Biosphere of Montes Azules – Part Deux

Having eventually made it to Metzabok, we were dropped off at the ladies house who owned the Eco-Touristic Centre, the only accommodation available in the community we were told. She told us that, currently, the centre was not running so we asked if we could camp there. She let us know that there was no services (water, electricity etc) but she did have some rooms behind her house that we could stay in. She also told us a huge price too which we managed to get down a bit, but it was still expensive for what it was. Seeing as we were shattered from the day of walking, we accepted our fate and took the room.

We managed to get some food cooked for us which was pretty average and over-priced and had lots of things offered to us for this price and for that price. It was clear to see that this lady was interested in money and only money. The next morning we decided to look around the community for somewhere else to stay and it didn’t take too long. We went to a shop first to get water and asked the lady if there was anywhere else in the community to stay. She said she had 2 rooms we could choose from and at a sixth of the price of the other rooms, we took them straight away.

To go on the lake at Metzabok, you were required to get a guide due to the size of it and the similarities of the different coves. We had to speak with the guy at the community office (who happened to be the husband of the money grabbing lady we had the pleasure to meet before) and pay a fee for visiting the village first then wait for a guide to turn up. We were told the prices for different tours and were told to speak to the guide if we wanted to pay less. We waited for a bit then over the hill came a man, dressed in the traditional white mayan attire, with 2 wooden oars over his shoulder. Without a word or even a look, he just walked straight past us and continued towards the lake. We managed to catch up with him and tell him what we wanted to do and also managed to get him to drop the price a little.

Meet Juan, he didn’t say much and he didn’t seem to want to be there, but he willingly answered all our questions. Whether his answers were true or not, we don’t know. We asked him how old he was, he said 30. We asked him how long he had lived in Metzabok, he said 30. This didn’t add up considering the info we had found out from others and even  from Juan himself. We soon realised that Spanish was his second language and that he might not have had a full comprehension of the language. We also managed to find out that he had 2 wives back at home and maybe that was why he seemed like he didn’t want to be there and was in a hurry to leave.

Juan took us across the lake to some ancient paintings on a cliff wall that were next to a cave used by the locals for rituals for many a year. After that we paddled towards the mirador, the highest peak around the lake which gives you the best view of everything. We had to paddle the kayak through a small tree tunnel then walk through a little bit of jungle and up the mountain to the top. Once we arrived at the top, there was an old mayan house, semi-buried in the mountain, and a view across the whole of the lake. After chilling for a bit and taking in the scenery, we headed back home. Once we arrived back at the dock (river bank), Juan just upped and left. I think he was missing his wives or wanted to get back in time for the Eastenders omnibus or something.

Later that night, the family we were staying with showed us a documentary about the community from 1994. It was produced by an American who had visited the community many a time and was trying to help preserve the area and the local culture. Interestingly, Juan was in this documentary, and he still looked older than 30 years old in that.

Having seen most of the area we left Metzabok to walk to our next destination, the community of Naha, 25 plus kilometres down the road. The walk was very much uphill again, but we managed to complete it in one day. All the places we came across on route have completely slipped my mind, possibly due to my laziness and leaving it so long in updating the blog. I don’t really think there was that much on the route, just long rural roads and a couple of villages. Anyway, we made it to Naha, which turned out to be completely different to Metzabok and different to what we were expecting. It was more of a hotel with one place to eat in town that was hungry for dollars and not for sharing their customs and culture. We took a walk through the surrounding jungle to try and get lost and find some wildlife but didn’t really manage to achieve either of them.

Being not too impressed with Naha, we decided to leave fairly early and head on with our journey. Alex was fed up with all this walking malarkey, to which I had agreed with from the start, so we decided to get a bus. This involved walked along way up a huge hill to get to a cross roads where we might be able to catch a collectivo to get us further down the road. The road we were travelling on now had been said by some to be a bit more dangerous than the previous roads. There were more Zapatistas occupying the area and depending on who you believe, they are dangerous people or really friendly people. Either way, a ride was much better than walking another 55km over the next 2 days for sure. The first collectivo took us 18km through the mountains until we got to a place called El Sibal, where we had to change for another bus.

We found some cheap and delicious lunch in El Sibal, at what I think was just someone’s house with a plastic table outside. They were very nice people and let us know that there was a beautiful hidden lake here with ruins in the middle of it. After lunch, we found the man we had to speak to about getting to this lake and he started making up big numbers in his head. Yet again, we were put off by the sums they were asking and decided to give it a miss. Instead we decided to walk up another huge mountain, rather than wait in the village for the next bus. After walking for what seemed like hours, we decided that the bus probably wasn’t coming and we should probably try and hitch a ride. Just as we thought it, a car stopped ahead of us and asked us if we wanted a lift and even better was that the car was a sweet little classic VW Beetle. He drove us quite some way and then dropped us off at a junction in the middle of nowhere and told us to go that way. So we did, and we walked again for what seemed like eternity until eventually a collectivo came past and gave us a ride for the rest of the journey.

We had arrived in Neuva Palestina, a small town that was close to some pretty special waterfalls. The next day we got to these waterfalls fairly early and, other than a few Mexicans coming and going, we had the whole place for ourselves. Multiple waterfalls of varying shapes and sizes with pools of water where you could swim and splash around. Alex even managed to swim against the current to a cave under one of the big falls. I was too scared because I was sure there would be a giant octopus, crocodile or some cave dwelling monster inside, but apparently it was really nice.

Having spent the day lounging in the sun and enjoying the water, we walked to the ‘main’ road and managed to hitch a ride on the back of some dudes pickup truck. He took us to the junction at the main main road where we caught a collectivo back to see our friend, Pablo, at Tres Lagunas where we had left some of our stuff. The next morning, we got up later than planned, as per usual, and packed all our stuff to make our way to the Guatemalan border.

Not really knowing where we were going to go, we head towards the border focusing solely on not getting ripped off. We got a couple of rides and made it to immigration where they asked for an exit fee. We knew this was not necessary as you pay this fee when you book your flights into Cancun. After a little bit of faffing around and wasting time, the immigration guy gave us back our Passports and sent us on our way without paying any fee. We took a small boat from one side of the river to the other and we were know in Guatemala. After planning to spend 2 weeks in Mexico, 3 months later and we had actually managed to leave. There was a bus about to leave for a place called Flores in the north of Guatemala, so we jumped on board, making sure the driver knew we needed to stop at the Guatemalan immigration department about 20 minutes down the road. Once we got to the immigration department, they demanded an entrance fee in either Dollars or Quetzals. This was illegal and was solely for themselves to put in their pockets. After arguing (politely) for a bit and telling them we had no money, they returned our passports and let us go without having to pay.

We had a long and hot bus journey to get to Flores, but made it there and managed to find a cheap bed after walking round the whole island twice. I couldn’t believe how many westerners there were in Flores, but seeing as it was a starting point for trips to the Tikal ruins and national park, I could understand why. We spent a few days here, catching up on internet things and wasting a bit of time. We then took a bus to spend a night in Rio Dulce. It sounds quite exotic, I know, but trust me, the area we stayed was not. It was a main route for 18 wheel lorries to drive, it wasn’t the biggest of roads, the road was lined with shops and there was people everywhere. We had to go there to get to Livingston the next day, otherwise we wouldn’t have bothered. Livingston is a small Garifuna fishing town with a huge cultural diversity. We spent a few nights there but there wasn’t really much going on and it was an hour walk to the nearest decent beach. We then headed to Guatemala city to await the arrival of Flo and Owaine, two friends from London who were coming out for 2 weeks of holidaying. We were going to hire a car and do a 2 week tour of Guatemala with a few days at the beach in Belize added in too.

We can save that for the next one but on a more important note, I would like to send my love to all my family at this moment in time. It was very sad to hear about Uncle Jim and he will be truly missed, not just by myself, but by everyone who has had the pleasure to know him. My thoughts are with you all.