South America on a Shoestring

After a few quiet days looking round towns and their markets, we opted on a walk to the next village outside Sololá. The walk was beautiful, with scenery of rolling hills and farms with terraces. We passed some women occasionally who seemed slightly puzzled as to why we were there, but were friendly never-the-less. We saw one family of what looked like four generations out for a walk. The old woman had no teeth and walked on a dirt and stony road with no shoes on. There aren´t many “home comforts” out here.

After a few hours we caught a taxi (actually a ute) packed with women and kids on their way into Solola. One baby was very sick and it made me think how much more difficult life is here for the women with so many children, very little access to what we would call good healthcare, and a need to get on with earning money with a sick child in tow wrapped up on her back.

We helped a woman and her son get their produce off the ute. The boy, of about 10, attached a strap to a heavy basket to hoist it on his back and balanced it using a leather strap across his forehead. He hobbled done the road with the basket that easily weighed 25-30kgs. The children work so hard here, but it is so amazing that they are cheerful.

Arriving to Antigua was a sharp contract from Solola given its obvious affluence, beautiful colonial buildings, and multitudes of tourists. It is no surprise that theft is so bad here. We unfortunately witnessed it first hand when a German girl on the bus had her moneybelt with passport stolen from her bag underneath her feet. The poor girl was close to hysteria, so we calmed her down, walked her to an internet café so she could cancel her cards and sorted out some money for her for accommodation and food. The next day Keith went to a camera shop to burn some photos to disc and the guy working there said that a local woman had come in the day before trying to sell a professional camera for a tenth of its price. It was obviously stolen. We have met so many people now that have had stuffed nicked, that we have upped our vigilance and are hopeful that the next few days in Guatemala pass without incident.

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around Antigua, admiring the buildings and the beautiful plaza. That night we went to an Italian restaurant for our first pasta in 6 months. The service was unbearably slow, and the food passable, but after chicken, rice and tortillas day after day, it tasted like a delicacy.

We woke up early the next day and hit the town before the tourists. The plaza was warm and quiet and we got a few snaps of some of the buildings in atmospheric light. There are many ruins dotted around the town from various earthquakes, which add to the romance of this beautiful city.

We chatted to a cab driver who offered us a “tour” for $35USD to some local villages and told us where we could buy jade for of a half of the “tourist” price in Antigua. The jade here is beautiful, so we caught a local bus instead for about 25 cents each to San Pedro to check it out. The only catch was that we would have to approach people in their homes and it was a sleepy Sunday. After lots of questions around town, we were directed to the home where Juan makes his own jewellery. Most of it was clunky and ugly, but he was happy to make some changes for us and sell it on for a good price.

Tomorrow we are going to visit a strange Saint, San Simon or Maximon, who is a bit like the devil. You have to take him alcohol and cigars if you want to be cleansed. Apparently, he is popular with prostitutes. We might not get a chance to blog it though. How sinful.

Next stop New Zealand. Goodbye South and Central America....

Its great to be "traveling" again... Today consisted mainly of uncomfortable local buses drving dangerously fast over unmade mountain roads. On one of the our buses we counted 30 people - 27 inside and 3 on the roof. And this was technically a 12-seater minibus.

Coban, on the way to Uspantan from Flores was a busting town where we had to stop for lunch (local comedor, but great sauce with some kind of meat). We finally got to Uspantan around 6pm, to late to make a connecting bus up to Nebaj (buses are limited around here, though we were reliably informed that there were buses at 4, 5 and 6am in the morning).

Slightly more unsettling was the rough looking local that warned us not to be out in the main plaza after 10pm... Like we have ever really made it out past 8pm... In any event it took us two hours to cook up our veggie soup over the meths candle we bought in Belize having failed to find the right shape gas for our stove.

The next morning we took a bus towards Nebaj, one of three towns in the Ixil (pron. Ishil) triangle, where few tourists venture, and the locals are still visibly traditional. Unfortunately the bus couldnt get us all the way there and we had to change halfway. While we were waiting by the side of the road, not knowing when or if another bus would show up, a truck full of stones and rocks stopped to offer us a lift. Up on the back amongst the dust we could see the countryside for miles around without having an armpit in your face or round your shoulder. We watched farmers working their terraces, and even had some banter with the locals and men working on upgrading the road! The truck was very slow and it took ages to get there, but well worth it for the view and experience.

Nebaj is a relaxed place with a dry and dusty main plaza and low level building fronting cobbled and battered looking streets. The women dress in outstanding hand woven clothes, the tops of which are very intricate, and are called huipiles. They are mostly green, white, purple and black with animal designs. The skirts are colouful too, with a band of velvety cloth holding it all together. On their heads are folded cloth, with several balls of wool hanging down, like pompoms. The men are in jeans and t-shirt - the mens kit is a bit more expensive, apparently, so very few still wear it. The isolation of these three towns has meant that the language of the region is still spoken more than Spanish, though most schools are now billingual.

Further into the mountains, Cotzal is even less touristed, and we were warned to expect to be seen as missionaries, rather than tourists! On the surface, the town is scruffy, with mostly concrete houses along a pretty dirty valley clogged with litter. But underneath its an interesting place, with really friendly people, who laugh good naturedly when you try to say "chaclush" - hello in Ixil.

As we were there so early, we decided to get across to the third twon Chajul, which was a 2 hour walk away. Its a much prettier town with adobe houses topped by blackened tiled roofs. We spent ages walking around, and ended up in a local´s house talking about buying one of the huipiles. And so starts the protracted story of trying to buy a handwoven huipile that wasnt sixth hand (and falling apart), wet, or taken straight of the back of one of the kids! We ended up creating quite a stir in the village, and soon there were 30 women and children surrounding us with their offerings. We ended up with a kids one, which may or may not get used in the future...

Cotzal market day was an intersting time to be in town. We wandered up and down the one street with fruit and veg piled on blankets either side of the path, and managed to spend $1.50 on carrots, onions, some fresh coriander, a broccoli, and 6 tomatoes. Half a pinapple was $0.50 compared to $3.00 on Easter Island.

Finally we gave up and travelled back to Nebaj. Having missed the only bus down toards Chichicastenango, we had to hang around hoping for a lift, and eventually got one in an airconditioned 4WD with Chelsea v Barca on the radio.

Our hotel in Chichicastenango is owned by a really funny bloke. Friendly, but decidedly short when he gets bored with the conversation, we found out that he worked in New York for 17 years where he had saved enought money to get back to Chichi and open a hotel. Good on him.

We were awake early again, and in the famous Chichicastenango market before the tourists. And most of the vendors. The array of crafts on offer is remarkable, and though many are now geared towards tourists, many hundreds are still locals making a turn on their home grown or produced goods. Overall, the market maybe covers 10 by 10 blocks, maybe more, as we didnt ever see two sides of it!

As we wandered around, there were a few people offering us "primera venda" - first sale of the day bargains - a superstition where one early sale will bring you good luck throughout the rest of the day. At first we were sure this was just a sales pitch. An hour later, and with an intricate, ceremonial huipile in hand at 1/3 of the asking price and 1/5 of the 800 we were going to pay in Cotzal, we were a little less suspicious. That and the fact that the seller looked really p1ssed at the price she had agreed to as we walked off. We even considered going back to give her a bit more! We had employed the old "we have only this to spend" technique and it worked.

Soon after that, we realised the market was too touristed for us to pick up any more bargains, and we decided to move on to Solola, near Lago Atitlan. The buses and the death defying experience have to be seen to be believed, but Bel has the bruises to prove they dont even let you get in the door before accelerating away. I was half hanging out the back at the time, so she was eventually helped (hobbling) into a seat by a local.

In Solola, Bel was happy to nurse her neck and people watch. She noted that the women and men wore traditional woven clothes, in red black and purple, although not as intricate as the women in Chajul or Cotzal. The men were better though, with colourful trousers and matching zipped jackets with outlandish eagle shape stitching and sequins, with white cowboy hats. Maintaining their traditional dress is obviously important to them, despite the expense. Over coffee in a comedor, we discovered a new jacket costs $35-$40, about a weeks´ wages.

That they can retain a strong cultural tradition in such a changing world is remarkable. Some is due to a staunch pride in their heritage, while the remainder is in their ability to integrate coke, DVDs and western music into their lives without difficulty. The indigenous people apparently did this when the Spanish arrived (integrated Catholicism without really giving up their "pagan" beliefs too), and this is one of the features of Guatemala. The people are accepting of just about everything and anything, which is why a dying horse came to be worshipped in Flores - an early Spanish expedition left a diseased horse in the town and came back several years later to find it had been upgraded to deity. It makes for a uniquely friendly and interesting experience. Later, we would see an ornate church where the workers had integrated a couple of cobs of corn into an otherwise swirly geometric architectural fascade... Brilliant.

Back in Solola´s Friday market, we found a textile section once we had finally managed to extract ourselves from the scram of the locals going about their weekly shopping. I bought a jacket, though whether i´ll be allowed to wear it ever is a moot point. This time the walk away trick worked!

In sharp contrast, we spent an hour in Panajachel, where the main street is lined with pizza places and coffee shops. It felt like we´d made the right choice staying up the hill in Solola, even if we didnt have lake views.

I felt a bit depressed that our travelling was coming to an end, but after talking with Bel for a while about the trip and where me might be able to go next I felt a bit better.Although we have still a month in New Zealand and Australia, this is almost the end of an adventure for us that was a year in the making and 5.5 months in the doing. You cant help but feel a bit sad that its coming to an end.

We managed to stop off at Belize Zoo ("the best Zoo in the Americas south of the USA" - but think about the competition) to have a look at the Jaguars, Pumas and a special Black Jaguar (Black Panther?) that you would pretty much never be able to see in the wild. The zoo was founded when some semi-tame animals left over from a film about wildlife and the environment could no longer fend for themselves in the wild. It doesnt get government funding so we didnt mind paying the pretty steep entry fee ($8US).

Since it was founded, it has taken in rescue animlas ranging from other cats to pigs and lots of birds. It also has specimens whose habitat is threatened (origin not always clear, but probably from private or illegal collections), and so are there as "ambassadors" for their wild counterparts. On the whole the enclosures were good, with lots of natural flora and fauna, feeders near the cage edges set up to maximise viewing potential. But as with most zoos, some of the animals didnt seem to have enough room, and there was a fair bit of pacing going on, especially with the bigger cats. But the otters that looked pretty happy playing around in their pool, which reminded me to revisit the Otter Trust in the UK.

Belinda´s highlight was undoubtedly the keel-billed toucans. The back, sides and tail is silky black , but is has a flourescent yellow front and a multi couloured beak made up mostly of yellow, but with patches of bright green, red and some blue. We were so close, you could see its tongue, which actually looked like a long thin feather. Its not a suprise that Belize is a popular destination for birders. I think Bel and I might be able to join the "100 club" (birders who havbe seen over 100 different birds). Nothing to do with drinking 100 plastic camera film cases of beer.

As we were watching the Jaguar enclosure the Black one came right up to the fence in front of us and started chewing something in the grass. From that close you could see that its coat, sheer black from a distance, actually had the same spotted or mottled appearance that the normal yellow/orange and black jaguars have. The sheer black was broken up by a slightly more slivery deep black interlocked rings.

Although the enclosures for the cats were small (penalty box size) the valuabe role the zoo plays as an educational establishment for Belize is clear. That we didnt see many locals there was unfortunate, but it at least educates the tourists. It reminds me of guy we saw in Mexico while watching the butterflies. He was probably 50, English (northern, poss Manchester) who actually tried to shout to make the butterflies start flying around more (it was cold so they were in semi-hybernation, conserving limited energy for their migration). He was completely unaware that his actions could endanger the butterflies, or worse affect their migratory pattern (noise or agitation, day after day year after year might eventually influece them to move elsewhere, possibly were food is less plentiful, or where there are other unforeseen problems). Hopefully in years to come, the educated younger generations of tourists will know how important it is that their presence is zero impact.

The morning after the zoo, we walked down the river at the bottom of the reserve we were staying in. It was hot, and the river clear and inviting, even if it flowing a bit fast! The birders that were there when we arrived had walked off, so we took advantage of the seclusion to skinny dip. Bel was only half in when the beardy 70 year old american birder (think ZZ top in khaki) wandered back with his foldaway seat and binoculars. This finally convinced Bel to get her self fully under the water. I was in stitches. He said "Mind if I join you", and Bel thought he was just going to sit there, binoculars in hand, leaving her stranded in the cold (ish) water! Instead he stripped off, right in front of us, and got in a bit further downstream. Then his equally aged wife appeared and did the same. Good on them.

The next morning we woke in San Ignacio, a small town in the rolling hills of the Belizean countryside, giving access to a few local Mayan ruins and good hiking, swimming etc in the local mountain reserves. We caught a bus to Xuanatunich a ruin so large it can be seen from several miles away perched on top of a hill over looking the River Mopan. The main pyramid is 43m high and "the tallest building in Belize" at the time the guide book was written. It might still be, as we cant think of much in the capital that was over a few stories. Impressive for something 1000+ years old. On two sides of the pyramid were freises, superbly detailed with images of jaguars and mayan gods. One was fibreglass (original reburied to protect it) and one restored with plaster - it was hard to tell which was which.

In the afternoon we arranged a hire car for the next day. It works out a bit more than two tours to Caracol (another mayan ruin deep in the rainforrest), and gives us a bit of flexibility to get to a big cave, bathing pools and waterfalls that the tour misses.

The catch is that I thought it would need a 5am start to get it all done, and to see the early morning wildlife at Caracol. This delighted the two other travelers I mentioned our plans to. Chris ("precise" middle aged aussie) and Camilla (relaxed English girl, early 20s) were keen to join us but not so keen on the early start. Chris did his best to retain a lay-in (it will be dark / foggy / too early to get into Caracol) but Camilla was up for it. Bel is used to my hair-brained schemes, so gave up arguing for the lay-in option a while ago.

After a bumpy ride in which I managed to find every pothole on the road, we made Caracal an hour after sunrise, with the howler monkeys still in full swing, and with plenty of birds flying around the completely empty site. We climbed pyramid of Caana, sat in silence and generally had a wonderful time among the ruins and rainforest before even the guards had arrived. Caana has 3 levels (symbolising underworld, land and (mayan) heaven, with 13 rooms (levels of the heavans) reached by 9 doors (3x3). All significant numbers, though I´m not sure how they know all this.

On a reconstructed group B pyramid / temple, there are two large carvings of a mayan god, dissappearing into the underworld where he fights with the jaguar god of the night and dark, before being reborn as the sun god surrounded by fish nibbling at water lillies... Or something like that. Its hard to see it from the carving itself, and even as the guide we were snooping explained it we were concentrating more on trying to see what he was talking about than the story itself.

On the way out we chatted to two archaeologists who had been sifting through dirt for shards of pottery since we arrived, four hours earlier. They were clearly at the bottom of the ladder. It reminded me of starting work, and made us both realise that the archaeologist´s Indiana Jones image isnt quite accurate...

Next stop was the rio Frio cave, where you can walk under a huge hill throuhg the cave which is probably 200m long and up to 50m high in places. You need to cross the river a couple of times, and climb down a pretty severe cliff / hole in the floor full of cockroach like animals (Bel didnt see them because I had the torch!). By climbing all the way through the cave you get to see the limestone pools and stalagmites close up. It also turns out that Chris was a Geologist before retiring, so we had some good how-the-rock-is-deposited type descriptions.

After crawling out of the cave, we were hot and sweaty and ready for a swim at the Rio On pools. The naturally formed pools are on a ledge at the bottom of a small, but very powerful waterfall. The waterflow was so strong that we could lay back and let the current take us from pool to pool, much like a slippery slide. It was great fun, but the rocks were torturous on the bum! We swam about with childlike delight until one of us noticed strang caterpillar/leech like worms on our skin. That seems like a good cue to go.

Our map indicated that it was only 9 miles to get to the 1000 Feet Falls, the largest waterfall in Central America, that is, you guessed it 1000 feet tall. The road was so bad as there was no way of avoiding the massive ditches in the road. Unfortunately the falls were pretty forgettable with pine trees obscuring the view so that we could only see a third of it.

By now the sun was setting, so we drove to a near-by resort (next to the resort owned by Francis Ford Coppola) for a sundowner. Without a campsite nearby, after long deliberation by Chris who wasn´t keen on sleeping rough, we decided to drive back to San Ignacio to drop him off, and then drive on to another Mayan ruin called El Pilar.

After a torturous drive on poor roads, we eventually made it by 9.30pm, very tired and hungry. While Belinda was cooking up dinner on the campstove, two guards with loaded guns came out to investigate the noise, worried that we were "bad boys". They musn´t see many people here, as they were more frightened than we were. Relieved that we were harmless tourists, they were happy to leave us to camp.

Poor Camilla tried to sleep in the car with a flimsy blanket, but it was a very cold night up in the jungle. We were tired though, so slept well until the 5.20am alarm-call for sunrise. El Pilar was empty, apart from the three of us, and we were able to see the whole place as the sun was coming up. There were some interesting archeological excavations within some obvious pyramid shapes, and there were some excellent walls emerging from the rubble. Other than that, none of the site was restored, so it was a very different feeling. From a lookout on top of one of the mounds, we watched the sun turn the top of the jungle canopy orange, before we had to leave to get the car back.

Pretty soon we were on our way back to Flores, in Guatemala, where we then needed to catch a bus down towards the Mayan highlands in the south. Unable to move on today, we watched the locals in the square scoffing icecream (so decided to join them) and did some shopping for textiles. Again, its so cheap it is hard to justify haggling. Just before dark, hundreds of squaking blackbirds appeared around us, making a huge racket.

A few miles off the coast of Belize are an array of small island cayes (pronounced keys) and lucky for us, Caye Caulker just about meets the back-packer budget. It is English speaking and has access to the worlds second longest reef system (only the Great Barrier Reef is longer). After a few months of tiring but rewarding travelling, we were looking forward to a holiday.

We arrived to the island to great weather and fine sandy beaches. The catch-phrase on the island is "go-slow" and the locals definitely set the tone. The island is inhabited by a mix of Carribeans, Belizeans, Garifunas (indigenous people) and drop out hippy Gringos. It has a friendly and chilled out atmosphere, with no transport other than electric powered golf buggies and bikes. The sounds of reggae can be heard from the restaurants, street stalls and locals riding past on bikes.

We also arrived to an amusing welcoming reception. Walking down the main street, we were stopped by a local offering a room. Bel politely refused, and said, "its ok, we've been recommended one from the book", holding up our Rough Guide. At that moment, a shabby looking English bloke in his 40s introduced himself as the book's author, and much to our delight started giving us a load of useful tips. He was nice enough and we chatted for a while, but it was hot, and we had the bags with us, so it was time to move on. As we were about to move off, he grabbed the book, and said, "oh i must sign this for you" and proceeded to ask for our names, wrote a good luck message and scrawled his name on the inside cover!! Just hilarious.

Caye Caulker is only 8km in length and 200m wide, and was originally a lobster fishing village, until the locals realised they could make a packet out of tourism. You know you are onto a good thing when the staple diet is warm cinnamon rolls for breakfast, lobster and a fantastic local rum, "1 Barrel" at $7.50 a bottle. We set out to see how much lobster and rum we could consume in week and did mighty fine.

We eventually found a great room in a guesthouse run by a long established local family and went to check out the beach in the afternoon sun. The only catch to this perfect scene, was the group of Americans who were staying in all the other rooms that liked to party every night until all hours. As they averaged 50, it wasnt really partying, but they had some loud if old music, and shreiked a lot. We quickly learnt that a lot of rum helps to sleep through anything.

After getting to know them, Peter the ringleader was a pretty decent bloke - he'd been going to the island for 20 years and used to have a boat here until Hurricane Keith took it away in 2000. Just don't get him talking about George W, who he cant stand. He knew a fair bit about the recent scandles (lobbying and phone tapping / internal spying), and pointed out that as he's not "with" him, he thinks that he must be with France, Germany and Osama in the "against us" corner.

On our second day we walked down to the "split", a shallow spot where you can sit and sip a beer and watch the tropical fish swimming below. We walked to the dock to watch the sunset and saw a boat come in with a lobster catch. We struck up a conversation with the fisherman who were happy to show us how to gut them, and eventually ended up buying a one for $12.00 Belize dollars ($6.00 USD). Bargain. That night Keith sampled his first ever lobster and described it as "a big chewy prawn". He wasn´t sure what all the fuss was about. To my dismay, he said he would take scampi and chips anyday. Is he out of his mind?? He obviously hasn´t seen the Aussies pushing and shoving to get to the lobster at a seafood buffet.

Over dinner we struck up a conversation with an Irish bloke called Con, who had just moved to Belize to open a bar in San Ignacio (a town we would later visit). We have met quite a few travellers who have stayed to set up businesses, so we were really interested to hear about his plans. After a couple of management consultant type questions from Keith about his business plan, market, etc.., it appeared that Con had no clue. He couldn´t even tell us when the tourist season was or how big the town was. Tourism in Central and South America is growing at such a rapid rate that it astounds me that people with no idea at all of customer service, environmental and safety standards, and so on, can do so well.

The next day was gorgeous, so we set off on a day trip snorkelling the Hol Chan Marine Reserve by sail boat. Our first stop was to "Coral Gardens" just outside the reserve, where sadly the coral was mostly dead. From there were headed to "Shark Ray Alley", where contentiously they throw fish to bring the nurse sharks and rays to the surface to feed. We felt uncomfortable with this, as we know it is poor practice to interfere with the animals natural feeding habits, but unfortunately all of the tours groups do it. It was an amazing site to be in the water and see the sharks and rays swarming about. Later we snorkelled further into the reef and saw a huge array of beautiful schools of fish, some reef sharks, and more rays (including two spotted eagle rays). The corals here were beautiful colours and shapes.

On the way back to Caye Caulker, around half three, we got stuck into the Rum Punch and chatted to a great English-Australian couple, Katrina and Mark (who are on their way to live in Australia). Despite the fact that Keith had decided to dive the Blue Hole at 6am the next day, we were in such great spirits that we decided to carry on to one of the locals bars. Another bottle of rum later between us, we were all pretty smashed and ready for some dancing to a live band. Mark and Katrina staggered home and were never to be seen again.... while Keith and I tried to dance the night away. We were in bed shattered by 10.30pm.

The next morning the alarm went off at 5.40am for Keith to get up to go diving. It had to be the only time I have been thankful that I can´t dive. My head was pounding from all that rum, so I was happy to roll over and go back to sleep.

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The Blue Hole is deep. A few thousand feet, or maybe metres, it doesnt matter, you cant see the bottom, or even get there without using a very expensive submarine. The hole is actually a collapsed cave, so everywhere around it is a shallow reef, which the dive boat had to edge past before dropping us off. We went down to 43m, at which point it gets really dark, even darker when you have to go under a ledge to see the old stalagtites, now covered in barnacles! - pretty weird. 43m is also about 25m deeper than Padi allow me to go with my open water diver card. So i kept it hidden and tried to look confident. No fish, and definately no sharks. Oh, and the ones bel talks about while we were snorking dont count because they dont bite. Still the dive was great, even if i felt a bit queasy on the way down. His little briefing about nitrogen narcosis before the dive didnt exactly settle the stomach.

The next two dives were just as good, but much shallower and with tonnes of fish, a turtle, and a decent sized barracuda with v sharp teeth. We stopped on an island to visit some frigate and booby birds, and then headed home. It was a really good day of diving.

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It is easy to lose track of what day it is when travelling. Is tomorrow Wednesday or Friday?? Amusingly, we went for a walk along the beach to lots of restaurants with Valentines Day lunch menus. We decided to head out on another snorkelling trip instead. Today the weather is windy, but the water is warm and a relief to jump in to get out of the cold. We saw a big barricuda in the distance and quite a few big schools /shoals of fish. The guide pointed out a huge lobster underneath a rock, which must have been about a kilo. We also saw loads of black sea urchins hiding in the coral. We also had another "Shark Ray Alley" experience, where the guide explained to everyone how to approach and touch them. As you can guess, we weren´t too pleased with it. It was really concerning to see an American guy in our group literally wrestling with a ray under the water. It was also sad to see that many of them were in pretty poor shape with scratches on their bodies from people holding them. It was good to see though that everyone else in our group stayed a respectful distance and were happy just to watch. The guide agreed, so maybe over time they'll extend the no touching rule to the fish as well as the coral.

We enjoyed another couple of days relaxing and eating fresh fish. We decided we would leave when the weather turned. Lucky for us, we woke the next day to terrible rain and wind, or I fear that we would still be there with a bottle of 1 Barrel..

After nearly five months of travelling through South and Central America struggling with Spanish, it was beginnning to get frustrating not being able to communicate effectively. The people are so friendly and helpful, but it is difficult to scratch the surface past standard chit-chat, without a bigger vocabulary. Moving on every day or so also eventually makes you feel a little jaded. Luckily for us, Belize came at the right time. It was great to recharge the batteries before our last few weeks of difficult travelling in Guatemala.

Tikal is known as the biggest and best preserved Mayan site, and the site where archeology has revealed most about the Mayan culture in classic times (200 - 800 AD). The site was abandoned dramatically at the end of hte 9th century AD for reasons still fairly unclear - though there is evidence of severe environmental degradation around the site. It is thought that after the collapse of the Dynasty ruling Tikal, the population left for better land.

We made it there after a long and arduous local bus that stopped every hundred yards to pick up a villager and their produce. After pitching our tent in the garden of a nice looking hotel, we set off to explore the site. We found a tree house set deep in the jungle with good views of Tikal and saw some good birdlife. Just as we reached the top of Pyramid 4, the sun broke through the clouds, so we spent the next couple of hours taking scenic jungle and temple photos until the sun set. Add a couple of tie fighters, and we'd be on the set of Star Wars. It was lucky we managed to get into the site, as the next day it would rain from 9.00am until dusk.

Later that evening, we took a tour into the site (access is not normally allowed outside daylight hours) and walked around the impressive pyramids in the moonlight. Being alone in the dark, dwarfed by these beautiful structures was a fantastic feeling. On the way out, we intercepted a small group that had bribed the guards to let them camp out overnight in the East Plaza. After several prompts, the guide revealed that it might also be possible to access the acheological tunnels underneath several of the pyramids, subject to the appropriate "donation" to the local economy. Access is normally prohibited - not even he had seen them. We decided to ask about the tunnels in the morning. Maybe we could get to see some of the original Mayan architecture and insciptions, Tikal features untouched by the obvious need to preserve (limestone weathers rapidly, and is in need of constant maintenance) or recreate for the tourists.

But before the tunnels, was the small matter of a 4.30am alarm call to head to the top of Pyramid 5 for sunrise and the howler monkey's distinctive way of welcoming a new day. Soon after we reached the top (a difficult climb in the pitch black, up rickety wooden ladders) there started the most incredible noise from all around us. The forest canopy below us, full of competitive groups of howler monkeys, came alive with hoots and grunts of the territory-marking start to the day. To sit in silence listening to the monkeys and birds for a full hour was an unforgettable experience. Even the chatty Americans were quiet.

Soon after getting down and finishing our tour of the site, it began to rain. We would have been soaked walking around in the wet all day, so instead we decided to see the site director about the tunnels. It is amazing what some US dollars can do. Thirty dollars each later, the museum curator Norberto, a jolly chap with no English, but Spanish slow enough for us, appeared with a hammer, torch and a crow bar! We were about to get under the touched up skin of Tikal.

We won´t go through each tunnel with a blow by blow account, but here are the highlights:

We saw a series of Mayan graffiti drawings, painted on the walls of their houses (or palaces) depicting animals, everyday street scenes, stories (a series of glyphs), a human sacrifice, and some paintings of hands. We also saw a figures of man/god with a large hat and feathers (a Teotihuacan influence). The human sacrifice glyphs were the most impressive. It was incredible to be looking at writing that was almost 1500 years old. Cramped inside the tunnels with the bats, spiders and cockroach-like beetles gave us an Indiana Jones adventurous feeling.

Next we saw a series of finely carved stone masks that adorned a temple from the early classic period. The whole of the outer wall was in a tunnel, because amazingly, the Mayans kept on building over old pyramids every 52 years to create bigger structures, but leaving perfectly preserved time capsules underneath. It was this perfectly preserved layer we were able to see - still with its original red paint in some places.

The last tunnel had an entrance barricaded by a mound of rubble and rocks. We spent 10 minutes clearing this before Norberto started at the wooden door with the crow bar. Inside were some fantastic carvings of jaguar heads, 1 metre across by 1 metre high, and also a tomb (though obviously without any of the burial material).

When we came out of the tunnels, the rain still hadn´t eased. Keith ran off to look at the parts of the site we hadnt seen and managed to get meet up with a family of coatimundi (like a racoon, but with a big straight sticky-up tail), taking advantage of the lack of people to play around on the steps of one of the temples at the North group. We gave up on the weather clearing so decided to head back to Flores for the night and then onto Belize.