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!