AUGUST 2015
We are now back in the States after an extended shut-down of
CT in the Rio Dulce of Guatemala.
(Not to worry – this is not going to be a massive posting
like the Belize one)
We followed s/v Joyeux across the 6 ft bar into the Rio Dulce in
mid-May, and cleared in at Livingston with the aid of Raul, the most excellent
agent there. He even processed our
extended-stay paperwork off-line so we could get going asap – the anchorage at
Livingston is awful, exposed to the river current vs the in-coming waves, no
protection from the on-shore winds, commercial boats and shore noise, and poor
holding. Raul was a lifesaver. We got across the bar at 08:30 and going up
the river by noon, including a shipboard visit by Immigration, Customs, Health,
and Agriculture.
The river gorge is like something out of a Jurassic Park
movie. Sheer jungle covered walls hundreds
of feet high, flowering trees and noisy birds, swirling river currents, natives
in canoes. We ran up the river about 7
miles to Texan Bay and anchored in a charming lagoon with our mentor-boat
Joyeux. They took off the next morning,
we were so charmed that we stayed another four.
We got to meet Chris and Kelly, who live in Texan Bay on Godzilla, a big
heavy green ketch. Kelly took Jennifer
to the local village and school for a visit to see what her charitable efforts
are working towards. We found their ittybitty church and churchyard. We toured the
backwaters through mangrove channels and stumbled across and Nature Conservancy
preserve. We played Sunday pool
volleyball with the local ex-pat crowd thanks to an invite from Chris and
Kelly. We hung out at the
restaurant/bar/lounge of the Burnt Key marina in the lagoon. And we discovered
that our watermaker had finally quit.
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| CT at anchor in Texan Bay |
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| Add caption |
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| Quiet final repose |
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| Mangrove bayou preserve |
So we were forced to move on. Yes, we could have loaded up on water from
the marina but that is exceptionally tedious and expensive, and we really
needed to keep momentum on for our final, destination, Monkey Bay.
OK, so now we know: it blows like stink in the afternoons on
the Rio Dulce. Not knowing this, we set out late thinking
it wasn’t very far, and arrived at Monkey Bay with a 20-25 knot gusty wind
blowing up the river, caused by the day-time heating of the inland mountain ranges. John, the dock master at Monkey Bay, was
heading to town said we could try tying
up and showed Jennifer where we needed to go, or anchor out for the night and
come in with the morning calm. We chose
to drive right on in, which meant threading our way through between several
boats to the shore side of the long T-dock and then getting our boat side-to
the dock before the winds blew us sideways into the banks. (Remember that boat engines power them
forward and back, not sideways) Hmmm .. we pulled it off but was pretty tense
until we got the second line on and might have been a minor mess without the
help of a couple of boaters who popped up to help get lines secured.
Monkey Bay is so named because it’s a howler monkey
preserve, ‘preserve’ not meaning much in Guatemala, but the howlers are still
there. They are the size of small dogs
but make the noise of two parents at an intramural soccer match. We found the marina to be exactly what we
expected from the write-ups, small and quiet with no road access, so it is very
secure. It is very green and they keep orchids growing at large around the grounds. But it is also very close to town
by boat. Excellent for what we wanted to
do, to get the boat cleaned up and to discover a bit of Guatemala.
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| Guatemala black orchid |
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| Orchids and epiphytes are basically weeds |
We made several side trips.
The most memorable was to Finca Paraiso, a hot-springs water fall
dropping into a cold mountain creek.
Getting there required riding the collectivo aka “chicken-bus” inland
about 30 km and a short walk into the park.
Riding along, the collective came to a stop in a long queue of other
vehicles and everyone started getting out.
Curious. Asking around, they
pointed out the road-block barricades ahead and locals patrolling the barbed wire
fence they had thrown up across the whole road.
A protest about the corrupt government.
And the passengers grabbed their stuff and headed in to the fields! We did too, followed them along until we were
accosted by a hut-owner demanding 5 quetzals to cross her yard! We anted up and went to find another
collective on the far side of the barricade.
The protesters were decidedly not happy.
But we made it to the falls and had a great time after figuring out how
to get some change made in the local village so we could pay the entrance fee.
Even though there was no one around to pay when we went in, the guy at the
falls insisted we present our tickets. And he of course didn’t have tickets to
sell and no money to make change. So he
took me down to the village and showed be around, very charming in the
end. And on our way back, there was the
ticket seller! The trip back also
involved the barricades, which we were now ‘experts’ at, and then we found the
only collectivo headed our way was stuffed full. So we rode on the roof with
two kids, grinning and bouncing on the spare tires. And now we know how many people fit in a
collectivo – two more.
We met a bunch of fellow Manta cruisers there, had a good
afternoon hanging out and at least one birthday cake. We shopped in the very appropriately named
village of Fronteras. We found some really fine places to eat, the Mexican food at the lodge run by Australians was especially good, their margaritas might be the best we have ever had and we have had a few. We toured the awesome
fortress on the bank of Lake Izabal that dates to the early 1500’s. Got some spare parts, set the boat up to be
left for months in the water with the pouring rain and 100% humidity
(thankfully we scored a cheap dehumidifier, that’s a whole other story). We
cleaned, and polished, and made endless lists, then cleaned some more.
And then it was time to go. We had air tickets from San Pedro Sula in
Honduras, departing at 01:00 (yes, 1 am), and San Pedro Sula happens to be one
of the murder capitals of the world, not a great place through which we had
ride on busses and taxis. John did
extremely well in getting us to the right bus at 08:30 (changing in Morales),
but it was SRO, so I ended up standing almost all of the 4.5 hrs to the far
end. Oh, and there was customs to clear
leaving Guatemala and customs to clear into Honduras (which would only accept
US dollars or Honduran lempiras that of course we didn’t have). But we made it and had our first
chain-fast-food in six months at the bus station. Burger King has been a global presence since
before you knew about McDonalds! Found a
cab to the airport and got on down there before nightfall. The airport was clean and quiet and well
appointed, very high security presence, and actually quite a peaceful
hangout. Plane boarded on time and off
we flew, leaving CT behind, tied to mangroves and a wooden dock in the care of
John.
