Sunday 10 February.
We turn up early for
the chicken bus to Xela and are told
that it’s already waiting to go. With
timings here a bit, say fluid and it being a 3 hour trip, we grab it. Our rucksacks go on the top we get in and off
we go. Not a chicken to be seen. When the fare is collected, 3 Quetzales each, which is 50p for both of
us, we smell a figurative rat. We know
the fare should be 20 -25, max. 40Q.
Turns out there are even grades of chicken bus and we’re not the Directo
but the Stoppo. The seats are of
polished plastic and on the seat in front of us is a single old lady who slides
alarmingly from side to side at each turn and there are a lot of them. Then a large young man left his seat and
joined her as a sort of human bookend. We
get to our destination in 2.5 hours which is a relief but we do it on four
different buses with a huge amount of Guatemalan goodwill for 21 Q (£1.75/$3)
each. At every change we are known to
be going to Xela , our bags are unloaded carried to the next bus and on we
go. No time is lost. On the last one we had to jog to the bus and
as our bags were being loaded H got on
at the front and I stood at the back checking they went on; goodwill goes just so far and leaving your
gringo bags unattended in a bus station is too far. The bag loader was on the roof clipping the
bags on and the bus started to pull away so I jumped on the ladder and through
the back door followed a minute or so later by bag loader. It was mostly a seat each but one leg of the trip was very
popular and they do not pass up the chance of a fare. So two seats become three with the aisle one
having one cheek width of seat to perch on and then there all those standing in
the narrow aisle. At stops there is a
lot of squeezing past and I got very familiar with a number of
Guatemalans. While the bus is moving the
conductor climbs through collecting fares.
You may well be asking why oh why
would you bother. The very question I
asked myself several times but I couldn’t come up with any sort of rational
explanation.
Xela is a dusty and not particularly appealing place but
with a very attractive central square.
After a much needed drink and a search for the disturbingly named
Adrenalina Tour office we book a walk up a volcano, as you do. Pick up 6.00 am. so no breakfast. We’re already at about 7000 feet and
unexpectedly see frost as we drive to the start. It’s just the two of us plus a Mayan
guide. This isn’t a bare mountainside
covered in barely cooled magma, it’s heavily forested and the caldera is a
sacred lake. I don’t know whether it’s
officially extinct, dormant or just having a lie-in but it was very tranquil
and quiet. Unlike the one across the
valley which was literally letting off steam in an eruption. Impressive deep thumps and clouds of smoke or
ash were rising from it and as our guide wasn’t nervous, neither were we. This walk was described as ‘moderate’ in the
leaflet we had but ‘moderate’ clearly has a different meaning here. The usual
slope for the first hour was about the inclination of a flight of stairs with
planks laid up it. Then down and then up
and up. At the top we had a great view
of the lake and then went down nearly 600 rough cut steps to it. I found it a tough walk, obviously not helped
by altitude. As there were only two of
us we got local transport back and luckily when we got on it was only
full. This was a 12 seater minibus and
at one point there were 22 people as far as I could see plus driver and
conductor on board. Another thread in life’s rich tapestry.
From what we’ve seen so far Guatemala isn’t overrun by tourists. We haven’t seen gaggles of Lonely Planet
wielding, slightly bewildered looking groups on corners, just the few tourists
here and there. Many of the local people
are obviously desperately poor and many still dress in traditional costume as
normal wear rather than for tourist shows or ‘traditional’ dancing. Women are in traditional garb more than men and
the styles do vary from place to place.
Much of the work is manual with virtually no mechanical aids, often not
even wheelbarrows. Roads are mended
with hammers and cobbles with cement mixed by hand. We saw a woman and children under 10
collecting stones in woven plastic bags for building work. Fields are worked with a type of hoe, a bit
like a straight handled spade but with the blade at 90 degrees to the
shaft. Potatoes are harvested by
hand. Much of what we’ve seen is a
peasant economy and there are many faces that themselves have obviously seen a
lot of hard work.
Everyone has been very friendly and helpful although English
isn’t spoken everywhere but to our delight and surprise, we understand more Spanish than we thought but either
speech is slower here or they are just being kind. It’s very easy to get a smile and a buenas
dias or tardes and sometimes a rather Portuguses bom dia.
Tuesday 12 February.
A luxurious 8.30 pick up in a 20 seater coach with only 8 of
us for the trip back to Antigua where we have time for lunch before the 6 hour
trip to Coban in a more usual full minibus.
14 seats, 14 people and us in prime position next to the driver. We were told that it was a 4.5 hour trip so
in usual fashion it left 40 minutes late and took 6 hours. We turn out to be a cosmopolitan bunch with
Brits, Finns, Argentinians, Swiss and a couple from the USA, at least on
board. Unusually, we haven’t seen any
Japanese, Chinese or Australians although with the strength of the Aussie
Dollar I’d expect them to be everywhere.
We have to go via the outskirts of Guatemala City and from
what we see haven’t missed much. As we
clear the urban sprawl and get into the country the landscape is convoluted and
very brown. It’s looking fantastic as the warm late afternoon sunshine slants
across from the west, highlighting all the folds and tucks. As we climb and dusk falls it starts to get
greener but we can see little at this stage.
Fortunately we do have a hotel booked and are dropped at the door at
about 8.00pm although everyone else has another 4 hours bus-time as they
disappear further up country.
There’s a door opening right onto the pavement in a blank
wall on a deserted, dusty street in the dark.
One small sign says Casa Duranta which is close enough for us so we bang
on the door. Inside is a lovely
courtyard garden about 50 feet by 50 feet with a restaurant at the far end. Our room is large, clean and just what we
need. However, there is always
something odd. In many parts of the
world the concept of a plug for the handbasin is unknown and we always travel
with our own. Years ago in Costa Rica we
went into a large plumbing supply shop to buy one and they didn’t have
any. Anyway this hotel room has a plug
on a chain but the chain is too short for the plug to reach the hole. We also have the famous ‘suicide
shower’. This is the one where the water
heating element is in the shower head with all the jolly colourful cables on
view. At least the shower control is on
the wall, we have seen them on the shower head along with the electrics.
So a whole day and all I’ve had since a small breakfast is a packet of
peanuts and a bowl of asparagus soup,
apart from the steak with all the trimmings at lunchtime.
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