Granada, Sunday. Church with a difference.

Another city, another hot airless night, but the noise of the fan drowns out every other sound, even my tinnitus. My brain has finally ceased to register the din but sleeping outside, like the locals, seems very appealing. I am only resisting because I have paid for a room! You can just rent a hammock outside in some hostels, not this one, so if my money runs out its a viable option.

Sunday morning and Granada is alive with sound of church bells. By 8 the streets are alive with congregations, mass, like sleeping, seems to take place outside as well as within the hallowed cathedrals. I joined the throng in song as it felt right, a gesture which was greeted with smiles and nods of welcome.

After the service I followed the procession to Granada's lake and pottered happily along the shores watching families throw off their church 'best'' and dive into the choppy waters. I was eying the rudimentary public boats offering tours of the inlets and isles with mixed feelings, anticipation and anxiety, when a church group invited me to join them. Very kind as otherwise the gringo rate *(see below) would have applied, but they wanted only the ticket price (50 Cordoba)

View from the lake

Off we set and I joined in the prayers as we negotiated the rough waters (lifejackets were compulsory, which worried me in a country not known for health and safety) . It was great fun, the people were so kind, English was limited but we got along just fine, throwing bananas to the wild monkeys on the islands, admiring the pelicans, storks, etc, and the flourishing water lily flowers. Together we gazed enviously at the posh grand designs houses of the rich dotted on odd isles and sang happily to celebrate our safe return to shore.

Scary pier, scarier boats!

Even scarier...I don't know how this one got on my camera! Divine intervention?

I am typing this back in the quiet gardens of El Momento, away from the busy centre streets. My room is miniscule but I like the calm ambience of this family run hostel, with its shared kitchen and well kept gardens. I can boil a kettle, store my goodies in the fridge, watch my mini TV...well, in theory I can but I watched it last night and was bored within 10 minutes. It turns out not much has happened in the world after all so I went back to my book.

The days are completely out of sync with English life. I live by the sun light and am in bed by 9pm. I have forgotten what hot water feels like (I am grateful if there is cold, the water goes off often) and if I catch myself in a mirror (rare) I am surprised at my weather beaten, ungroomed, tatty, image. But in comparison to much of Nicaragua, Central America's poorest country, I am wealthy beyond imagining. The poverty here is marked, esp. compared to Guatemala. There are few tourists here still although it is an absolutely gorgeous country. I know there are areas unsafe to wander alone and I do take care, but so far I have met with genuine generosity of spirit from these deeply religious people, overall open hearted, kind and friendly.

*I know now gringo, used to refer to white people, actually means American, so if I stress my Britishness I get better response, and often a better rate. Usual gringo charge can be up to five times the local price, so every little helps.

Onward to Granada . Sat Feb 28

A final dawn liaison with my friendly hummingbird to end my stay in Leon. I will miss our early morning trysts. Each day I have emerged here bleary eyed from my oven like room to sit in the still cool air, drinking in the silence.
Whilst the hostel sleeps the birds and I share the fragrant garden, the hummingbird bird fluttering like a tiny angel darting in and out of the flowers.
Today I bid this beautiful bird farewell and left Leon aboard a shuttle for a four hour run to Granada. Nicaragua is so small compared to Guatemala, distances are short, though, as there, nothing much exists between the few main towns. Empty vistas only tiny villages, isolated farms, fringed with looming volcanos. A burnt orange dust, the remains of harvest cast a yellow tinge over the landscape
Arriving here mid afternoon I adopted usual tactic of setting off to explore and getting very lost! Luckily Granada is small, smaller than Leon, with the traditional central park area full of stalls, and today a Saturday fiesta with national dancing in full swing, and numerous churches.

Leon spires at dusk

Sat night festive time in Granada

A power cut as night fell plunges the town into true darkness and sent me into a panic about locating this small hostel tucked away in a side street but it is centrally located and I got 'home' easily. Now the power is back and I am immersed in the delights of BBC world news. This is the first time I had a TV since my first week in Antigua. I have not missed it at all but I realise I have no idea what was going on in the world, let alone England. Strange sensation.

Typical Guatemalan street

Reflections on Leon. Friday Feb 26

One final day in Leon, one of reflections and relaxation. This week has passed in a blur. I have decided Nicaragua’s most visible difference is in the lack of Mayan influences. Everyone is in western clothes. The bright floral embroidery of the ubiquitous Guatemalan skirts and blouses have vanished here in favour of modern dress. Hot pants and tiny tops dominate. For both men and women and the visible 'others' in this liberal university town.

The most obvious sensory difference is the heat! Leon lies trapped windless under the blazing sun, the sauna sensation never ceases. The town is fascinating but beach walks, pool swimming, shady siestas, all absolute necessities.

Birds following me along the beach

Today has been a quiet day. Paul's father finally passed away peacefully last night after many years suffering from Alzheimer's. Not unexpected but it is times like this I want to be alongside my nearest and dearest. Being away makes me appreciate with fresh eyes how lucky I am to have my home and family waiting. I look forward to the return always when I'm travelling and miss them continuously.

Tomorrow I move on to Granada to continue my Nicaragua adventure. Until then, I sit quietly in the gardens here as twilight falls, the day draws to a close and I dream of England under the bright stars of the warm central American night.

Setting sun at the beach

Leon life. Day 3 and 4 (Wed and Thur)

Two days wandering the streets of this engaging town, swimming in the pool here at lazybones hostel and gazing at a perfect sunset at the nearby beach.

Swimming pool at lazybones hostel

Leon is perfect for acclimatising to the subtle but distinct difference between Guatemala and Nicaragua. The university here gives a cosmopolitan feel to this historic city, there is a vibrant cultural scene and there is a visible, strong contingent of backpackers. I have met with a warm welcome from friendly folk, local and tourist alike.

The churches, literally at every corner, are jaw droppingly beautiful, albeit rather decrepit. Leon's colourful colonial buildings reverberate with history likewise in a crumbling, style. The numerous markets are a warren of the familiar and strange. Less avocado and veg, more fruit, to my eyes, but just as many bakeries, cakes and pastries. My diet is pure sugar some days...

stunning churches in leon

I love this quiet friendly hostel, with its great staff. The heat makes nights sweltering (there is no air conditioning here, alas) but they change the sheets daily, which is a nice touch. The pool is the perfect antidote to the city heat.

Good try at getting my name right!

An absorbing, civilised, morning passed immersed in art at the contemporary gallery here renowned to be the best in Central America, with a fascinating Miro collection plus a bizarre display of modern sculpture and paintings, many of which defy description. Imagination run riot in these artists minds!
There is a daily afternoon shuttle to the nearby beach of Las Pinetas, 20 kms away, a drive which winds through rural Nicaragua, past horse and cart, tiny villages, and ends in a deserted stretch of sand and surf where I sat in silence and gazed in awe as the translucency red orb of the setting sun dropped into the ocean and night descended over the silver moon lit waves.
As I write the wind is rising and the dense heat abating so I shall seize the welcome respite to continue my Nicaragua exploration. There is much to learn still after Guatemala and I need to practise my bludgeoning Spanish.

Leon. Tuesday ( day 2) - Volcano Boarding.

Honestly one of the scariest, most exhilarating, days of my life so far. Volcano boarding is 'the' action adventure to do in Leon so I had to do it. What an amazing adventure, pure, absolute adrenaline rush.
Set off at daybreak in the pick up with quetzal trekkers, the NGO charity with the best (well deserved) reputation for safety. I was by far the eldest of the 10 of us in the truck but the guides, one American and one local, were confident I could make it. I was not so sure. but hate being beaten. Although as our truck bumped higher and higher away from the town my nerves increased with each vertical mile.

I took the precaution of paying a local teenager 100 Cordoba ( @£2.50) to carry my board and the heavy pack with my suit, goggles, gloves, 2 litres of water, sunscreen, etc, worth every penny, as we left the truck and hiked another strenuous hour vertically up the sheer volcanic slopes.

Volcano boarding.. Ready to set off

No shelter from the incredible strong winds whipping around the summit as we scrambled up over uneven rocks and shifting dust. I had to be held by the guide at times even without the board on my back. With it I think I would have taken off and flown down airborne.

Heading up the hill.

Half way up

Near the top!

The biting dust swirled everywhere. My ears, eyes, hair... everything was black within minutes. My skin was battered by flying particles of sharp stones. Struggling into the protective suit at the summit against the elements took a phenomenal amount of effort.

Trying to keep my balance in the wind at summit

And then... we rounded the crater and I saw the sheer grey black volcano side disappear into the distance
OMG. I had to slide off on a wooden tin tray into that void. I have rarely been so terrified in my entire life.
The guide was calm, reassuringly gentle, took my pack for me to help me control the descent. Then she pushed me off and there was no going back.

Going down...the guide took this!

Unlike my fellow boarders who showed no fear, I dug my heels in, literally, sank up to my knees in black dust, and slid ungracefully and very slowly down. Every bone was trembling with fear.
I finally fell off about two thirds down and an experienced trekker took my board from me, took my shaking hands, and we ran together through a sea of dark dust to the bottom. Truly exhilarating, exciting, amazing adventure.

Me at the bottom... Elated!! And very very tired...

At the bottom!! I made it down the volcano

Wolfing down free veggie burritos at the ranger station (I was starving) I literally fell into the truck and lay exhausted against the roll bars for the hours ride back. I finished the day sleeping by the pool. But, tired, aching, sore, and burnt black by sun and dust... I can't stop smiling. A never to be repeated adventure and I am so pleased I conquered my fear and boarded the volcano!

Monday. Leon, day 1.

At dawn I sat outside in the welcome breeze and watched a hummingbird dive into the flowers beside me! Which made me feel much better after a sleepless night. (No air con here, when I could really do with it).
Free coffee helped revive my spirit, and I spent the morning wandering Leon, getting hopelessly lost as usual but admiring the stunning architecture, the teeming dark markets and disconcertingly busy streets. First task, find local money. Second task, buy local food. The sweet custard I brought for brunch turned out to be cheese pancake. ...I really must improve my Spanish.

Atop cathedral in Leon...feeling the heat!

Then to the central landmark of the main cathedral, where by asking around I found out for a small donation and leaving my shoes behind I could climb the roof for a glorious view of the town and distant volcanos.

High on cathedral roof.

Officially known as the Basílica de la Asunción, León’s cathedral is the largest in Central America, its expansive design famous thorough Latin America. It is extremely ornate, with gleaming white roof top copulas and numerous bell towers.

As I write I am sitting in the shade by the pool waiting for the day to cool down. After the relative cool of Guatemala I am struggling in the 35 degree sun. The town is taking a siesta and so am I.

Nicaragua: Leon.

Sunday. Guatemala to Nicaragua

A day which disappeared in a haze of waiting. A taxi at dawn to Guatemala city, a long wait for plane 1 due to having to travel before Catholic procession closed roads, it being Sunday), a run through el Salvador to just make plane 2 where my gringo status on the tiny local prop ' plane' seemed to result in my being given the captain's meal! Everyone else got a bag of crisps. I got cheese ravioli, and honey cake. I suspect I paid much more than the locals.

Finally arrived in Nicaragua on time where my extortionate taxi to Leon awaited. I sacrificed the ensuite for the taxi, expenses wise, but worth it. 90 mins later I was in lazybones hostel, swimming in the night sky. The heat is incredible!! After Antigua, this is at least 10 degrees hotter. My room felt like a sauna.

Adiós Antigua , goodbye Guatemala.

My final photo from Guatemala, the sun rising over Antigua’s Volcano de Fuentes, serene after her night time fierce, fiery eruptions. I have come full circle, ending my time in this country where I began, here in this charming colonial city with its cobbled streets and splendid churches.

The last two days (Fri and Sat) have been gentle " admin" days, wandering the now familiar city sights, visiting the markets, sorting out my stuff (I paid for laundry, it is so cheap it seemed rude not to!) , phoning family, catching up with emails, reading and relaxing.
Antigua is has a timeless presence, a unique city with grace and beauty. It is unlike anywhere else here but then nowhere in Guatemala is like anywhere else.
This is a fascinating country, vast empty spaces ranging from wild mountains, rainforests, Caribbean coast, diverse rural landscapes, acre after acre of ranching land; melon fields; coffee plantations; myriad crops and cottage vegetable gardens spilling down hillsides, plus phenomenons such as the glorious Semuc Champney pools, never to be forgotten.
I have loved Guatemala, it's undiscovered treasures, the friendly people, their generous spirit and kind hearts. Thanks folks for sharing your wonderful country with me.
Tomorrow I leave for Nicaragua so goodbye Guatemala, maybe one day I will return, it will truly be my pleasure. Until then, adiós, for now it is time for me to head onwards to Nicaragua

Dry at Last ( Thursday )

My intention to stay in Finca Tatin until Friday was thwarted by horrendous tropical storm. The rain began wed evening and when it rains it really rains in the jungle! Sleep was impossible due to the din, the thatch is covered by corrugated plastic on the huts but that was no match for the downpour. Water seeped into the rock and wooden walls and my bed resembled a pond. Time to decamp.

Throwing everything I own any old how into the bags I joined the exodus on the Rio Dulce boat at daybreak. An hour later, wet and cold, I surveyed the town and it looked as bad as I remembered. Impromptu queries on transport options produced a result. A gringo working in the projects (local charity run schools) was taking his car to Guatemala city for supplies and was happy to offer lifts for 100q. Perfect. A fellow English woman, a sprightly 70 year old from Liverpool, joined us too, handy for female support (esp for bathroom stops).

A flat tyre held us up by an hour work so it was rush hour when we hit the city. Nightmare traffic. Luckily my English travelling companion spoke Spanish and we organised a taxi onward to Antigua. Two hours of crawling traffic. But I’d called this friendly little hostel and sorted my room for a day earlier than planned, so by 9 pm Thursday I was back in my tiny single room at the Villa Esthela. Shared bathroom, but free tea, power, wifi and a comfy bed.

I was absolutely shattered which precipitated not relief but a sudden massive panic attack about my flippant comments re rabies in Flores. To travel independently means, for me, to consciously block out as much anxiety as I can, but I do regret now being so blasé. Thankfully the risk in Guatemala is minimal so I have now put my panic behind me, chalking it up as a salutary note to self to take care. Grateful to the kind folk at this hostel who listened patiently to the exhausted English women bursting into tears and to my wonderful family for being there for me.

Thursday was a very long day but Antigua feels, surreally, like home. It is familiar territory. I have Friday and Saturday to relax, sort my laundry and prepare for Nicaragua on Sunday. Being warm and dry is a delight. I adore the sensation. Livingston was amazing, I shall treasure the memories, but it is great to be dry at last.

Livingston revisited.

I owe the Garifuna two apologies. One for allowing google to misspell their name (Garifuni is another version but the 'd' is embarrassing, my error) and two for misjudging them. Today I have seen these Caribbean indigenous village folk for the unique, colourful 'tribe' they actually are. Sweet, very laid back, very, very laid back, and great fun.

Today dawned overcast and drizzly, so on impulse I decided to leave my friends to laze here and leapt on the ' launcho' (boat) to revisit Livingston. Minus the tourists , sunseeking elsewhere, the obvious hawkers from my first visit had vanished. Instead I saw a working fishing village manned and womaned by cheery, patient souls who turned sheltering from the odd rain shower into a party everytime and everywhere, making impromptu music under overhanging roofs, under trees, anywhere. The mood was upbeat, lively and contagious.

The cooler climate was conducive to walking between beaches rather than the previous taxi ride. An hour’s amble took me through beach front villages, ramshackle huts of bamboo and thatch, often open to the elements. Young and old alike sat on the wooden porches or lay contently in hammocks. I admire these people’s ability to do nothing for hours, a knack I simply don't possess but greatly envy.
The beach grew increasingly beautiful as I left the town behind, passing my lunch spot from Monday, until I reached the 'playa del altares' waterfalls... Or what would be waterfalls if this were not the dry season. An elderly Bob Marley lookalike kindly escorted me to the remnants, two stagnant pools and nodded sagely when I declined to swim, simply telling me to rest a while, 'no problem'.

The translucent light cast a hazy spell over the gentle Caribbean seas, the sands ablaze with turquoise blue and orange shells glistening in the lapping shallows. A walk to sooth my soul in this tranquil peaceful place.
Back to find my friends had ordered the primitive sauna to be fired up, so I joined them for another dice with death in the 'pizza oven' cave. Diving into the river afterwards as night fell and swimming in the moonlight a perfect end to a perfect day.

Just chilling. Tuesday.

A day of ultimate relaxation. If you count kayaking an hour upriver against the wind and current relaxing. Turns out I am a dab hand with the single kayak, better than my new found friends Joan and Neil from Yorkshire, who struggled more with their double.

Messing about on the River!

extracting the kayak from the mangrove 

We 'parked' alongside hot springs for a muscle balm soak. These ones, unlike Xela, were either scalding or cold so not as curative as hoped! A riverside coffee and home made banana buns for breakfast helped revieve us more as we made an early start to avoid the noon heat.

Back for a siesta in the hammock swinging gently over the river and a swim in the fish filled river. Joan and I then tried out the primitive rock sauna heated by wood burning 'drum', aka old times Harrell belching out smoke and flames. Interesting experience, chargrilling interspersed by cold water dips as the sun set over the water.
Veggie supper communal style here with fellow travellers was a delicious lentil soup followed by Spanish omelette and ratatouille. Not bad value for 55q. I haven't had it before, proceeding to eat lunch al fresco and snack in my snug cabin whilst reading in the evening, but tonight I was in the mood for family style dining and very good it was too.
The only downside...two very hot days in a humid rainforest and the dank smell is seeping through the vegetation. As long as only the smell creeps up rather than anything living then no worries....

Monday. Livingston and the land of the Garifuna.

Oh what a difference a day makes! Monday morning and the skies are blue, the sun is blazing down, hazy beams of warm light streak through the jungle into my stone cabin. Last night once the generator went off at 10 pm I heard nothing but silence. Deep dark still quiet. No monkeys, no roosters, no people. Nothing. Bliss.

Refreshed by the sleep and breakfast I took the morning launch down river to Livingston, the unique Caribbean town of the Garifuna people. Everyone looks like bob Marley. Interesting. Unlike the rest of the country, this indigenous group seem very keen on ripping tourists off but despite this surly twist I personally didn't have too much trouble and as they inhabit the most beautiful spot I guess they could be excused the resentment towards foreigners.

The trip downriver was a joy. Pelicans swoop overhead, birds of every size, shape and colour line the banks, high cliffs coated with luminous green jungle loom above as the launch pottered along, passing locals for whom this river forms their highway.

The river banks full of birds

Pelicans everywhere in Livingston

Fish anyone!

The main 'attraction' of Livingston is the people and the thriving Local fishing industry! The smell of drying fish permeates everything. Apparently the seafood soup is out of this world but I settled for coconut bread and bananas.

Fish drying on the sidewalk at Livingston

Eyeing the local garbage strewn beach dubiously a visiting Guatemalan tourist gave me the tip off to take a ' taxi' (four wheels and a tin roof) for 5 q to " the hanging bridge' which I duly did, winning the haggling war with the driver. And there, 20 dusty minutes out of Livingstone, was a stretch of the most glorious coast Caribbean coast. White sands. Coconut palms fringing the shallows, a friendly cafe with a spotless toilet. I had found paradise

Paradise Caribbean beaches

A happy few hours ensued swimming - for once I had the right kit...relaxing under the shady trees, drinking coffee, before reluctantly I headed back to the last launch. Nearly missed it, the restaurant phoned a taxi as its miles away from the town but they couldn't get hold of one. I was so relaxed I didn't care. Talk about chilled out.

Looking out over the sea from a tiered pier offering shade for those brave enough to clamber the steps

An ancient go kart masquerading as a taxi appeared though and it was back to Livingston, where Finca Tatin’s boat awaited. A glorious boat ride back to this jungle hideaway.
Wifi prevents pics, but google Finca Tatin, Livingston and admire the website, which for once is not an exaggeration! 

Flores to Finca Tatin, Livingstone. - Sunday Feb 14th

Happy Valentine’s day to everyone. If it wasn't for the postage I could inundate England with the myriad of multi coloured flowers and balloons from stalls lining the roadsides today here in rain soaked Guatemala.
As dawn broke over Flores this morning even the usual deafening birdsong chorus was subdued by the weather, overcast with leaden skies. But my spirits lifted after a quick wave and smile from my gorgeous granddaughter. Oh the wonders of technology... When it works...

A friendly hostel chap turned up to take me to the (wrong) bus. Not a good start. When I found the right bus it got worse. The easiest way to Rio Dulce is via the fast bus to Guatemala City. A coach rather than a chicken bus\ shuttle minibus.
Alas, I reckon this one was an early Ford production model! The wheels were barely connected. The " bathroom' was a hole. And as it had a ' toilet' we were literally locked in for four hours non stop.
The aircon was freezing. At a petrol pitstop everyone (I was the only gringo) yelled out of the windows and demanded it was turned off. The driver got his own back by turning on the heating instead. Lesser of two evils.

At Rio Dulce my luggage and I got literally thrown off in the middle of a town which looked as if it belonged in a seedy western. Immediately besieged by touts I had to hold my ground and refuse to move until they went away. First time that’s happened so I was unprepared and subsequently burst into tears. Thankfully yet again I was rescued by a stranger, who came to my aid.
Together we contacted Finca Tatin, located a tuk tuk to take me to the waters edge and found the right boat. Bless him, these people are so kind. English is not widely spoken which is hard at times like this so thank goodness for lovely people!

By now the heavens had opened and I cowered in the Open topped boat under the tarpaulin clutching my worldly goods and praying we would not sink under the swell. The river flowing to Livingstone is very wide at this point and today very stormy, which made for a nerve wracking ride.

Approaching Finca Tatin -  from the boat

Finca Tatin is isolated up a small creek amidst deep jungle. My cabin has cold water in a shower open to the skies, a bed with thankfully a mosquito net, resident spiders and I suspect other bugs not yet come out to make their acquaintance.
It is also incredibly beautiful. The rain is easing as darkness falls, and I sit watching the night erase the light flickering on the river flowing below this wooden terrace.
I have refused the communal supper in favour of my bananas and a early night. There are no curtains so I reckon go with nature. And I’m just plain worn out.

Saturday Guatemalan style

My final day in Flores and I have lived it like a local.
Morning and a typical Guatemalan breakfast of toast, eggs, refried beans, fried plantains and copious coffee (£1.50 good value to be found in a small dark backstreet cafe recommended by fellow travellers for good reason).
Then a wander over the bridge, pausing to admire the pelicans, to the mainland town of Santa Elena to browse the massive market. Bargains in the second hand stall, two tops for 10p each. Brilliant. Because as usual I have brought the wrong type of clothes. ....it is always impossible to visualise in England what I will actually need wherever I’m going.
Lunch, time to spend with the family. In my case a long happy Skype call home that cheered me up immensely. The time difference can make this hard to organise and I get very homesick. Perfect tonic!
An afternoon country walk and a stroll over the water in San Miguel island. This time the footpaths made sense. I am learning the ways of rural Guatemala, carrying a stick to ward off wayward dogs and monkeys. Alas, I failed on the dog front today. One nasty specimen attacked my ankles. I hope he didn't have rabies or this will be the last entry for a while....
Home to Flores for the sunset with a little help from strangers. These folk are so kind. I walked further than intended and could see the only way to get back quicker to the ferry was to cut across the water inlets. Two fishermen were pushing off from the bank and I seized the chance to ask for a lift in sign language. Bless them, they rowed back, helped me into their canoe, rowed me round to the next cove and waved me off without taking a penny for their trouble. Universal language of goodwill. Just lovely.

One last sunset over Flores

Supper on the lake front from my favourite stall, veggie filled spiced tacos, eaten al fresco sitting on the steps watching the sunset. A day filled with familiar pleasures.

Street food by the lake

Tomorrow I bid farewell to Flores and head back down south to the Caribbean coastal town of Livingstone. I am planning to stay in a finca (farm) on the riverbank where there is no wifi. It is an eco hostel only reached by boat. Five torturous hours on the bus await, then an hour down river. I am a tad anxious tonight. Hopefully it will be worth it.
Blog TBC when I re-emerge into civilisation.

Sunset at Flores

Yaxhá

Today off to the ancient grounds of Yaxhá, Tikal’s less famous cousin, with a unique appeal not least due to its remote site. Too far off the beaten track to attract many visitors this classic Mayan city nestles deep amidst dense forests surrounded by ‘green water’ (i.e. Yaxhá in Mayan).
High (literally) upon a hill this is the third-largest temple complex in Guatemala. During its heyday in the 8th century, Yaxhá was home to a population of 20,000, where its 400-plus structures included five acropolises, two astronomical observatories and three ball courts. Apparently ball games were the Mayan equivalent of gladiator, occurring only rarely and carrying enormous political, social and cultural significance, according to our guide, a true Yaxhá enthusiast. Like Tikal most of the site is still waiting to be excavated, structure after structure remaining buried under vast moss covered mounds, reclaimed by nature.

High above the jungle

Mayan football pitch!

Our guide, born and bred in the forest, took great delight in leading our small group, 5 nationals on holiday, an American couple and me, through the lush green forests, pointing out everything; birds, falcons and a rare sighting of the green questal, huge hairy tarantulas (I didn't post those pictures, on account of those who hate spiders!), snakes, spider monkeys and the roaring , echoing howler variety, the medicinal and nutritional native trees and plants, and , obviously , the temples.

In the middle of nowhere

The ' is that a monkey behind me' face

Apparently the US series of ‘Survivor’ was filmed here in Yaxhá, but according to our native guide the contestants were all wimps. He would have no trouble surviving here for weeks. I believed him! Few tourists come to Yaxhá, I was lucky to find a tour running, as it is a two hour run from Flores, the last 30 minutes on rough tracks, so slippery that at one point we all had to get out whilst our driver flayed the truck around in the mud before to everyone’s relief the wheels freed. Crocodiles roam freely here so it’s not a good idea to be stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Temples at Yaxha from opposite pyramid

Ancient Mayan tombs, built one above the other with each dynasty

The day was overcast, in sharp contrast to yesterday's blistering heat, but it made the three hour trek around and UP ( a lot of ‘ up’) the temples much easier. Omg these pyramids are incredibly high. We climbed as many as time allowed to drink in the views and atmospheric presence before tackling the sunset hike. This was Templo 216, towering above the world. Despite our quivering legs and shaking limbs, we sat in awe as darkness fell. The sun stayed hidden but no matter, it was a magnificent sight, perched high above the treeline staring out as far as the eye can see.

The ' I m glad I made it up but its a long way down' face!

Yaxha lakes at ' sunset' 

The night drive back took us through village after village celebrating the first Friday of Lent. Processions of candlelit worshippers holding high statues of Jesus bearing the cross, isolated halls ablaze with light and colour decked out for mass, families walking the pitch black roads to these impromptu churches, shining their way with torches as our driver respectfully slowed around them.
The lights of Flores seem very bright tonight after today immersed in an ancient world. I feel as if I have returned from another dimension, I have been lost in another civilisation, a timeless empire held tightly within the encircling jungle and have emerged blinking into the light. My muscles hurt but my mind is full of wonder.
...

Thursday. ' relaxing' in Flores.

A quiet day in theory, in practice not quite so calm.
A gentle stroll to catch the local ferry to San Miguel and a plan to walk along the waterfront went slightly awry when the waterfront path gave way to jungle and footpaths. Friendly locals happily gave directions when I passed them but people were few and far between and one footpath looks very like another to me! I guess they would feel the same about our motorways.
As the vegetation grew thicker and the sun grew hotter I began to panic. A situation not helped by loud howler monkeys growling from all sides.
I resorted to old fashioned methods and headed downhill, hoping to stumble across water. Eureka. Not only did I finally pop out on the most beautiful quiet cove but I found the secret 'beautiful beach' much talked about but rarely located by my fellow travellers.
If only I’d taken my costume. Still, a restorative paddle was a tonic, and I found my way back to the village ferry without mishap, despite the company of monkeys and one very large dog!
A sunset supper of tacos with guacamole, humus and beetroot, double helpings, worth one pound, I was starving after my hike.
So much for a quiet day.

Tikal

Tikal is why people come to Flores. The trek to Peten, up in the north of the country, a rural hinterland which contains one of the largest Mayan national parks in the world. For those who want the full spec, here's the detail

http://www.tikalnationalpark.org

An hours drive outside this tiny isle of Flores lays this mysterious vast network jungle wilderness where a climb reveals stone pyramids jutting out of the treetops, jungle paths wind round temples looming amidst monkey filled trees.

The ruins at Tikal

Our group from the hostel arrived in the early afternoon, as I opted for sunset not sunrise...I like my sleep...and the weather was perfect. The sun’s rays cooled by a breeze as we trekked through the deep forest. Snakes slithered past, spider monkeys leapt above our heads, howler monkeys frightened the life out of me. There are jaguars here, and that's what they sound like!

Tikal temple

Time to explore at will, to clamber the soaring stone steps to the temples and to sit and contemplate life here centuries ago when the complex at its wealthy height was home to hundreds of thousands of people. No one knows why this empire declined at the end of the ninth century, possibly famine, natural disasters, the air of mystery adds to the magic of this ancient site.

Standing in an astrologically lucky place, according to Mayan culture

At Tikal ...the centre of the complex

Atop temple ruins at Tikal

The massive stone faces in the temple walls

At sunset we gingerly negotiated a derelict tower, forking out our 20q (They know how to make money here!) to perch on a ledge high above the trees whilst the most glorious sunset unfurled before us. The sky was a multicoloured canvas of golden rays sparking purple and pink streaks. The darkening skies brought flocks of birds swirling around us as we descended for the night walk out of the park. No jaguars in sight, but who knows what lurked in the blackness.

Sunset at Tikal

Archaeologists know there is masses here to uncover, it is a vast park, we barely touched the surface. It is a weird feeling to walk the steps of these ancestral people, for whilst nature has reclaimed their empire it still echoes with ghosts of its glorious past. Tikal’s modern day fame may owe as much now to its use in the Star Wars franchise as to the Maya but the Mayans still haunt this sacred site, it belongs to them, they created it, they own it and their presence is everywhere.

Tikal...the star wars shot!