Jesus Antonio told me to look down and walk slowly right behind him. We were on Central Acropolis in Tikal and my guide was getting ready to show me his biggest surprise yet. Now, look up. I raised my head and was immediately in awe.
We’ve been walking through Tikal National Park and we’ve seen Complex Q and Group G. I was already impressed, but nothing prepared me to the sight of the Great Plaza from the top of Central Acropolis. Temple 1, also known as the Temple of Ah Cacao or Temple of the Great Jaguar, was on my right, Temple 2, or the Moon Temple, on my left. Right in front of me were structures I’ve only seen in books and magazines. Antonio showed us a dated postcard of Temple 1 to show how it looked before most of the excavations began–how amazing would it have been to follow the reports about a few protruding bricks, and then digging and discovering that they were at least 60 meters deep (that’s 200 feet up if you work from the bottom) and as old as the 4th century. And imagine that only a fraction have been excavated after decades of archaeological work!
Everything was covered by brush and trees then, except for the tops of the towers because vertical structures did not support the local plant growth. Tikal is so different from Mexico’s Teotihuacan, where there is no tree in sight to shade you from the sun. From Tikal’s Temple 4 and Temple 5, we sat on the platforms and saw the tops of the other buildings, as if floating among green clouds.
I climbed around Temple 1 and 2 to take photos of well-preserved stairs and view the excavated masks. The entire site had been estimated at 23 square miles. Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, this largest of the ancient ruined cities of the Mayan civilization protected 100,000 to 200,000 people. It gave me goose bumps when I was there, and it’s giving me goose bumps as I write this now.
The Lost World, Mundo Perdido, was equally stunning, with its three-stairway pyramid now off-limits to traffic.
We saw coatimundis roaming around digging for food as we walked through the causeway in the forest. Howler and spider monkeys played with each other on tops of tall trees. A couple of toucan birds sat above us as we ate a La Lancha-prepared lunch of chicken sandwich, fruits and chips and salsa outside the visitors’ center with a cold bottle of Gallo beer I requested before we left the hotel.
I remembered that it’s Thanksgiving Day back in New York City. I know I have so much to thank for–being at Tikal, being in Guatemala, being able to travel on my own.
The knock was soft, but it woke me up. I pulled the curtains away from the door and peeked my head out, Gracias por la llamada.Thanks for the wake-up call. I started to walk away but the guy started to talk in halting English, Es eight o’clock. I turned to him and ask for the time again just to make sure I heard correctly. Es eight o’clock. Ah, shit, fucking howler monkeys woke me up in the middle of the night; I guess I passed out after that. I am not quite sure of the time difference, but frankly, I haven’t cared much the last two days. All I know is that I missed the tour to Tikal, which left, well, at eight o’clock this morning.
I quickly got ready to talk to front desk and see how I missed the morning tour, but I slowed down when I realized I’ve had three glasses of wine on my porch while typing yesterday’s entry, and another one during dinner. Oh, okay.
I was still groggy from the wake-up call that I turned down breakfast and just chose to have a cup of coffee. Evelyn showed me the tour book to let me pick my activity for the day. I remembered that my stay included free use of their mountain bikes, so I opted for that and went for a ride to Cerro Cahui alone. A very long ride.
It wasn’t even 9am when I left, but I was already drenched in sweat after the second hill. Before I reached the closest village, the road was unpaved and I realized that a stone-covered road gets very taxing after, oh, 15 minutes. I said my holas to cars which didn’t slow down upon spotting me on my bike and to children walking with logs of trees on their shoulders. One of the kids I biked past did the construction-worker whistle. Nice, I thought, start them off early. I spotted an old man with almost no teeth on the side of the road with a machete, clearing the tall brush, and I stopped to ask where the hell Cerro Cahui was. Señor, donde esta entrar para Cerro Cahui? because I’ve seen the bienvenidos sign a few pedals back but not any gates. He rambled an answer in fast Spanish. I nodded as I tried to decipher what he said. All I understood was four kilometers and two doors. Fuck, isn’t four kilometers, like, three more miles? Whatever it was, I knew I had a long way to go. I pedaled on.
I finally arrived at the pearly gates–well, more like rusting metal–and was very thankful. The security guard helped me with my bike up the steps and I paid my 20 quetzales to enter. He showed me the snakes preserved in glass jars which made me look down at my pants and hike my socks up. Great, serpientos in the fucking trail. He showed me the map, explained that there are two trails: one will take an hour and a half, and the other, three hours round-trip, and asked me which one I would do. Yo no se, I said, because after that bike ride, I seriously was not in the mood to walk more than six miles to the lookout points.
So I walked. And I walked. The trail is clearly marked and surrounded by old tree roots. It rained yesterday, so the path was a little damp and slippery. After catching my breath, I felt very calm and relaxed. I had the forest all to myself except for the ubiquitous howler monkeys. Birds, squirrels and a possum-looking orange thing moved around me. I wasn’t alone, but felt like I could scream and no one would hear me. I was short of breath again after a few steep climbs and I stopped at some rock to sit and rest. I only brought a small bottle of water with me and have drank most of it during my bike ride. I realized I could pass out right there and no one would know! My knees were hurting but I kept on.
When I reached the end of the short hike, I debated with myself if I should keep hiking to reach the mirador because I was so tired. I did anyway, thinking in that Cia proud way, I’m here already, so why not? The view of the lake from the lookout was beautiful. The sky was open and I could see soft ripples on the lake from the light breeze. I continued on to the second lookout point, and after I reached that, I just felt there was no reason to stop hiking the long way. (Well, except not having a drop of water to drink but, you know.) I felt a little woozy and I stopped several times before I gathered enough energy to continue.
After what seemed like another hour, I was back where I started. The guard smiled at me and said, Dos horas y media. Muy bien. Two and a half hours, but where’s my reward? There was no drinking water. I spotted a faucet near the toilets, but I didn’t dare drink it without making sure it was purified. If there is one thing worse than being dehydrated, I think it would be sick to my stomach because of unsafe drinking water.
I rested on the steps and watched two guys pay the fee and enter the park. Boys, I hope you have drinking water, I thought, but I realized the car outside was theirs–at least they didn’t have to bike to get there. Their driver saw me looking, stepped out of the car and walked to sit next to me. He introduced himself as Alberto, made small talk and offered to drive me to the nearest restaurant after he heard my stomach growl. I politely told him, Necessito volver en La Lancha to say no, and I said what I needed was water. He motioned for me to come with him, took my empty bottle and filled it with his water from the trunk of his car. Drinking water! I thanked him, short of giving him a hug, and I picked up my bike to go.
What transpired next was a very difficult hour. When I left, the guard told me that it was 15 minutes to one. When I returned to La Lancha with jelly legs, it was two. I fell to a chair, unlaced my boots and steadied my hands. Carlos was serving a family that just arrived, so I had to wait before I got some ice water. He served me cold lime juice because he knew I was tired. Not only did I look it, he told me that he knew I left at 9am and I was out the entire time. I ate my lunch of chile rellenos, roasted peppers stuffed with ground meat, hungrily.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool reading. I took a break only to order coffee upstairs so that I don’t fall asleep. Dinner last night was a civilized salad of lettuce and cucumbers, with fish caught from the lake drizzled with coriander sauce. Tonight, I will order the steak. If I’m going to Tikal tomorrow, I will need all the protein I can get.
The sound started off as a deep howl. I knew it was coming from the howler monkeys because I’ve heard the same haunting sound before in other parts of Central America and in the jungles of Palawan in the Philippines. I’ve even had to dodge shit thrown by a family of them in Nicaragua! It was the Darth Vader-like hiss that made me go outside my room to get closer to the source. If you don’t know what it’s like, imagine standing next to a jumbo jet taking off without wearing any headphones. As far as I can tell, it was only early afternoon–I swore off checking the time the moment I checked-in–so I was mesmerized by how long the monkeys made their noise. I realized I’ve never heard them this loud and this close before.
I look around me and I see an inviting hammock. If I look past the trees, I can see a lake, the Lake Peten Itza of Guatemala. I’ve just checked in La Lancha, one of Francis Ford Coppola’s three resorts in Central America. Alone. I’ve planned four nights here, including Thanksgiving, to spend time by myself, collect my thoughts and just be at peace. I’ll try not to play too much Cat Power–there is an iPod speaker in my room; how brilliant!–and enjoy my time alone with the bottle of Crianza I brought with me.
My flight landed at 7:30am local time after a quick connection from Guatemala City to Flores. Funnily enough, I didn’t go through Customs before I made my connection. With this trip, I am completing Central America, but I won’t have that stamp on my passport. But I also swore off worrying about trivial things as soon as I got on a cab to the airport. I did get a little nervous when the security dogs were placed on the conveyor belt to sniff all the luggages that came through, but as soon as my backpack cleared, I waved at Henry, the La Lancha driver who was holding a piece of paper with my name on it. I was on my way to my small bit of paradise.
We drove the 45-minute journey to the resort. I was groggy from lack of comfortable sleep on the plane. Looking out the mini-van window, my first reaction was: how green! My surroundings was so lush. Past the tall trees, a thin sheet of fog covered the hills. When we finally reached the first town, I had my first glimpse of the lake. We continued to drive along its side, on rocky road, until we reached La Lancha.
The staff knew I was going to be alone and it showed. Ernesto welcomed me as “Miss Cia”–I got used to it easily–and showed me my room. You’ve come to the right place, Miss Cia, if you wanted to relax, reminding me of my first email request to book a cottage a couple of weeks ago. My room smells of fragrant soap, and the slow movement of the ceiling fan seems to dance with how I am feeling: it’s quiet, and inside, I feel completely relaxed, even subdued.
From outside my cottage, steep steps lead down to the lake. As soon as I changed to an outfit more appropriate for the 80-degree weather, I walked down until I reached the water. The lounge chairs were wet because it had been raining on and off for the past few days. There was a smaller chair that was dry, so I used that to drift in and out of sleep the rest of the afternoon. When I woke up and started to feel the pangs of hunger, I walked back up to my cottage and to the restaurant.
Carlos served me a bowl of hot carrot soup and homemade tortillas with spicy longaniza. Both filled me quickly, but I had watermelon juice with rum to push everything down. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading by the pool and then napping on the hammock. It’s raining now and it’s quite peaceful to hear water pelt on leaves; an occasional lizard tsk-tsks to remind me that I’m far away from any concrete at this moment.
I am that type of person who reads a travel-related article, looks it up online and bookmarks the results for just-in-cases. When I was planning my getaway, I looked through numerous Web sites I’ve saved to help me decide where to go. I was going alone, and I figured, I should at least check one thing off my list while I’m at it. With this trip, I consider Central America completely crossed off that list, and oh, “travel alone” accomplished, too.
