In Flores, we woke up at 4:15am for our 4:30 bus and, de hecho, we were outside at 4:33am in the dark. It’s hard with la hora chapina to know if 4:30 is 4:30 or something else entirely. But Amanda and I waited in quiet street in the dark and at 4:50 a motorcycle drove by and said: “la chica va a venir.” La…. chica? Do you mean the bus? Or is a girl going to transport us to Tikal piggyback? Another 20 minutes passed and the mystery man on reappeared to tell us that clearly the bus left. We asked him to call the agency but he told us he didn’t have minutes on his phone. So then someone called him (or did he have minutes and was lying?) and he said they would put us on the 8am bus. “Be outside the hostel at 8, Yenner will come get you.”
At 5:15am, we went back inside and talked with the mother and daughter who own the hostel. They told it was a reputable tour company but that they clearly forgot us because even if they had come before 4:33, they would have waited in the case they came between 4:30-4:33. I went back to bed and Amanda, you guessed it, went on a run. Sweet visit to Tikal, guys.
When Yenner picked us up 10 minutes before 8am, we told him we wanted a partial refund and that we speak to him once we got back. Refunds in Central America are like greeting cards, nobody gives ’em. He dropped us off and we climbed yet another bus where we were under the jurisdiction of a mustached man with a microphone. Caesar spoke in English and Spanish. His English sounded Texan, unnatural. Eventually he walked the aisle and paused where to look at me and Amanda. Without realizing it, I had been giving him resting bitch face. It occurred to me when he said: “Are you both sure you are on my tour?” in English and I snapped out of my RBF and said: “Sí pero la cosa es que esperabamos el bus desde las 4:30 y nunca llegó…” and he responded in English: “See I knew something was wrong…” And that is the tourism industry for you: he was catching shade from me for something that the did not do. Thus ensued the language battle as he was choosing to respond in English and I was choosing to respond in Spanish. He was sure his English was better than our Spanish and we were sure we could speak Spanish just the same. And what’s better: K’ICHE’ so how do you like them manzanas?
As we made our way he delivered his speech on Tikal. We stopped to look at a ruin and heard his schpiel about how history is not being preserved, and for this reason, what used to be a Mayan site is now a glorified hill. He spoke in both languages, English and Spanish, and he ended with: “Or what not. Dale.” And Amanda and I cracked up. “What not” is so formal in English and “dale” is like calle Spanish. We kept repeating it throughout our trip. “Or what not. Dale.”
The bus came to a stop when Caesar exclaimed “We got monkeys!” and we quickly bajared the bus to look up and around, but they had more or less scampered (swung?) away, and we walked back. I looked into the bus window where Caesar held dominion over his microphone and I said: “We didn’t see the monkeys.” Wamp wamp. He said: “We’ll see more!” and I got back on the bus. A few minutes later, Caesar: “We got tucans!” And we bajared otra vez, to barely spot some tucans. Beautiful, but far away. And a German girl behind me said: “Is this the tour of invisible animals?” and I thought I’d never heard anything so funny.
Caesar said into the microphone: “Hay alguien que pidió ver más micos (monkeys) entonces los vamos a encontrar.” He was making a jab at me. Maybe I deserved it. When we got to Tikal we got off the bus and Caesar walked and talked, taking us first to the famous La Ceiba tree. As we walked I asked: “Dónde aprendió ingles?” and he said: “In your backyard!” And I thought: “Oh?” And he said: “New York.” Hmmm… I’m from Florida/Georgia but okay. Amanda and I whispered about that.
As we entered the park, Caesar said to the other native Spanish-speakers on tour, “Sí hablan ellas Español pero quieren practicar su español.” Oh okay, shots fired. That hurt a little bit.
It really was a beautiful tree, La Ceiba. I mean I’m not a tree person but it was unique. But still, Caesar’s persona and quirks were particularly hilarious to me. I think it was just so unexpected to meet a man from Guatemala/New York like this. I just thought I was going to be walking around some ruins. During our next break me and Amanda told Caesar that we speak K’iche’, proud volunteers that we are, and we said: “Qué lastima que no hablas K’iche'” and I said: “What if indigenous people came here, you could speak to them!” And he was like: “They don’t come.. I’m telling you, they don’t come. You can’t come here and tell me after I’ve been doing this job for 26 years..” Uh oh, Caesar. Call me and Amanda Brutus and Cassius.
I wasn’t even going to get into how, perhaps more indigenous people would come if they hadn’t been discriminated against and marginalized since colonization but HEY this isn’t my country. Why would a Guatemalan want a WHITE US AMERICAN tourist preaching at them about something that isn’t mine? And it’s true, it’s not my country and it’s not my place. But still, the thoughts crossed my mind.. it might not be right but it seems natural after living with indigenous people for 2.5 years, even if it isn’t my country.
This is why I am a terrible tourist in Guatemala. Because I am not a tourist. I am a foreigner, and there is a difference. The tour hadn’t even started and this is where we were.
We got to a pyramid and it was pretty exciting! This is what we came for! Caesar explained things and we listened. We brushed away mosquitoes (though, thankfully, it wasn’t as hot as I had imagined). And as we went along, Caesar asked us for questions but A: I didn’t have any and B: I didn’t dare ask. When he gave us 40 minutes to run around, Amanda and I got our share of pictures in front of the different towers. I’m gonna be honest. I don’t understand what the ruins are for. Can you walk inside of them? No. They are towers. Were they castles? So I guess I did have questions but I din’t know until now. Because I am not a history person. I just thought it was cool to stand in front of these historic buildings.
I bought a soda after we hiked up The Lost World. The guide said it is likely that Japan will become a sponsor for Tikal someday, as they can invest the money to maintain the upkeep and continue to uncover the ruins (si no estoy mal..)
The rest of the tour was fairly uneventful, and I gave Caesar a Q20 because I felt bad (guilt tipping is definitely a thing). And we went to a restaurant for a smoothie, wifi and waited for our bus time to leave in the midst of the heat. We discussed our trip to Semuc the next day.
After our uneventful bus ride home (still with Caesar, but not on the microphone) our first priority was planning for Semuc: what did we need to buy? We had to think about breakfast and coffee for the next morning.
We appeared at Yenner’s office and explained our ride debacle. We explained our situation and when he suggested that we ask the hostel for their security camera footage, we did. But the hostel didn’t have cameras outside, only inside, so we couldn’t investigate whether or not the driver came by at 4:25 (though, he didn’t). He said the driver (whose fault it was) would be back in a few hours and we could discuss it with him (it wasn’t Yenner’s fault, you see).
We went to La Torre and rode a tuc-tuc. I was thrilled to be in a town near anything fancy as the brightly-lit grocery store called La Torre, with imported peanut butter (like JIF) and more consumerist fancies. En route we shot forward and smashed into another tuc-tuc. A car behind us had slammed into our little, red rickshaw. We waited for the driver to ask: “Are you okay?” or “I’m so sorry” but neither happened, rather he didn’t charge us and redirected us to a new tuc-tuc. We were laughing and in shock: “Did we just get in a tuc-tuc accident??” Tuc-tucs are designed to go to places without a lot of traffic, down country roads, etc, so it was so hilarious to both of us to have been sandwiched between a car and another tuc-tuc, for the first time ever in Guatemala.
We got what we needed at the Megapaca (shorts and a bag) and we went home! The zipper on my backpack broke and I resigned myself to using a laundry tote as my suitcase for the rest of the trip… It’s the end of service. It is what it is. We got more peanut butter, sunscreen, bug spray, and prepared ourselves for our departure the next day. This time we weren’t even going to chance it and would wait for our ride at the I <3 Petén sign.
When we got back, we battled it out with Yenner’s driver who lied through his teeth and said he did come to the hostel at 4:25am. We told them there were no outdoor cameras to check and no one knocked on the door because we were listening. Things were getting heated and this is already a hot island and I said, “Listen: the man on moto passed us twice. At 4:45 and 5:15. He told us a chica was coming until eventually he called one of you and put us on the 8 o’clock tour.” And that was when Yenner decided to give up the battle and offered us Q50 each. He said: “I’ll pay you tomorrow.” Why tomorrow? Why not settle this now? But the day’s activity accumulated and Caesar’s tour and invisible animals and humidity and the general desire to not fight any longer led me to simply say: “Gracias. Hasta mañana” and offer a weak-willed smile before we walked 20 feet to our hostel (across the street).
The next priority: dinner. We walked through the streets of Flores one last time before we settled on a place: a nice vegetarian/vegan restaurant (Amanda was happy) with an organic, seasonal salad. It was a very romantic spot. We each perched in papasan chairs and digested the contents of the day. My friend, Amanda. I am so happy I had a friend with me to see Guatemala with new eyes. Or see NEW Guatemala with the same ones.
Back at Casa Ula Hostel, Louisa (who always said: Mira) put the A/C on- thank goodness!- as we were the only two in the dorm room with 9 beds. I don’t remember much except tomorrow we would leave for Semuc which had me particularly excited. Ever since I learned I was going to serve in Guatemala (January 2016), I’ve wanted to see Semuc Champey. April 4, 2019, tomorrow, was the day. I read Caesar’s business card and his business was called Little Caesar’s Travel. I couldn’t handle it.
Or what not. Dale.