Semuc Champey

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Up in Flores I ran into a retired Canadian and some apenuts crazy Dutch artist spreading some business cards of a travel blog (here it is). I ended up chatting with this duo, Pete & Peter, as obviously we had something in common, and found out he travelled down from Canada to Panamá in a big luxurious campervan. I bluntly asked where they went to next and basically invited myself to join them. That's how you get to places on the cheap.

So the next day I found myself driving down to Río Dulce again, which is on the way to Semuc Champey. I asked a seemingly shy Dutch girl to come along as well, for karma-related reasons. She seemed to be astounded about everything I do or have done travelling, which made me feel kind of bad ass, I must admit. We were complete opposites and I'm not sure if we would get along or not (we would), but I guess I invited her because I enjoy dragging people out of their comfort zone so they can stretch it up a bit.

The ride turned out to be an interesting adventure and a whole lot of fun. We tried to arrange some car insurance which is apparently non-existent in Guatemala (if something happens you just race off and pretend nothing happened) and as the Spanish-speaking person of the car I had to go through the whole bureaucratic fuss of speaking to office clerks that had no idea what they were doing and just hang up the phone whenever to many questions came their way. Very entertaining and 100% without results.
Pete told me he blogs a lot but never writes anything negative, which is cool as I like positivism…

For me that’s when things get interesting, when things don't go how it's supposed to be, what is standard procedure in Latin America. The beautiful weirdo's and delirious nutcases make the best stories. They are the ones that make my life so different from the 9-to-5-office-jobs-crowd, they trigger my urge to write.

I for example love writing about my other temporary travel buddy Peter (ome Peet), who used to make a living by 'operating in the margins'. With his length, golden earrings, stained tanktop, unshaved chin and little rattail in his neck he might look a bit intimidating to some, but I never met a bigger sweetheart. This man started his working life by stealing tiny pieces of electronics and construction equipment, but soon enough he drove entire excavators out of the country to sell them on the black market in Poland. After that he made a career switch into soft narcotrafficking, operating a weed plantation for the duration of twelve years. Although he never went into too many details, the bullet marks on his body told the story of those years. When it was time to stop he flew down to Guyana to build a hut in the jungle, surviving by shooting snakes and monkeys for dinner. That calmed him down somewhat, and he continued his life as an artist crafting metal, living on a boat (so he can always feel people entering his property, just in case). To say he lost his rough edges would be exaggerating, as he still has his underworld contacts and recently chased someone through the streets naked with a weapon, after throwing in the windows of his house and car... But as this specific someone just raped the daughter of his friend you could say he just plays the hand of justice. He operated as a protective uncle always putting the needs of Cyriara (Chiara, Kyra, Syria, god knows how to write her name: Nice Dutch Girl) and me first, even buying a machete just in case.

Instead of being scared of this guy, he made me feel safer than ever before.

Once we arrived in Río Dulce we went around looking for a campground. We succeeded in that quite successfully I must say: a meadow in a luxurious resort with a giant swimming pool, where we could make use of all the facilities. It's the fanciest place in Río Dulce and the place where the president stays when he's on vacation, so we do too… of course. Paying 6 bucks per person. It was almost too good to be true, but these are our awesome lives so it was true.

After chilling in the swimming pool and enjoying an amazing shower (at last), a fellow Dutch boat-owner drove us down to the Sundog Cafe to enjoy some fresh food and live music. There I met up with the guy on whose boat I Couchsurfed a few weeks before. He was easily adopted in the group and from that moment on I was travelling with 3 of 'em: Pete, Peter and Peter. That night I found out there is a limit on how many Peter-jokes a human can endure. Especially when we were served by bartender Pedro it got a bit out of hand. The boat-Peter invited us over for a sail trip the day later, an invitation that obviously is hard to refuse.

After a local breakfast of eggs, beans and plantains I ran into a Lebanese girl again who I met before in Belmopan when we were surfing the same couch. That wasn't the only warm reunion of that day: Boat-Pete had two new Couchsurfers coming over, who appeared to be the friendly German couple I Couchsurfed with before in Belize City. Yes, travelling makes the world that small. To celebrate we were off on the sweet river, el Río Dulce. With more people than actually fitted on the tiny boat we mounted the masts for a thrilling voyage on the tranquil waters. It was nice to be back here unexpectedly. A re-Pete (sorry that one had to be made).

Early the next morning we took off for the next adventure: Semuc Champey.

But first we had to conquer the dirt road taking us there. Let go if any notion you might have of a highway... Think of that little sand path in the backyard of your grandparents’ house you used to run up as a kid playing pirate, climbing trees and hiding in the grass. That little path resembles the interconnecting highway of Guatemala: One long dirt road full of potholes. If traffic comes along you have to wait in the gutter until they passed, allowing you to take in the magnificent view over the endless mountains and abundant greenery swallowing up the Earth. This road cuts its way through the pure core of Guatemala. Mayas in traditional clothing carrying branches and babies stumble by. Naked children ran out of their houses to wave at the passing vehicle. Coconuts and oranges were sold from the little mountain villages where crossing chickens make up the main traffic inconvenience.

At some point the road split up. Google maps said we should keep on going straight and make a loop via Coban to Lanquin. However, we took a right, as that road seemed to go straight to Lanquin. We thought we were so clever. We were not. This 'road' (although it's too much honour to give it that name) swayed straight through a never-ending mountain pass. After 1,5 hours we checked how much time was left to Lanquin... 3... Right. The entire Google Maps itinerary from Rio Dulce to Lanquin should have taken us 4 hours. To make it more interesting the brakes overheated and started smoking, so we couldn't continue the journey.

We had no choice but to settle down in the village of Chabon, where we appeared to be the first intruders since the Spanish.

Here parents don't teach their children that it's impolite to stare... the adults stare even more than the kids, including open mouths and uncontrolled giggling. For some reason that didn't improve my mood while roaming the streets for food while being starved and overly tired. Also, the rip-off at the non-campground where the unfriendly owners shamelessly overcharged us didn't do me any good. And after trying to sleep on a ground full of rocks in a tent while continuously sliding downhill on the uneven ground, I just wanted to vanish in the air and disappear forever.

Glad I didn’t. We drove the extra two hours on the same terrible road to Lanquin, the village closest to Semuc Champey. On our quest for coffee and accommodation we stumbled upon Bruce, an American expat (or fugitive) who offered us a cheap deal to stay in the house of a family he supported, or something. Once there he suddenly didn't have the key of their house, but hey what a coincidence: He rented his house too. I immediately had a sketchy feeling about this guy, but we had bodyguard Peter with us now and the place, although basic, was awesome.

It had no electricity, no warm water and the room just had a cement floor and five beds, but it was quiet and right next to a waterfall, so everything we needed.

In my current state of zombie I plunged into the bed and passed out, as I couldn't enjoy the splendour of Semuc Champey like that anyway. I handwashed my clothes on a washboard, following the footsteps of my ancestors, and enjoyed the meal my travel buddy prepared on his self-initiated fire by candle light.

Bruce offered us a cheap tour attending the process of making chocolate and chilli in a local family's house. I'm not as obsessed with chocolate as most of my female counterparts, but during my time in Central America I developed an intense addiction to hotter than hell chili sauce. You kind of have to, as the food in this continent is legendary tasteless (Belize being the pleasant exception).

Once there the family immediately asked for more money, almost four times as much as we already paid. I explained we already paid Bruce and they should figure it out with him, but they answered they never saw any money (so the story about him going out to pay the family is completely pulled out of his ass). Uncomfortable we continued the tour, that appeared to be quite interesting actually. We assisted grandma, who only spoke Q’eqchi, in roasting the beans and chilli peppers. Then we grinded it to mash and added an impressive amount of sugar to the chocolate. The mother Candelaria made three different dough balls and added mint, cinnamon and chilli to have different tastes and then added water to form patties. Done. We tasted everything, including a cup of self-made cacao water, which convinced me to buy two little chocolate bars to share and a big bag of a-whole-new-level-of-hot chilli (seriously, even I was struggling, my favourite variation of sadomasochism).

When I mentioned the awkward discussion to Bruce he said we should wait for him outside so he would set things straight. Instead, I remained inside and listened to what he said to the family and learned a lot. This guy is broke and exploits people in need in a slick manipulative way to serve his own needs, which can be summarized as drugs and sex with young women. Like many white Americans he's a big story teller over-sensitive for sensation, this one being kind of trapped in his own web of lies. Unfortunate. But always good to know these things and adjust your alertness accordingly. We felt this guy was more pathetic than dangerous, so decided to stay another night.

Ridiculously early we woke up to finally cash the price of our adventure: the natural monument of Semuc Champey. To get there you have to play cow for a moment (sad reality) and cram yourself into an overcrowded pick-up truck for 45 minutes to drive down the dirt road, but the view is truly fantastic. And from there, it only gets better.

It's hard to describe the true beauty of these natural springs in the middle of the jungle without getting cheesy, but there's a reason people suffer that agonizing, hardly accessible road just to see this fixed spot on the beaten backpackers trails.

One of the highlights of Guatemala!

We stayed from the early morning until the park closed and we still didn’t have enough. I would have camped here if I knew I could (or had a tent, might be convenient).

Let’s shut up and let the photos speak:

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