The Scotsman Arrives
Turns out getting from Xela to LAnquin is a day and a bit job, involving an overnight stop in unmemorable Coban, where we pick up Gordon, a wonderfully cheery glaswegian. Together the three of us go to lanquin, the ride there showing off more of the excessively beautiful scenery in Guatemala. We got ourselves set up in a sort of hostel, which is more like a series of thatch roofed huts set up next to a soothingly rapid moving river. We were all immediately taken in by the relaxing nature of the place, and even though getting in and out of my room required a climb up a towering death ladder, I felt cheery. We went down to eat in the restaurant next to the river, which was the type of river that inspires one of tire swings and lazy days in an inner tube.
Late that afternoon we checked out the local caves, and once again I was reminded of how much I seem to really like caves. I dunno what it is, but they're just endlessly fascinating with their nobbly rock formations and nooks and crannnies asking to be explored. Maybe i missed my calling as a spelologist? The stalactites and stalagmites were, as usual, impressive, although this cave wasn't nearly as big (or, thankfully, as cheesily lit) as the caves I saw in Lebanon, but I still enjoyed reading the signs and then exclaiming "oooh, it does TOO look like an eagle!" like a good tourist does. We stuck around during dusk hoping to catch the hoard of fruitbats that Lonely Planet claimed would come flying out, but instead of a dramatic swarm it was rather a more steady, pathetic small trickle. We walked 20 minutes home in the dark, unable to get a ride.
The following day we made the small trip to Semuc Champey in the back of a flatbed truck, little more than tourist cattle. I was running on a practically empty stomach and had trouble concentrating, but despite this Semuc Champey was my favorite day in Guatemala. The national park is home to a series of "idyllic pools that descend in a natural staircase of turquoise waters, bordered by steep jungle gorge walls." The pools were absolutely stunning, and other than the hideously steep 25 min vertical climb to the viewpoint that I accomplished in the still dying flip flops, our time there was exceedingly pleasant. Gordon, Chris (slightly uncomfortably, as he never really grew up swimming in the midwest), and I splashed around endlessly, diving into the waters, sliding down the natural waterfalls, and delicately climbing back up. Gordon even commented that I seemed so much more coordinated in water than on land (he had been updated on the klutzy toe business by then) which made me nostalgic for those idyllic summers growing up swimming for hours at MSJA.
In case you guys didn't know yet, I made a february resolution to not have any sweets. As a result February has seemed like the LONGEST month of my life. But i was doing exceptionally well until this day where I guiltily buckled to a chunk of homemade chocolate just because I was starving. Chris gamely justified this by saying I would faint if I didn't get some food in me, but I still felt pretty bad. This was not made any better by also kicking a rock and somehow getting a clump of algae stuck beneath my damaged toenail, so this required some serious face grimacing and flipping back of said toenail (shudder) to get it out for fear of infection. This was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back that allowed Chris to convince me to clip the nail incredibly short, which unbeknownst to me would come back to haunt me later on.
Late that afternoon we checked out the local caves, and once again I was reminded of how much I seem to really like caves. I dunno what it is, but they're just endlessly fascinating with their nobbly rock formations and nooks and crannnies asking to be explored. Maybe i missed my calling as a spelologist? The stalactites and stalagmites were, as usual, impressive, although this cave wasn't nearly as big (or, thankfully, as cheesily lit) as the caves I saw in Lebanon, but I still enjoyed reading the signs and then exclaiming "oooh, it does TOO look like an eagle!" like a good tourist does. We stuck around during dusk hoping to catch the hoard of fruitbats that Lonely Planet claimed would come flying out, but instead of a dramatic swarm it was rather a more steady, pathetic small trickle. We walked 20 minutes home in the dark, unable to get a ride.
The following day we made the small trip to Semuc Champey in the back of a flatbed truck, little more than tourist cattle. I was running on a practically empty stomach and had trouble concentrating, but despite this Semuc Champey was my favorite day in Guatemala. The national park is home to a series of "idyllic pools that descend in a natural staircase of turquoise waters, bordered by steep jungle gorge walls." The pools were absolutely stunning, and other than the hideously steep 25 min vertical climb to the viewpoint that I accomplished in the still dying flip flops, our time there was exceedingly pleasant. Gordon, Chris (slightly uncomfortably, as he never really grew up swimming in the midwest), and I splashed around endlessly, diving into the waters, sliding down the natural waterfalls, and delicately climbing back up. Gordon even commented that I seemed so much more coordinated in water than on land (he had been updated on the klutzy toe business by then) which made me nostalgic for those idyllic summers growing up swimming for hours at MSJA.
In case you guys didn't know yet, I made a february resolution to not have any sweets. As a result February has seemed like the LONGEST month of my life. But i was doing exceptionally well until this day where I guiltily buckled to a chunk of homemade chocolate just because I was starving. Chris gamely justified this by saying I would faint if I didn't get some food in me, but I still felt pretty bad. This was not made any better by also kicking a rock and somehow getting a clump of algae stuck beneath my damaged toenail, so this required some serious face grimacing and flipping back of said toenail (shudder) to get it out for fear of infection. This was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back that allowed Chris to convince me to clip the nail incredibly short, which unbeknownst to me would come back to haunt me later on.
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