I promise there will be less moaning and groaning in this installment. Since last, I've found more joy in a mix of ways. 

 

Casa Elena in Antigua had been recommended. It's run by USA expats Harvey and Diane (caretaker Kirk on left holding pooch Chichi).

Harvey was generous with his time giving direct advice that I appreciated. Diane and Harvey have lived and worked all over: Jordan, South Africa, Mongolia ... They still ride their BMW and enjoy overseas trips. 

eg. That Sunday they were leaving for east coast USA to see their son, then west coast for a cousin, then Thailand, Nepal, Mayanmur and Tokyo. All in the one trip.

 

The Big Three attractions in Guatemala are Lake Atitlán, Antigua/Acatenago and Tikal. Having ticked off the first two, it was time to turn the handlebars north for Tikal, a major Mayan archeological site.

 

The first day out was particularly fun, putting along gravel roads cut into lush jungle. It suddenly hit me that *this* was what I'd come away for. This trip isn't some big personal growth exercise or cultural exchange or likely to enhance international relations. It's just a selfish bloke finding some freedom with the wheels going around a few times.

 

Why do folk bag Los Angeles so much?

It seemed calm when I lunched there. The meal was a bit "lunch surprise" when out came a rib dish, after I'm sure I'd ordered chicken. As the sign says it sure was "Economico".

 

As a bonus, National Route #5 turned out to be a little used gravel road in the hills.

So little used that I chanced a small almost-hidden-from-the-road, surely-no-one-will-spot-me-here campspot. How delightful to have complete peace, no music, no traffic.

 

Francisco served me breakfast the next day and established that he was also a rider. He'd toured Mexico, El Salvador and his own country on the machine that he proudly showed me. I can't forget him - he put a sticker of his bike club on the Suzuki.

 

 

Semuc Champey is a curious natural feature. 

 

A limestone layer sits *above* the river, catching fresh mountainside run off. Without the silt of the river, this water is a beautiful turquoise in the still pools. Perfect to bathe in.  

 

The waters finally merge after the pools following some pretty cascades. 

 

Today the Semuc area is somewhat ramshackle; the main road is a clunky, muddy and rocky path while parts of the park itself need could do with some repair. The ducks loved this puddley road  section though.

 

However this looks set to change. A huge highway is almost complete from Coban, sporting the best surface + drainage + guard rails yet encountered in the country.

I wonder about Semuc's character in future. It's of only modest size and it might lose its charm with squillions of visitors.

 

I enjoyed staying at B'antix Guesthouse in Semuc, owned by Guatemala City native Silvia and husband ex USA teacher Brian. Paulina from Poland (not in this photo), their manager/cook/caretaker is both hugely competent and hilarous.  

Silvia and Brian with two Q'eqchi neighbours.

 

 

Riding further north brought progressively straighter roads, as the taller volcanic peaks were replaced by smaller hills. Farming changed from bananas and corn to big coconut plantations. This was also definitely ranch country, not only with moo moos in the field, but also a variety of animals in trucks and even the occasional cowboys on horseback. 

 

The ferry ride at Sayaxche was a pleasant break.

 

A KLR650 parked in El Remate had a rego plate marked "Chile". Oooh. Let's find the owner. The only bloke in riding gear in the shop was buying beer. He halted my retarded Spanglish intro with "you an Aussie?". 

Rangi is from NZ. He bought the Kawasaki in Chile and was heading north. Did I want a beer as well?

 

We shared some tacos and since it was a warm evening, a few more thirst quenchers. I voiced some of my recent doubts about this whole long term travel nonsense. Rangi is an old hand at this, having motorcycled in Africa and Europe. The advice was to hang in there, enjoy local food and company and that South America has the open spaces I seek. Good timing!

 

Geez I liked Tikal. 

 

It's spread out over a huge area. Unlike say Teotihuacán in Mexico, it is only partly cleared. A big part of its character is the jungle, still growing incessantly over the ancient structures.

 

These people had built these grand, precise buildings over many generations. How did they project manage it beyond a single lifetime?

 

Check out the pyramids poking out if the jungle from atop the western most temple. I was impressed. So was George Lucas. 

 

Amongst the Mesoamerican civilisations, the Mayans held out the longest against the Spanish conquerors. They were smart cookies too, having a symbol for zero before the (Asian) Indians, having several calendar systems that aligned accurately with heavenly bodies and being the only Mesoamericans with writing.

 

Up the road, Yaxjá was even better.

I enjoyed it even more because of how deserted it was. Every man and his uncle knows about Tikal and even though it's way to the north, is easily accessible. Yaxjá is down a bumpy dirt road, so gets fewer admirers.

 

Yaxjá is perhaps a touch less cleared than its better known cousin, but overall is similar - massive stone structures built over centuries that have only been partly cleared in relatively recent times. 

 

The best moment was sitting on top of a high temple, watching monkeys in the tree canopy at eye level across a cleared plaza. In the jungle on all sides howler monkeys were making their unbelievably raucous calls. As the sun set, I couldn't see another soul. Making it all the more surreal were phone calls to wife Kirsten (for a vital puppy progress report) and sister Michelle (to yarn about family matters and her own little black dog Spud).

 

The Yaxjá campsite was a bonus. It had everything needed in a rustic setting, next to a lake and I was the only one there to enjoy it. First a sumptuous vege stir fry, then refreshing shower and finally a naked dash for bed before the mossies found juicy flesh now devoid of DEET. Luminescent insects threw out blips of white light all around.

 

Earlier I'd mentioned pitching the tent to my helpful park bloke. "No, mi amigo. Crocodilos".

 

Instead there were raised timber platforms. Pretty hard to get tent pegs through, hmmm ... what else? ... Aha! luggage straps.

 

The bities are a tad wearing. Mossies, colourful big things that chomp like march flies, ants, tiny insects almost too small to see but make nice big red marks. So itchy !

 

 

Rio Dulce ("sweet river") is both a town and a river close by the Caribbean coast. The town itself doesn't exactly please the eye, with all the usual Latin American racket.

 

The river is the main attraction. It's known as a refuge for sailors, particularly from hurricanes. Resorts, marinas and private abodes are dotted along the banks, most accessible only by boat. It's easy to understand the attraction to sailors of the pretty waterways.

 

Our old mates the Spanish constructed an armed fort at a neck in the river, so they could control access into adjoining Lake Izabel. Maybe they're better conquistadors than fort builders, as it was repeatedly destroyed by a succession of pirates.

 

I took a trip down the river to coastal town Livingston. The journey itself was a relaxing pleasure, a series of attractive sights: birds, other craft, limestone cliffs, jungle, riverside buildings. Nice.

 

The vistas didn't grab the locals as much. Teenager on the right spent most of the journey absorbing stuff on his phone. Lady in front of him was impressive - she talked for the entire 1.5 hour trip - but her companion just out of shot was even more so. He showed interest the whole way. Mind you, I spotted her sipping water, so he had some breaks.

 

 

Livingston came across as a dump. The main seaside stretch was promising, but turned out to be just a series of run down bars, broken concrete and jetsam.

The temperature didn't help much. It reaches 32 - 36 C every day. Now Kirsten and I have lived in Darwin where dry season peaks daily at around 32 C. This was worse though, the town having the usual 100% concrete of these parts - road, pavement, buildings, sinks ... even graves.

 

About the only slightly interesting feature is Livingston's ethnic mix. It includes a Garífuna population, a merging of African and American Indian bloodlines that originated from the Caribbean. So there was a fascinating array of folk with different body sizes, shapes, skin colours and dress.

 

Stamp collecting: at least I've now stood in the Caribbean.

 

Today's ride was good fun. 

It started with a mundane cruise along mostly straight highway roads in valleys between surrounding hills. While there were the usual polluting diesels and smoky worn out cars/bikes/buses, one could breath since the open roads didn't encourage squashed together convoys as the twisty mountain highways had done.

The first improvement was turning off CA9 (to Guatemala City), on to a minor path leading south. It wound up and over a modest range, offering smile inducing views.

 

The second improvement was when ZAC-05 became dirt after the town La Union. It was steep up and down, had some tiny water crossings and wheel track/rain erosion ruts, yet was straightforward to ride, almost like gentle trail riding.

 

 

I'm tapping from a hot springs complex in Aldea El Brasilar.

Now almost 11pm, guests have gone and staff are scrubbing the pools and paths. Kinda bizarre, knowing that I'll be in a tent once they're done. A change from a sterile hotel room though.

All going well, it won't rain again as hard as it did late afternoon. 

 

 

The Honduras border is only fifteen minutes away. 

Could be an interesting morning.