Day 1, Part 2

Our ride to Guatemala was a mini van (collectivo) that cost about U.S. $12. Not a bad deal for five hours of travel. The only other guy in the van was a British Forces member who was stationed in Belize City. His next career move was to build a hostel in Guatemala near the El Salvador border. I pieced together through inference and admission that he saw no job opportunities in the U.K., had fallen in love with a Guatemalan girl, and preferred the climate of Central America to that of his homeland. His two years in Belize, friendly nature, and native language made him a valuable resource for us.

The trip to Flores took longer than we expected. A freaky Dutch tour group took about a year to get through the border. Other than that, my first border crossing on foot was uneventful. Or, so I thought. More on that in a later post.

The whole process took about an hour because the Dutch regaled the Belizeans with bad jokes and we had to wait on our bus driver to transact various business.

The booze from Herman's hut took its toll on me briefly just before we got to Flores. Fortunately I was still on vacation high because Travis got grumpy as soon as we rudely woke him from his nap. Dude can sleep ANYWHERE. He'll just put his head against a window or neighboring passenger and pass out. It's amazing and fills me with envy. While I endure hangovers and stinky seat mates, Travis recharges for the next adventure.

Our driver stopped to pick up his buddy and allow us to change our Belizean dollars for Guatemalan Quetzales. His buddy, like all driver's buddies, was a tour guide and all around nice fella. Despite being an expert on all things Flores, he would provide his services at absolutely no charge to us. He knew a guy who could do anything we wanted. Hiking? No problem. Lodging? That place you read about in your guidebook is no good but driver's friend knows just the place. We politely declined and found our way to the funkiest hostel I have ever seen. World music played as we entered the jungle canopied common area. No joke, jungle canopied, open air common area. It was beyond cool. The place is called, Los Amigos and is run by a Dutchman. The vibe was similar to Via Via, the Belgian run place we stayed at in Nicaragua in 2009. Dozens of people were drinking, talking, flirting, eating, and surfing the web.

It struck me that hostels in Europe are very different from those in Central America. The Central American variety is more charming. Also, European hostels usually offer just the basics (bed, food, internet, tv) while their Central American counterparts will set you up with adventure trips, tours, and a library.

Los Amigos did not have any beds available but the Dutchman set us up with a guide for El Mirador who also happened to have a bare bones room for rent for U.S. $5.50 per person. No hot water and the whole room flooded when you took a shower but we did not have far to go for breakfast and our departure in the morning.

To Central America- 3/25/10

It was time. Neither Travis nor I had been out of the country in a year. I had only been out of the state once during that same period of time. After some discussion, we agreed to hike in Guatemala and end the vacation with some relaxation in Belize.

We flew Central American airline Taca Air from Orlando with a connection in El Salvador and an ultimate destination of Belize City. The Belize City airport was nothing like I expected. I anticipated Managua, Nicaragua, a bustling mess of hussle and poverty. Instead we easily strolled through immigration and customs, effortlessly changed our money, and immediately found a cab.

We got to the bus station at 10:30, just missing the bus to Flores, Guatemala. The next bus was scheduled for 2:30 so we settled in for some quick emails home. About the time we got logged on to the computers, a series of pops went of outside the station. Travis looked at me and asked, "were those gun shots?" A crowd gathered at the door much like would happen during a high school fight. Yep, those were gun shots. We grabbed our bags and cautiously made our way outside. Some Aussies (I think) informed us that a jewelry store robbery was thwarted by the ever vigilant Belizean police. As the culprit attempted to escape on his bicycle, several officers shot him to death.

We were a bit spooked after the shooting and decided to lay low for the rest of the morning. We quickly stumbled on a shack run by an amiable Belizean man named, Herman. Herman sold beer and not much else out of his little hut. Stories about his days as a police officer were free and mandatory. He had no posted prices. Your fee depended on your country of origin and how much Herman liked you. We paid about $1.50 while the Austrians forked out about twice as much.

Herman once shot a man in the forehead. In self defense of course. Besides, the "bastard should have known not to fuck with" Herman. He carried guns on either shoulder so all the world would know not to mess with him.

After a few local brews (Belikin), fifteen or so Herman stories, and mixed impressions of Belize, we headed to the bus station and took off for Guatemala.