Guatemala Jan-March 11
On a Great Journey 2010-2012 Part IV
San Pedro
I'm sitting in the garden in front of our cottage and reflecting on the events of the last five weeks. What did I write on the back of our electronic travel book? That we want to experience the kindness, generosity, and also cunning of the people. Not only that, I now know, but also their anger and idiosyncrasies or even peculiarities. But from the beginning...
It is Saturday, five weeks ago today, we cross the border from Mexico to Guatemala and get into the next mini-van. The drive from San Cristóbal to San Pedro takes the whole day. So far it was quiet and, apart from the hilly and beautifully green landscape, rather unspectacular. Only when we get off at an intersection and squeeze into one of the colorful Guatemalan chicken buses to reach our destination at Lago de Atitlán, things get really interesting. Packed with locals, the bus rocks off. A corpulent woman in a colorful dress smilingly offers me a seat next to her. It's only enough for half of my right butt cheek, but the cashier insists that all passengers sit down. We chug along on the bumpy road, making short stops every now and then, and even more people squeeze in. After a while, we cross Santa Clara, one of the small hill villages. Shortly after, we drive over a pass and catch our first glimpse of the lake, which shines in the colors of the setting sun far below, encircled by mountains and volcanoes. "Wow!" I exclaim.
I look to the back, where Seraina, sandwiched between two Guatemalans, is gazing out the window in amazement. We are almost there. The road gets narrower and steeper, the curves tighter and tighter. "If only the brakes don't fail now," I think. The driver is experienced, honking loudly to make room for himself and overtaking slower cars and trucks with his monster, while on our left side the slope drops vertically. Not only once does he have to shift into reverse to make the hairpin turn. When we come, everyone else has to give way.
When we reach San Pablo, the worst and most exciting part is over. And right after San Juan, when it is already dark, we drive into San Pedro. For the moment we put up at the Hotel Peneleu. We, that is Seraina and me and Chino, our friend from Mexico, whom we know from San Cristóbal. Chino, whose real name is José (Chino not because he is Chinese, but because of his curly hair, which means chino in Mexican), accompanies us for a while to finally get to know his neighboring country.
At first, we are a bit disappointed as we walk through the narrow streets of the little town. Bars line up with restaurants, which in turn line up with hotels and Internet cafes. Much of the place is written in English. The village seems to be firmly in the grip of Americans and other foreigners.
However, when we visit the morning market the next day and see more of San Pedro, we change our minds. The people we meet on the street beam at us. Every single one greets us, "¡Buenos días, amigos!" The cheerfulness and openness of the men, women, and children here delight us. As strangers, we immediately feel accepted and welcome. We also like the local language. If I remember correctly, there are 23 different Mayan dialects in Guatemala. Here, they speak Tz'utujil. But in Tzununá, for example, which is on the opposite shore of the lake, they speak a different dialect. Fortunately, however, you can communicate in Spanish everywhere. After three days in the hotel, we finally move to a cottage a little outside the village.
From Mani and Linda, who lived here last year, we know about Clemente and his wife Jesús, the owners of the property. They are easy to find and immediately rent us the house with delight when we extend the greetings of our friends.
Since there are other rooms available besides our cabaña, we think of Markus, the Bavarian Rastamann, whom we met in Palenque and also met again in San Cristóbal. By chance we ran into each other again yesterday. He enthusiastically agrees when we offer him a room.
The first days we spend with Markus and Chino. We enjoy the peace and quiet in our garden, away from the tourist center. Undisturbed, we can read our Spanish books, cook nice meals with fresh things from the market and practice yoga, qi gong or whatever. Chino moves on a few days later to see Antigua before returning to Mexico. We will meet him again in a few months. Except for a day trip to the famous market in Chichicastenango, a hike to the "Mayan Nose" (a mountain on the opposite shore of the lake that resembles a face) and visits to the coffee farm where Mäsi, a friend from home, works, we spend most of our time in San Pedro. How nice it is to sit in a restaurant right on the lake, reading or just being. We eat falafel at Shanti Shanti, drink coffee at Cristalino, watch movies at D'Noz, and have a drink or three at La Clau. Often we run into people we've already met in Mexico. So we meet the funny Greeks Agelos, Yanis and Nicos again with whom we often go out. Wonderful how to have fun with them! Nothing can dampen their good mood. We are already looking forward to seeing them in Greece .
When Seraina discovers a book about clay oven building, her artistic streak awakens. She begins to make a small test oven out of earth from our garden. She can spend hours enthralled with this work. So the idea grows in us to build a big oven to bake bread and pizza in it. When we ask Clemente if we can do this on his property, he immediately agrees.
"I want one right away in my new house, too," he says. We haven't moved a finger yet and already we have our first order.
Damit beginnen aber auch die Schwierigkeiten mit Markus. Anfangs macht es uns allen grossen Spass. Mit Markus‘ Kumpel Mirko, der gerade angekommen ist, stellen wir das Fundament aus schweren Steinen auf. Wir bestellen Lehm und Sand und wollen gleich weitermachen. Doch die Erde ist nicht sehr lehmhaltig. Die ersten Differenzen zwischen uns und ihm entstehen, als Seraina und ich zwei Tage später trotzdem beginnen, ohne Markus Mischungen zu machen, da bisher kein besserer Lehm vom Himmel gefallen ist.
Der Gedanke, dass die Ruhe und Leichtigkeit, die ich an Markus schätzen lernte, nicht immer ganz echt ist, ist mir nicht das erste Mal durch den Kopf gegangen. Klar ist, dass er doch ganz gerne redet. Meistens von sich selbst, was anfangs nicht den Anschein hatte. „Selbstverliebtheit“, kommt mir immer wieder in den Sinn, „und Egoismus.“ Nun, er wirft mir bei der Auseinandersetzung etwa dasselbe vor. Wie dem auch sei. Eines Nachts kommt es zur Eskalation. Den Auslöser nenne ich hier „das Avocado-Problem“. Näher gehe ich nicht darauf ein, weil mir das Ganze auch ein Rätsel bleibt. Leider muss unser erst gerade fertig gestellte Lehmofen darunter leiden. Als am nächsten Morgen noch Esswaren und andere Gegenstände an unsere Tür fliegen und der Lärm uns weckt, reicht es mir dann doch. Ich stelle ihn zur Rede. Doch wie es so oft ist mit Streitereien, resultiert auch diese nur im gegenseitigen Unverständnis. Keiner will gehen, um dem Anderen dieses schöne Fleckchen zu überlassen. „Nein, mir gefällt es hier, warum sollte ich also gehen“, sagen wir beide fast im Chor.
Well, Seraina and I have agreed with Mäsi to build a second oven at his farm for the next few days. The different environment and the people in this commune are good for us. Hard back-breaking work and once again some Wing Chun training with Mäsi, who is a few levels more advanced than me, soothe our souls.
That it's useless to worry in advance and to think too much unnecessarily becomes apparent when we return to San Pedro after five days. Not knowing what to expect, we walk to our house, and, lo and behold, it welcomes us quietly and deserted. Sometimes "problems" solve themselves.
Our second month in San Pedro has begun and there is still a lot to do. A third clay oven is in the pipeline. And maybe we will get some cycling visitors.
Project: Oven
It all started with a book. Normally, I keep as far away as possible from "technical" books. But I almost got hooked on this one. It was about building a clay oven, a good project with children. Yes, if children can do this, then I certainly can. And besides, I'm missing an oven here anyway. Mmmh lasagna..... And there I sit in the garden, both arms full of dirt, slapping together my first oven. Of course, I don't have any clay, the garden soil will do for now. It's so much fun to pile the dirt on top of each other and shape it. I have to think of my time in the sandbox. The oven will be ready soon. It is only about 30 cm big, just good to bake a muffin - but it holds.
So the first project was a success. Now we need a large oven. During a visit, I ask the landlord Clemente for permission to install the stove in a corner of the garden. He breaks out in bright enthusiasm: "Yes! Sure! And at my new house, I'd love to have one too!" He can hardly be stopped. That was fast. Already the first order is on the doorstep, without even having built one. Shortly thereafter, we carry stones into our garden to build a platform for the stove. It doesn't take long at all and the platform is in place. The men who bring the clay and sand also arrive. More than ten 50 kg bags are in the car. I also want to help and let a man lift a sack onto my back. It is incredibly heavy. All my muscles tense, trying to lift the weight. With every step, I'm at risk of losing my balance. I feel like I'm stuck in a press. After the third step it suddenly gets easier - one of the men supports the sack from behind. Locals carry such sacks every day with the help of a strap around the forehead and the sack on the back. It is impossible for me to lift it even a millimeter from the ground. So now the material is in the garden - construction can begin. But unfortunately, I am soon the only one who wants to build the oven with this material. Admittedly, it is poor. More sand than clay. Even the garden soil is nearly better. Moreover, I soon realize that it would probably really be better to start such a project with children. Children usually behave less childishly than certain adults in such cases. The argument in the house begins. Simon and I decide to build the oven after all, albeit alone.
We try to soak the earth for a day because I read on the Internet about the pit clay, which must be soaked so that the clay in it can dissolve. However, this is of little use. "How about sugar or honey to make the earth sticky?" jokes Simon around. We are at a loss. We want to add pine needles in any case. But it doesn't do much good with soil like this. We ask Clemente for advice. He has the solution: "Mix in panela sugar. We can hardly hold back our laughter and completely unsettle poor Clemente.
The next day I am boiling up panela sugar to make the soil sticky. But after successfully mixing the soil and sugar, the ants rush to this paradise. We scratch our heads. That was probably also in vain. So we start to build the oven without such additives.
Three days later, the oven is ready. It's beautiful. The earth a little crumbly, but very hard - it does not collapse. We are satisfied with our work. Clemente also admires it, but says: "Chicita, chicita! En la nueva casa quiero un horno mas mas grande." And makes a big arc through the air with his arms to emphasize how much bigger the oven should be in the new house. What does he want to use it for? I wonder.
Unfortunately, our chicita oven needed repair work just one day later. It had to pay the fury of an unfair "distribution of work" or what do I know. Fortunately, the oven was stronger than its destroyer and only broke on the right side of the entrance.
Mäsi, my former roommate in Switzerland, is currently just under an hour away from us, where he works on a coffee and more farm. He must have been infected by oven fever because he immediately wants to start building one on the farm. We are happy to change the location for a few days and help him. Armed with pick and shovel, Simon and Mäsi fetch bags of good clay from a hillside. I am the shovel carrier. In the meantime, I have learned what it means to carry a lot of weight. And besides, women still have enough to carry once they are pregnant, my former teacher would probably say.
Big rocks are rolled down the slope to build the platform. The entire thing is surrounded by a stone wall with a flower bed embedded in it, and the wood and tools also find their place. So the oven can only become perfect. So the kiln can only become perfect. At the river we get sand and the pine needles are already there. Now it can begin. We tamp everything together to a hard mix. This is really real clay, not like the dirt at our cabin. The mix is so hard that it is hard to compress and shape it flat. We start a building workshop as the other volunteers on the farm have also become interested - moreover, we are relieved of some of the work. We make quick progress. But the cabin and the housing uncertainty in San Pedro forces us to retreat before the oven is in place. However, it is in good hands with all the labor. Mäsi and Simon hump two more sacks full of clay on their backs and fight their way down with it the whole half-hour from the farm to the harbor - I was lucky again. The material is used to build the oven in Clemente's new house, which we will start soon.
The journey to the pyramids of El Mirador
How time flies. After two months in Guatemala, Seraina and I have returned to Mexico. We are currently in Mexico Ciudad, a city of over 20 million people, and are enjoying the hospitality of Marcos and Aline, whom we met in San Cristóbal. Below we describe our Guatemalan jungle adventure to El Mirador.
San Pedro to Semuc Champey
At half-past eight, our bus leaves for Antigua, Coban, and Semuc Champey. Besides Simon and me, Mäsi and two Americans, Ben and Dave, who also work on the farm in Tzununá, are also in the group. About twelve hours of driving lie ahead of us. The whole trip is terrible. First, we are stuck in a traffic jam in Antigua. Then, suddenly, we can't hear anything from Mäsi anymore. He sits sunken in a corner of the bus and fights against nasty stomach pains he has been suffering from for days. Now, of all times, they are at their peak. The pain thresholds have clearly been exceeded. When he hears that the ride is supposed to last another three hours, he gives up, which is usually not at all like him. He wants to get out. The driver, however, is only slowed down by a burst tire, which must have been caused by a higher power. Mäsi writhes on the roadside on the ground in pain. When he tries to get up, he briefly passes out. Nevertheless, it should go on now. Fortunately, several passengers soon get off and Mäsi can lie down on a whole row of benches.
We arrive at the pre-booked hotel of Semuc Champey very late. The next day, however, we are rewarded for all our exertions by waterfalls with azure blue baths. Beautifully they lie in the middle of the green jungle and invite us to a pleasant dip.
Semuc Champey to El Remate
A bit above Flores lies El Remate, which we reach after another day in a mini-bus. The small village, which seems to have seen the tourist years behind it, is quietly situated on the large, Caribbean-like Lake Petén-Itzá.
The hotel Sak Luk is cozy. The best spaghetti ever is served here. This seems like the perfect place to just lie flat in the sun, let the fish eat out of your hand, and dip your head in the water every hour at the perfect temperature.
Mayan Tempel in Tikal
From El Remate we take the bus up to Tikal. After all, we didn't come here just to swim. Tikal is famous for its pyramids and not only because of Mel Gibson's Apocalyptico. Every year tourists flock here in multitudes. So do we. We are in for a day of climbing stairs. A good preparation for our project of next week.
150 Quetzales costs the entrance fee to the Tikal area. This is by far too much. Nevertheless, we bend to the price. To go in half an hour before admission so that we can see the sunrise on top of a pyramid, the guards want 50 additional Quetzales from everyone. Is this supposed to be a joke? There would have been nothing to see anyway. The jungle and the pyramids are enveloped by the all-morning fog.
The park is large and the pyramids really beautiful. We sit on a large pyramid, look to the horizon and let ourselves be enchanted by the sight of the sun, which slowly fights its way through the fog. The proud Ceiba trees are impressive. For the Mayans, they are sacred and represent a connection to the world of the gods. Nature and architecture merge seamlessly here. In the afternoon we are already back in El Remate. Escaping from the heat we swim in the refreshing water of the lake.
Off to Carmelita
This morning we left early. In two days we have a rigorous five-day hike ahead of us; we still have so much to organize. Shortly before eight, we were standing on the main road of El Remate where we jumped into the bus. It was full, but we still had "plenty" of room. The luggage was tied to the roof and we were pushed between the other passengers.
On the way, a few more people joined us until the vehicle was finally really full. After half an hour, however, we were allowed to get out. In the shopping center in front of Santa Elena, which seemed very American, we supplied ourselves with all kinds of energy in plastic for the long march and then took a cab into the city. When we arrived, we realized that we were taken to a different bus station than first thought.
"I'll go ask," Mäsi informed us, disappearing between people and behind buses. "Where did he go?" No one knew an answer. We put down our backpacks and waited. But there he reappeared, waving and shouting. "Two minutes!"We barely had time to say goodbye to Ben, who was going on to Guatemala Ciudad. The mini-van that was to take us to San Andrés stopped again in the middle of the market, where the driver and his assistant, the money and passenger collector, handed us over to the drink, comida, miracle cure vendors. When all the seats were occupied, we continued. Half an hour later, we were already alone on the bus again, the chauffeur offered to drive us the four hours to Carmelita for $25 per person. "No, gracias, es demasiado." We knew we could get there much cheaper.
Half of the day we are already traveling around and the other half should continue like this. But first, we have a three-hour break. The one bus per day that goes to remote Carmelita doesn't arrive until 2:30 in the afternoon. The sun burns mercilessly from the sky. The small intersection where we have been dropped off is certainly not the appropriate place for this stopover.
We ask a young man to confirm the departure time of our bus once again, then we buckle our backpacks and start hiking. Fortunately, not far. The heat is numbing. Right at the roadside not far from the mentioned intersection we find a small shack with tables and chairs. Beer advertisements adorn the walls. "¿Hay comidas?" "No, no hay." But they do have beer here. We order a cold one each and start playing cards to make the wait easier.
And there we sit now at a small table in front of our cards and the beer in the small street bar and wait for the chicken bus. There is little traffic, on the street as well as in the bar. Just then a big, full bus drives by. "There! Our bus!" I joke, knowing that we still have a good two hours to wait. Surprised, the others look up. Dave glances at his watch. "Did they say dos y media or doce y media?" he wants to know. "Hmmm ..." He jumps up, runs out into the street, and yells after the bus, which has already moved on. "Shit! Was that our bus? Is that the only one today?" he asks the waitress. "Si, es la camioneta para Carmelita," she says. Then Mäsi sees the bus stop again 300 meters away. He sprints off. Without knowing whether he would make it, we pack up our stuff, pay, and run off as well.
"That was another close call," I say, "I can't figure out Guatemala. You ask a question, you get a dozen answers, and then you have to run to catch the bus anyway.
The sun is shining with all its might, but the airstream cools down pleasantly. The bus is so crowded that we and a handful of Guatemalans were allowed to get comfortable on the roof instead of cramping inside. This is what makes traveling fun. We drive past small wooden houses and even smaller villages, all straight ahead, heading north. Where dense jungle once grew, there are only a few trees, palm trees, and bushes left. Horses and cattle graze in the pastures. The further we get, the more people get out, eagerly awaited by children and other family members. We can then be glad to change halfway from the roof to the bus, the sun burns too strong, and the roof is too hard for the buttocks.
"You have to change buses at the intersection. This bus doesn't go any further here. But in two hours there will be another one that goes to Carma," they tell us. "That would probably be the "dos y media" bus that we should have taken before," I think aloud. So we get off, have a refreshing beer in the small village store and sit down in the shade. An older woman comes by and sells me "elotes", cooked corn on the cob. They taste extremely good, they are the first warm thing I get between my teeth today.
Soon the bus arrives and takes us the last ten kilometers to Carmelita. I immediately like the little village at the end of the road network, a mere 77 kilometers from the Mexican border. There are only a few wooden houses to the left and right, separated by a soccer field full of animal excrement. A flock of sheep lies lazily in the shade. It is dry and hot. This is our interim destination and the starting point of our hike. To the beginning of the Mayan civilization, to the pyramid city of El Mirador.
The bus rolls across the soccer field and stops in front of a house. "Here you can find guides and spend the night," the driver tells us. We believe him and leave his vehicle. And land at Rudi's feet. We have heard that half the village is composed of guides to El Mirador and indeed Rudi is one of them. The maybe 35-year-old welcomes us. We all immediately like him because of his open and honest manner. His price for mules and water is 200 Quetzales per person much cheaper than we could hope. The agencies in Flores also charge 200, guide, cook, food, pack animals and hammocks included, but 200 US dollars. That would be about 1500 Quetzales. For that, you could rent a house for two months, drink 60 liters of beer, buy 6000 tortillas or eat 150 times simply but well. And only fun tourists would pay that much. You can imagine how the agencies are swimming in money. So the 200 Quetzales are incredibly cheap for us and for Rudi still a big income. In addition, he lets us spend the night here for free, in the house that will one day become the tour office. Full of tortillas, beans, and scrambled eggs, we go to sleep after a long day under a spectacular starry sky.
The next day I wake up shortly after sunrise. The birds whistle and chirp all at once. Another day of rest awaits me, because there is not much more to prepare. When everyone is awake, we walk to the comedor, where we have tortilla, beans, scrambled eggs and cream cheese. Well, we do not want to be picky here.
Dogs, sheep, chickens, pigs, and mules roam around the football field; really idyllic. After dinner, we discuss the details of our trip with Rudi and his family sitting outside their hut. Afterward, we go to the river he recommended to cool down. The river turns out to be only a small stream where the villagers use to wash their clothes and bodies. Accordingly, it is full of soap. While exploring the surroundings, I catch a few dozen of these tiny, hated ticks, which already made life difficult for Seraina in Mexico. That can get fun on this hike.
In the evening, our last three companions arrive. Sophie from Bern with her boyfriend, Diego, and his buddy, Pitu, from the Guatemalan capital.
The Jungle Hike
Day 1
The alarm clock rings at five o'clock. A long day lies ahead. We want to set off early. At six o'clock we learn that we will get a new companion. Rudi is not feeling well. So we start walking. I immediately think of one of those cheap horror flicks in which a couple of teenagers venture off on their own into the wilderness for an experience that will not end so pleasantly, however. In the middle of the trip, I am to feel this thought for real.
We still have a lot of energy. Juan, the new companion, however, can hardly keep up with the three stubborn donkeys. The forest is not dense. Narrow, rather young trees occupy it and are surrounded by other sometimes curious plants. After four hours we arrive at Tintal, the first burial site. On the map, which gives an overview of the surrounding compounds, we notice that we had just walked next to stone formations for 40 minutes and didn't even notice it.
In the camp live a few locals who are in the process of building some wooden houses with the familiar palm-frond roofs. Lodgings perhaps. Many mules are standing around. Nearby there is a pond full of water plants, the only source of water in the area. It seems as if one can walk on this green carpet. As I draw water with a kettle to give myself a shower, a turtle just disappears into the growth of the pond.
Before sunset, Juan leads us to a half overgrown pyramid. We climb the steep stairs. The view from the top is fantastic. We look down on a green sea. An ocean of trees, in all directions, as far as the eye can see. Sporadically, we can make out other hills. Other pyramids and buildings. And far away on the horizon, small and inconspicuous, I spot an elevation. El Mirador.
Day 2
Actually, we wanted to leave early. At six o'clock. But it rains. In the middle of the night, I jumped up and mounted the outer tent, because drops, lightning, and thunder announced the rain.
Soon, however, it subsides. Nevertheless, until all are ready and also the mules are saddled again, it is already after eight o'clock. We march off, Juan with his mules marks the tail light once more. We walk for a few hours, now and then crossing and overtaking other groups and mules, always further into a green world. Suddenly there is a rustling on the left in front of me. A snake shoots in front of my feet across the path and into the bush. Otherwise, it remains quiet.
We walk and walk. The paths are partly dry earth crusts with deep impressions that testify to the rainy season and the associated marshland sleep. Partly, old, white Mayan roads are visible.
My legs tire much earlier today, again and again, I stumble until I finally fall. We take a break for half an hour, which is just what I need. Two more hours.
I hear thunder rumble, wind comes up. Then suddenly the sky flashes, a deafening bang. A gust of wind drives through the crowns of the trees. Then a roar rushes in and gets louder and louder. The rain.
Next to me, excitement breaks out all at once. A tree has just fallen just a few meters from us. The wind has managed to bring down a tree. If the trees are so weak, then anyone can be at risk!
The incident not yet completely forgotten, I see a second tree fall very close by. It causes a tremendous crash. Now my heart starts to race.
Lightning flashes through the clouds and the raindrops all seem to fall from the sky at the same time. The wind shakes the trees. I quickly jump past each tree, fearing that it could be the next to fall. However, this turns out to be extremely difficult in such a forest. The thought of the horror strip comes up in me again. With the difference that I feel now in the middle of it.
The trees shake dangerously. Cold sweat mixes with thick raindrops. I can already see myself lying under the next tree. Is there any way to avoid this situation? Should I walk faster or slower to escape the fall? No, I think, if it's like in the movies, it won't work. If death wants you, it will get you.
An entire movie plays before my eyes, and I start to run. But the slippery stones urge me to be careful. Just stay calm. But no more tree falls. I'm still running, but this time with emerging relief at this realization. Slowly I begin to enjoy the pouring rain and the nearby rumble of thunder. I almost fly through the forest, free from the weight of fear. The weather streams away all the sweat and burning heat. It fills the head with clarity and energy. It feels like waking up from a confusing and hectic dream. We move quickly. Soon we will be at El Mirador.
The sun is shining again and brings a pleasant calm to the forest - but why do drops of water still fall on my head? Hardly looked up, I discover a monkey. My very first one.
It is a spider monkey. He sits far up on the branch and looks down with a cheeky, somewhat arrogant, but clever look. He probably just got it into his head to drive us out of HIS forest. He jumps from branch to branch to be directly above us, reaches out, and vigorously shakes the water drops from the leaves onto our heads. I am fascinated. Since we are not driven away like this and even stop with our jaws dropped in amazement, he begins to pull out plants growing on the tree and throw them at us. Recently I read a report about these monkeys, which like to shit on the tourists' heads. This thought then makes me run on.
In front of El Mirador rises a ruin, the Grupo la Muerta. The sight is beautiful and a real reward after the exhausting day. It is still half-hidden in the greenery of nature and is one of few where you can enter a cave full of bats.
Day 3
It has been raining all night. Outside, like at an open-air festival, everything is wet and dirty. Be that as it may, the cloudy sky does not put a spoke in our wheel. After a short, but infinitely long way, we reach El Mirador. Exhausted, I throw down my backpack. We unstrap the animals and set up the tents. It looks like rain again. We eat another ration of our muesli (our jungle rations continue to consist of cookies, bread, nuts, and a few oranges), then I leave. I want to explore the surroundings before it's completely dark. After all, we have reached the destination of our hike.
I walk alone along a path that leads right into the ancient Mayan city. In the twilight, I see and hear animals everywhere. Coatis, not entirely dissimilar to raccoons, birds, insects. Then also monkey screams. I follow the sounds up a flight of stairs to an excavation site. I climb the exposed pyramid to get closer to the trees where I suspect the monkeys to be. There I spot one on the top branch of a tree. While I am still looking at him, there is a rustling in the tree behind me. Seven monkeys are sitting or hanging in the branches, staring at me. I feel almost like Mogli in the Jungle Book. Too bad I don't quite understand them.
Suddenly, three of them climb a tree closer to me, another makes off in the opposite direction. Yonder, I hear others calling and shouting. They are everywhere. I want to retreat and go back down the pyramid stairs. But the gang of monkeys is also getting closer. Do they want to encircle me? Defiantly, I stop and watch one of them drop growth from its branch to scare me. I watch them for a while because they don't dare to come too close. Then I say goodbye and take the way in the direction of the camp, while a quite rebellious one seems to pursue me still a few trees.
Part of the group sets off on a sightseeing tour. But before we can continue, we have to sign the guest book. We are proudly shown two names in it. Yesterday, apparently, the Prince of Monaco was here for a visit, the day before Mel Gibson. Does he want to make another movie about the Mayas? And did they also come with mules? More likely, they were brought here by helicopter.
Four of us, Dave, Mäsi, Seraina and I walk through the forest, tired but happy to be on the road without luggage for once. Again and again, excavation sites appear between the trees. For more than 25 years, people have been digging here, freeing various pyramids and temples from earth and forest. New secrets of this 2000 year old world are still being discovered. In 2009, for example, a Maya frieze was found that is four meters long and three meters high. It dates back to approximately 300 BC, making it the oldest Maya frieze known to date. For a few months each year, several hundred scientists and assistants work here. At the moment, however, they are all in the laboratory, which allows us to explore the huge dimensions of this preclassic metropolis in peace. Finally, we stand on the highest building of the Mayas, the 72 m high La Danta (Tapir) temple. The view from up here is even more spectacular, even farther than from Tinta. Trees, trees, trees. Further than you can see. Impressive. This trip was more than worth it.
On the way back to camp, I realize that all strength has left me. We all rest a little. Then we set off again because we have only marveled at a small part. We follow a path that takes us to another group of pyramids. After the Grupo Guacamaya, the Templos Danta, Mono and Léon, and the Compleja Cascabel, we finally want to venture up the steep, long stairs of the Tigre Temple, whose volume occupies Temples I and II plus the Gran Plaza of Tikal.
But suddenly it rustles and a family of spider monkeys crosses our path. Again they are not very happy with us. One shakes warningly at a branch, tears it off, threatens us with it, and throws it at us. Wildly, he jumps around and pees down to us.
This time, I no longer let myself be so intimidated. I watch the theater amused and shoot a few photos. We follow them for a while before it is time for the sunset.
It starts to rain again, stops again, only to start all over again. Real rain forest. Nevertheless, we climb up the Tigre. Out of breath, we arrive at the top. Awe floods me. We sit on a stone structure above the roof of the jungle, gray threads of rain hang on the yellow horizon, while the sun slowly sinks through the wispy clouds, illuminating us in red.
Day 4
It rained again during the night. That so much water falls from the sky at this time of year is not common. Everything is dirty and soaked. Yesterday, instead of making the roundabout the temples of Nakbé, we decided to spend more time here and then return to Carmelita the same way. So we know what to expect today. Even now, we need an hour longer to leave. When you are traveling with a group, you can practice patience well.
The five hours back to Tintal pass quickly. Still, it is exhausting to march. The legs are tired and just want to be stretched out and elevated. During a rest, everyone talks about delicious food: Pizza, lasagna, Büdnerfleisch with cantadou, fondue, and pasta. And we are all looking forward to a refreshing beer.
We are back in Tintal early and pitch our tents once again. Aaahh ... Has it ever felt so good to lie on the ground, stretch out all limbs and let them rest? And there they are again, jumping around in the trees. The monkeys. Relaxation and entertainment. Almost like being at home!
Day 5 - The last Day
At half-past five in the morning, we sit once again on the pyramid above the treetops and let ourselves be bathed in the red of the rising sun. Then it's time to cover the last four or five hours to Carmelita. Seraina and I walk briskly, Dave and Mäsi are already up and away, Sophie, Diego, and Pitu follow.
The body feels drained but good. Soon it will be hot and humid. The rain clouds have not appeared since yesterday. The sky shines in perfect blue. Seraina stumbles and falls down. It's time to arrive. To cheer up, a few monkeys frolic on our way.
Almost "at home" we meet Rudi and his mules. He is well again and already leads the next group out into the forest.
We come back before noon and can rest. It has become very hot. Now we do nothing anymore. Drinking a cold beer seems to be a good idea. And in the evening, after all the mueslis, we finally have something warm to bite into. Tortillas, beans, and scrambled eggs. What a treat!
After a day in Flores and a 15-hour journey, we finally arrive happy and healthy back at Lago de Atitlán. For two weeks, we were able to soak up heaps of impressions and experiences. The colorful clothes and the smiling faces of the people, the breathtaking beauty and diversity of nature, and the simple yet joyful life in Guatemala will remain unforgettable. It is certain that we have not been the last time in this enchanting country.
Lies die Geschichte weiter, vom Lago de Atitlán bis zu den Ruinen von El Mirador, im Kapitel:
Auf grosser Reise 2010-2012 – Teil 5
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