In the fading light, we were led some 500m through a network of caves, slipping and sliding on rocks drenched in nasty bat stuff, to look at stalagmites, statictites, other ‘natural’ rock formations – an eagle, a turtle, the Virgin Mary, a King – and giant legged spiders until we reached an enormous cavern, the ceiling blanketed with thousands of sleeping bats that would soon wake and make their journey out into the night sky.

  

We scurried back to the caves entrance via a different path – this one much more difficult – so that we could watch them flock out in their masses. The trick to the path though - after carefully navigating our way back through bat poo without incident, we had to scale a 2 metre wall through a hole in the rocks no wider than shoulder width. Luckily for us, our guide was well used to getting people to the top – though he explained step by step how to make it up, after climbing up himself, he simply leant down, grabbed hold of our wrists and yonked us up with ease.

Back at the opening, sitting slightly to the side afraid we might get a bat in the head otherwise, we sat and waited. By 6.30pm trickles of bats started to appear. We all went camera crazy thinking that this was it, our guide laughing at our ignorance. Not ten minutes later, we got what we came for – thousands and thousands of bats stampeded right past us and out of the opening in a flow that lasted a good twenty minutes. We sat gobsmacked at the cloud of black wings that emerged every time a flash went off. It was amazing.

The following day we chose an adventure with a lot less slipping in animal faeces in the dark involved – Semuc Champey – a network of cyan coloured pools and waterfalls that cascade through the valley about 40 minutes outside Lanquin. 

Getting there was not without some excitement. The previous day, I’d been bitten on the wrist by an unknown offender. What ever it was, I’m allergic to it. As the night wore on, a rash trailing my vain made its way up my arm, and by the next morning my right arm and hand had swelled to Michelin man proportions. With antihistamines making no difference, I held up our tour group of about 15 people who stood patiently in the back of the ute as I was taken into the local hospital to get a quick jab in the bum in the emergency room. I must admit when the doctor said injection I freaked a little - racing through my head was images of recycled needles – but, out came a brand new needle and after a bit of a sting, and a simple ‘sign here’ I was back in back the ute. Total cost = Q25 (or AUD 3.50) for the medication at the pharmacy across the road; not a penny for the hospital. This brings my bite count for this trip to two bee stings resulting in two swollen hands (so fat my fingers were unbendable) and one unknown bug bite resulting in third world country hospital adventure.

Michelin Bec deflating after hospital trip

After my quick hospital detour, we continued on our not so merry way the hour or so to Semuc Champey – the problem was, with four times the number of people standing in the tray than the day before, it was an elbow flight to get any personal space. Desperate to escape loose elbows that kept jabbing me in the sides I tried hanging off the back of the ute. However, not trusting my arm strength, nor my swollen hands ability to hang on as we bounced along the road, I was quickly back on the other side of the guard rails.

Not liking being crammed in the back

We were dropped off just before a big red bridge and led along a trail to the base of an icy looking waterfall. Stripping off to our swimmers and leaving all our belongings, including cameras, behind we clambered up a rocky path to the entrance of a cave at the top of the waterfall. One by one, as we stepped into the icy water, water flowing around us and cascading down the mossy rocks, we were handed a candle. In one long line, candles lit, we headed toward the darkness at the back of the cave – from the darkness a network of tunnels soon emerged, supposedly so big that the end has never been found. It was an eerie sight – you can’t see anything but little glowing beacons that look like they are floating in mid air as you glide through the water.

Soon, the water got too deep and we were forced to kick off from the bottom to make our way through a long narrow passageway, one hand still above our heads with our candles(some managed much better than others; some drowned their candles and almost themselves). We made our way gradually deeper into the maze of caves, climbing up and down steep rock faces with the help of rickety ladders until we came upon a waterfall shooting down through the rocks above. In small groups, we navigated our way through a tiny opening around to the back of the waterfall, then with water stinging our backs, we walked underneath the waterfall to the other side where a rapid flowed, strengthened by the force of the falls. One by one, we jumped in and were whisked back through a small opening in the rocks to the side we’d started.

A scary thought - apparently, they don’t have to use the ladders all the time to climb the rock faces; the water level in the caves changes dramatically from day to day, so that one day where it was ankle deep, the next day you will be struggling to position your nose in the small gap between the water and the roof to get a breath of air. This freaked me out. I looked seriously at the guide and questioned whether he would be able to save us all if conditions turned. It didn’t seem to bother many others, though some of them did have greater concerns such as swimming in general. They floundered around like they were drowning for the most part. You forget how much as an Australian you take for granted knowing how to swim.

Anyhoo, after making our way out of the caves, we headed further along the bank to have a go at the swing that flung you out Tarzan style into the middle of the quickly flowing river. After hitting the water from a good 2 metre drop (higher if your Claire and hang on too long) and recovering your lost swimmers that had flung off on impact, you had to kick like a mad woman to get back to shore before the very quick current took you too far down the river (either that or fake drowning so you could be rescued by the Australian lifeguard also on our tour). At this point, our guide seriously questioned the Japanese tourist’s ability to swim (it had been him floundering in the caves), but reassured by the fact that we had a lifeguard standing guard he let him jump. He survived. Just.

The Tarzan swing

Next thing, big inflatable tyres wrapped around our waists, we headed a bit further upstream for a brief bit of tubing. Off to a very slow start because of every man and his dog grabbing hold of my tube for some unknown reason, we eventually gained speed and took off and blobbed (well, that doesn’t imply speed, but hey…) down the river. Some, as a result of too much speed and too little steering found themselves slammed up and stuck against a clump of trees that had made the middle of the river its home.

On to the last bit of the day, and probably the bit that I was looking forward to seeing most – the cyan coloured pools of Semuc Champey that appear magically amongst a river of murky brown water. After grabbing a quick meal of fried chicken, refried beans and fried tortillas (they love their fried here), we made the incredibly steep 30 minute climb up a network of stair cases that clung to the rock face to the mirador where we got a birds eye view of what we were about to go swimming in. If I hadn’t seen the impressive photos previous tour goers had of the pools from above, like others, I would have turned back because of the heat – I just wanted to swim! - but the view once you get to the top is so worth it:

We spent the next two hours exploring the pools and floating in blue bliss.