Having swum in the waters of Peten Itzá last night we leave early this morning to visit one of the beautiful and historic islands on the lake, Flores. It became the last stand of the Maya, and was where their civilisation retained its independence from the Spanish until their eventual defeat in 1697. And it wasn’t until 2002 that it became connected to the rest of the country when a bridge was built, traditionally trading more with British Honduras by boat than with Guatemala by road. As such it has a pretty Caribbean, almost Mediterranean, island feel with colourful houses and pretty bays.
Flores has also been Aquilino’s hometown since he was a teenager, when his parents moved there after the war ended, and he used to work selling bananas to wealthy second homeowners and tourists from Guatemala City and Miami at the little airport before going to the local university to study tourism.
We arrive on the island soon after 8am and Aquilino takes us for a quick walk around its picturesque streets before leaving us all to have a lovely breakfast at a great little waterfront restaurant called Maple & Tocino, whose views could be straight from a Greek island. Afterwards we visit the little white church in a square at the top of the hill and then wander the village streets, before regrouping by our minibus for the long drive south to Rio Dulce.
The scenery slowly starts to change as we finally leave the flat lands of the Yucatán peninsula, with rolling hills starting to appear. The land is also lusher with thicker soils and Madray cacoa trees, pink with blossom. After three hours we cross from El Peten into Izabal state which is very important as it has a Caribbean coastline and exports huge amounts of the country’s produce. It also has a truly ancient site, dating from 3400BC. These were the distant ancestors of the Maya, and the Mayan calendar’s Year Zero coincides with the time of that settlement, representing the beginning of the epoch which lasted until the end of 2012.
The politics of Izabal are complicated as the state has large jade quarries and also nickel mines, both of which are deeply controversial due to the interference of the Chinese and Russians respectively. Despite the 1996 peace treaty there are also still active guerrillas in the area, evidence of coca plantations for the drugs cartels and indigenous Maya groups trying to reclaim their lands from the government. As a result the state is deemed to be an “unstable area”, but it’s also breathtakingly beautiful, full of manicured rolling hills giving the appearance of a tropical Hobbiton, full of lush greenery and palm trees.
After a while we stop at a supermarket to load up on drinks and change into our swimming gear as we are heading to a geo-thermal waterfall, where hot springs gush down rocks to create a natural spa in the jungle. Aquilino has loaded a cool box into the van, well-stocked with ice, and with it hoisted on fellow traveller Lee’s shoulders we all trek along little paths and down rickety steps to the river bed and position ourselves near the falls.
It’s a great experience to feel hot, hot water cascading down upon us and a party-like atmosphere descends upon us, with beer and canned cocktails flowing and sludgy volcanic mud being used as face masks. Eventually we all clamber back up the pathways to the minibus and drive back through the beautiful countryside to reach the small town of Rio Dulce, or ‘sweet river’ where, loading all our bags into a groaning boat, we motor across the water to our lodgings for the next two days, Hacienda Tijax.
The little jetty that greets us leads us to cabins on stilts above the swampy land, under which crocodiles lurk, and in which members of our group find spiders and scorpions during their stay. At the jungle lodge’s heart is a bar and reception area with a thatched roof and another barn which doubles as a dining room. Behind it is a little pool for guests, but for the most part the cabins are rustic with shared toilet and shower facilities. However it seems we have lucked out as while the majority of the group have very basic affairs, we have a cabin that has a little en-suite, a very large and comfortable bed and a double-glazed door because it’s one of the few cabins with any air conditioning.
Our luck sadly takes a turn for the worse after dinner that evening as returning to the room we find ourselves locked out, with our fancy double-glazed doors completely jammed shut. We can’t open them, the staff can’t open them, the janitor can’t open them and even salt-of-the-earth escapees from England, Marcus and Dave, who have a boat moored at the little marina and have been sailing around the more under-the-radar parts of the Caribbean for the past few years, can’t open them.
Marcus and Dave have been drinking at Hacienda Tijax’s little bar and confess to “knowing a little about breaking locks”, evidence of which comes when they produce a bunch of tools and have a go themselves. They succeed in removing the handle but the door stays locked, even with us all trying to lift the heavy panes of glass off their runners. Finally another janitor arrives with a ladder to plant in the swamp and, gingerly on the lookout for crocodiles, the smaller of the pair climbs up and breaks into our tiny en-suite at the back of the cabin, through the mosquito guard, and manages to unlock the door from inside.
“You don’t need to worry here,” says Dave encouragingly. “You’re safe as houses, mate. No-one’s gonna rape you or steal your stuff!”
The staff promise they’ll have the door fixed by the time we get back from our boat trip to the exotic town of Livingston tomorrow afternoon. Despite the drama, we sleep soundly.
