We woke up on our third day of travel in Flores, and made it onto the bus without a problem. This time we would not wait for the bus to come to us, like the day before.. I had my two tickets gripped in hand and walked up to the bus I thought it might be from process of elimination. But there was a crowd of random tourists: Russian, German, Australian, Irish.. and eventually the driver arrived (highlighter yellow t-shirt matching highlighter yellow tennis shoes).
You know what would be amazingly helpful here? A SIGN. “SEMUC” These 5 letters would save him having to tell every single passenger where he was going. When we got on the bus with the group, one girl wearing shorts that revealed a distracting 1/3 of her butt, I was relieved at how cozy the bus was. It wasn’t a micro, it was a pullman. A bus for travel. No it wasn’t a 2-story, complete with bathroom and wifi set-up, but we were going to be good. Amanda and I sat in the same row but at separate windows, enjoying the space (but until this time, we were right next to each other on buses and it was all fine). However, we were still waiting on our cash refund from past sins and still, 30 minutes after our departure time, Yenner, our debtor, was no where to be found. So, I chatted with our color-coordinated driver who I knew had Yenner’s number, this is after all an island… (we couldn’t call because we didn’t have Guatemalan phone plans anymore). The driver called and said he would tell Yenner to come. 2 minutes before we left, Yenner rolled up with his hat on, unzipped his wallet, and handed us Q100 (Q50 each) for yesterday’s debacle. So, redemption was ours.
After 2 hours we came to a stop and sat for 20 minutes. It took me time to realize that we were waiting for a ferry. Before Guatemala, my job was to pick people up from an airport on an island. Every time I had to get there, I took a ferry. I drove the company van onto the ferry and we crossed. I remember it with fondness. This was NOT that type of ferry. There was a glorified tiki-hut on the side of the flat metal float that we would be boarding and using to cross the river. And, as fate would have it, under the tiki hut sat a man who revved a Yamaha motor meant for a tiny boat a bit larger than a canoe. But it was, instead, transporting cars and passengers from one side to the other. I couldn’t believe it, but then again, I absolutely could.
And we spent the better part of the day in transit. We stopped for “40” minutes in Cobán, a metropolis I’d never been to, for lunch. While Amanda and I rushed back to the McDonald’s, we waited for an additional 30 minutes which was annoying. I told Amanda that the driver left us to meet up with his lover in Cobán, and to be quite frank, I still half believe that. While he was roque, Amanda was worried he might run off with our bags. I wasn’t worried about that. It’s funny the different things that preoccupy a person in travel and I guess that isn’t one for me. But I also never thought I’d be in a tuc-tuc accident and then there was yesterday.
When the driver pulled up without apology, Amanda heard him say “I went to have lunch with my Mom.” Don’t mind the punctual tourists who didn’t want to be left behind, who waited for you 30 more minutes thinking maybe you ran off with our bags never to be seen again. Even if he didn’t meet up with his mistress, I 0% believe that he had lunch with his Mom. Ask me if I trust most Guatemalan men..
In 3 more hours we arrived to Lanquín, the pueblo outside of Semuc Champey, and we were ready to be off of that bus. Boys and men immediately teemed our bus while we waited for our luggage to get untied and dropped down from up top by our color-coordinated driver. They said: “Where are you going?” and “Where are you from?” relentlessly, like we needed handholding or a guide. I was instantly grumped. I am tired of men informing every part of my experience in this country: men who drive me around on buses (when they feel like it), or on ferries, or who take my money for tickets, or who drive tuc-tucs that get crashed into, who carry my bags, make kissy noises at me, ask me to dance while they’re drunk in the street. WOMEN. NEVER. DO. THESE. THINGS. So when another horde of jóvenes got off of a tuc-tuc, and upon seeing me and Amanda, projected: “Where are you from?” again, I drew a line across my neck like: CUT IT OUT. But then the kid speaking to me said: “Oh so I guess you don’t speak?” And I called him “Abusivo” and he said something about me being from another country and coming here and ME being abusiva, as he walked into the tienda behind us. “Abusivo” sounds more pesado than it actually is.. but still, I didn’t need to say that.
The thing is for 917 days I’ve been treated as a foreigner, a non-Spanish speaker, a lost tourist. And I am foreign but I know what’s going on. And sometimes I get tired of having to contextualize myself every single day, but that’s how foreigners must feel.
I looked at Amanda and she said, as kindly as possible, “How do we manage to make enemies within five minutes of every town we’ve been in?!” And laughed. And she wasn’t wrong. I had an attitude, a chip on my shoulder, and I was tired of men. I didn’t know how tired (and I already knew PRETTY TIRED) until this trip. After I slowed my roll, I asked the multi-lingual kid when we were leaving. We were waiting for another bus of tourists so they didn’t make a trip to the hostel in vain. That could take forever. “Ya viene” they say. It’s coming now. But now could be almost any time. “Now” means when it gets here. But a note about this multi-lingual kid, his English was surprisingly, impressively good. Semuc Champey is pretty removed, I was coming to find, but this kid grew up chatting with tourists his whole life. He imitated US citizens speaking Spanish and made us both laugh.. actually really hilarious and spot-on.
Our truck arrived.
I felt bad for my sour attitude but it was quickly turned around when we finally got on the back of the pick-up truck. To a random girl already on the bus I said: “Is this yours?” And she said: “No it is not mine.” And I said: “Oh sorry I didn’t even ask if you speak English. Do you?” And she said: “More or less..” And I climbed on. It was just us three ladies: me, Amanda, and who we would learn was Kristina as our bags slid from one side of the truck to the other with every turn.
We talked as we held on tightly while our bags and bodies skid from one side to the other and I was surprised by how at ease I was around Kristina, the Spaniard. She had been volunteering in Antigua after just finishing her nursing degree in Spain. She was traveling to Semuc alone, and she asked us what we were doing here. I let Amanda explain. It took a good 40 minutes to get to Semuc. We were not in the middle of nowhere, but we were in the middle of somewhere that resembled nowhere. And I was fine with that. Flores was not remote at all, where we just came from, and I wanted the quintessential travel experience. No wifi.
Well, Amanda sent her mom an itinerary and knew that she would be checking it. But unfortunately, she gave her mom the name of an incorrect hostel (this will resurface).
The next two days Amanda and I enjoyed the water of Semuc Champey, the beautiful look-out from way above ‘las pozas’ (the pools) and got some great pictures. Our hostel was like an open-air cabin and that was pretty cool. Not only was there not wifi at the hostel itself, but there wasn’t even the potential of wifi because the cables didn’t extend into that region. It was sad to see young kids selling beers, but most sold chocolate in round foil the exact size of tortillas. That was pretty delicious.
On our second day, we met up with Kris from Spain on her last night, ate dinner, and went down to the river. We put our feet into the muddy, chilly water. It was pleasant, but my favorite part was sitting with the two young girls, cousins, one who was doing her laundry and the other who was coming down to bathe. I was fascinated by the girl doing her laundry in the river. I wonder what it means for the river water to be privy to all the laundry soap, as I watched it pass by my feet. Kris put her arm around one of the girls (whose name I forgot) while the spouse of the girl doing laundry sat on his phone. Kris, Amanda and I asked why he didn’t help but that’s a hilarious suggestion in that culture. I’m even surprised he was there accompanying her in the first place except maybe to make sure no one else saw his wife bathing. I don’t know. But we sat with them and I imagined their lives for years, being a tourist attraction but still so removed from modern life. Still bathing in rivers (maybe they don’t have running water in their houses). At night, one of the girls sits in the hostel to watch TV. We passed her many times, she acted like she didn’t know us until I waved at her unrelenting until she smiled.
They spoke Qeq’chi and we spoke K’iche’ and the languages were nothing alike. But it was still fun to speak a Mayan language even if it was only fun for me, and not for them, because we couldn’t really understand each other.
Some highlights:
-When Amanda and I jumped in, we had battlecries that related to our experience in Guatemala. Our first jump on day one was: “Whereabouts” and “Feminismo” and on day two it was: “Chocobananos” and “Ijole!” And ‘ijole’ means like ‘well gosh dang!” so when I yelled it and jumped in the water, everyone turned around and stared at us like something terrible had been done, so we were cracking up after that.
-My MOST FAVORITE feature of Semuc Champey, the fish nibble at your feet! Amazing! Just like those pedicures in Asia where you stick your feet in a tank but Asia’s a whole long ways away… but here they were, giving me a free pedicure! And nibbling at some of my flea bite scars which was a little weird.
-We met a British couple in Semuc Champey when we were both frustrated because at least half of the lockers were broken so that they weren’t lockers at all… At the end of the coyuntura, we left all of our stuff except the cell phone which a nice lady (who we met at the top of the Mirador) offered to hold onto our phone in her purse. She seemed nice, and she must have had money since she was de paseo, so we risked it and left our phone with her. The British couple eventually joined us in the water and illuminated us to more of their travel. They were surprised by China.. and also generally very unimpressed (the man) like a true Brit. You can’t be a Brit (according to my personal opinion) and complain about food anywhere. But surprisingly, he had hardly gotten sick anywhere, during any of his travels, which means he must have quite an iron tank for intestines (iron…. coil?) whereas dear Amanda (foreshadowing) doesn’t. But it was interesting to talk to them. When we ran into them again, we invited them to go caving with us, but of course he was like: “yo… We’ve seen caves in Vietnam. We get it, stalagtites and stalagmites!” and I thought… okay… maybe he’s been traveling too long.
-Amanda continued to run every morning, even if it meant running laps at the entrance of the park for fear of churches (understandable).
-A man on the hike up/down the mirador bought us fresh coco (I love fresh coco milk!) and, to my chuckle not because she asked but because it is a legitimate question, Amanda whispered to me (if we accept to we have to hang out with him the whole time?) It’s like buying alcohol in a bar but fresh coco on the side of a steep climb… YOU CAN’T BE TOO CAUTIOUS. Women ON THE MOVE.
-After the caving venture, we caught the attention of two cute guys. After which I said to Amanda: “No, both of those men have girlfriends at home.” And she said: “You’re right. They do.” But what made it super great was that the caving experience came complete with make-up, some weird grease that was produced inside the caves, so Amanda had black-marks on her face like a strange cat during the whole conversation but she hadn’t seem them yet. When we walked home, a man said: “Pareces bien bonita con su maquillaje” And I said: “Amanda, do not be deceived, you do not look beautiful.” When she saw her face later, she laughed.
-When we were walking out of Semuc, a young boy said to us: “You have face beautiful!” and we said: “No, you have a beautiful face.” And we cracked up. We didn’t say “thank you” or “leave us alone” we just corrected them and kept moving. Girl Power. And English.
And by the time we left Semuc, we had officially been ‘unplugged’ for a full two days. Except that, the night before we went, the worker at the front desk/restaurant went around table to table offering to share his hotspot for folk’s use. I encouraged Amanda to sign on, though I was enjoying the distance and happy to remain ‘unplugged’ for a few more hours. When she connected, it seemed that half of Guatemala thought we were missing (I exaggerate) but when you get Eunice Cho on the job, she reactivates her Facebook and finds my sister’s contact info through her Real Estate page and finds out when my DOS (Description of Service) was submitted. Eunice Cho for president, or CIA. BUT no one was harmed, or disappeared, or lost in rural Guatemala. We were not at El Retiro Lodge either, which was hilarious to me but probably scary to Amanda’s mom. Nevertheless, all was resolved.
Until we saw the bus to Livingston and that was not as funny. It was going to be a long, bumpy ride.