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January 2010

       There had been so much work done at the El Mirador Ruins since my New Year’s 2006 trip there that I wanted to head back and see the many changes firsthand. The Mirador Basin region is a large area of Maya ruins in Northern Guatemala that were abandoned around 150 CE, so it an intriguing area for understanding the Pre-Classic Maya area.

       A friend, Greg Vandiver, was doing a trip there in January, and although I would have preferred February or March, I decided to join the group. Greg had asked my opinion on whom to contact to set up the trip. When I mentioned that Walfre Chí was doing these trips now, it was obvious that this would be a good choice. Walfre had been a very hard working assistant to the guide and drivers on my 2009 Petén trip, and so, and we knew him to be conscientious.       

       My plan was to first meet the others in Flores, but to ride the bus to Carmelita to spend a night there and to meet them after they arrived. On arrival in Guatemala City, I paid for my ticket on a cushy Fuente del Norte especial double-decker bus that left at 9 PM.

       I had some time to kill after gadding about downtown Guate City since early afternoon, so the station’s location was especially good. There were two comedors right across from the bus station provided good places to eat, sip a beer or two while reading a book before the departure. There was a guy in the parking lot selling blankets, which struck me as odd until later.

        I had one of the downstairs “camitas” or little beds; on which I would have slept very well if I had realized that there was no overhead place to put my carry on.  As it was, I rushed out of the bus to put my main luggage with my sweater under the bus. This bus was the coldest I had ever encountered and it stayed that way until it got well out of the highlands, so I did not sleep until quite a bit later.

       I arrived at the Santa Elena bus station around 5 AM and decided that because there was no rush and I wanted to stretch my legs, I would just walk to Flores. This required brushing past the cabbies offering rides to Tikal and Flores, but that is no novelty for me. I thought about how much the area around Flores had changed in the nearly 20 years since I first visited. Flores hasn’t changed all that much, but now a person can walk across the causeway and eat in some stupid chain restaurant.

       There is a restaurant on a corner in Flores over toward the Hotel Petén, which is open reliably early, and has good breakfasts. That is where I headed.

       Later I ran across Greg and Rip Phillips, who was to be a member of the group. They were going to see the ruins of Paxcamán and Yaxhá for the day and I invited myself along. I had seen the latter site a few times, but until that day I hadn’t realized just how big it is.

       That night we ran across Juan Sanchez, the old chiclero who had assisted his son, Henry, on my 2006 Mirador trip, and we bought him supper with us at Café Yaxhá. Recalling to him how he had laid out a cross of two branches at La Muerta in honor of a long dead woman, I told him I would do it as well when I got there. His version (apparently there are others) had it that the cook at a nearby chiclero camp had died there, so any time a now aging former chiclero goes there, he places a small cross of branches in her honor.

       The next morning I saw the others off on a ruins trip to El Venado, Tzikintzakan and Buenos Aires and I explored Flores a bit, but fortunately I ran out of things I wanted to do and headed off to the bus station quite early.

       As planned, I rode the 1pm bus to Carmelita, but only by chance. I happened to be in the Santa Elena bus station looking out into the parking lot at 11:30, when a bus with the name Pinita on the side pulled in and parked in back. It showed the name, Carmela in front, so I asked the driver if he was going to Carmelita and he assured me that he was. He had to drop off paperwork at the station and run some errands, so he invited me along.

       When the driver was ready to pick up passengers, he did not return to the station at all, but instead drove into the Santa Elena market. There he did an incredible job pulling into a small space right before 1 pm. Then people started piling into it and it was pretty full.  Sitting near me was Humberto (Beto) Machuca, a Mirador guide, whom I had heard good things about and whose signature I had seen on the Nakbé guest register my first time there. e and I talked . He and I talked, and I got his phone number and later his prices for the Mirador trip.

       I also found out that there are two buses between Santa Elena and Carmelita, both leaving both places at both 5 am and 1 pm and they take about 4.5 hours. There are apparently two other buses, operated for the intervening cruces or small villages, which apparently leave Santa Elena and do go to Carmelita, but start the return from one of the intervening ones along the way. I understand that one of these leaves Santa Elena at 10:30 AM. 
       Later I had a terrible time finding the bus stop again. No one seemed to know of the nearby “Rapi Pollo” kiosk and my illegible writing of the nearby tienda name and describing a large coca cola sign jutting nearby out into the street didn’t seem to help. When I did finally find the right place, I realized that I should not have just asked about the bus stop for Carmelita, for which no one had a clue. Because colectivos also came there for Poptún and Sayaxché, I should have asked directions to where the colectivos left the market for those places.

       After I arrived in Carmelita, I got off with Beto and first went to a comedor on the side of the old airstrip away from the Cooperativa, but It was serving only frijoles and scrambled eggs. I was less than enthusiastic and next I decided to go to the one on the other side. Unfortunately what passed for a menu there was identical, so any delusions I might have had of having something like fried chicken for supper vanished.              This comedor was the one we ate at before leaving on my 2002 Mirador trip, and behind it are two dorm rooms with four double beds each. The one I went into had three of the four beds with mosquito netting and of them, one of those with netting was too creaky, one seemed too uncomfortable, but the third one I tried was just about right. This was not the most pleasant memorable night I have ever spent, but at least I got to find out what Carmelita is like on a Saturday night. I spoke with a few guides and got some information for my website, but I didn’t go out looking for nightlife.

      The next morning I went for a walk before my breakfast of (guess what?), and got a good look at the town. Afterward, I wandered around a bit more and saw where some men were assembling and loading mules in front of a tienda, and so it was easy to figure out where we would meet. Not much later, Walfre drove in with the rest of the group.

       These were Rip and Greg, along with my sister, Julia, and her friend from work, Mary. Walfre had also brought along two arrieros to handle the mules. He also brought a young cook, Nancy, and her little sister, Jacqueline to help.  Having this cheerful child along made the trip even more interesting.

        Although everyone had a riding mule, neither Greg nor Rip used any on the way to El Mirador. We made it to Tintal easily enough, but no one felt like exploring the site. Seeing it on our way back would be soon enough. I have forgotten what we had for supper, but I recall being very grateful that it was not scrambled eggs and frijoles.

       There is no such thing as “sleeping in” during a jungle trip. The cook and others get up while it is still dark out, go about their business and being quiet is not part of the agenda. One would have to be a very sound sleeper to not open an eye and start thinking about how good a hot drink would be in the cool of morning.

       In the morning after a breakfast of scrambled eggs, frijoles and watermelon, Greg, Rip and I headed out walking well ahead of the others. Walfre was worried that we might take a wrong turn, so he escorted us out to a spot where he pointed the way onward, with instructions to await the group at a particular occasional xatero camp. Xateros are men who harvest a local plant called xate for use by florists in the US.  

       It was a pleasant walk, mostly along the ancient causeway between El Mirador and Tintal. This was a lot better than it used to be, up and down into bajos. We arrived at the camp and sat talking. We soon noticed a terrible stench and were at a loss as to what it was, but then we saw a small herd of peccaries as it moved through the jungle.  This was the first time I had ever seen or smelled them, and it was quite memorable. It was especially hard to imagine being hungry enough to want to even touch any of them.  

        A bit later, the mule train arrived and we had lunch. Afterward, I stayed with the main group, while Rip and Greg went on. They ended up walking past the entrance to La Muerta and missing it.  We stopped in and while the others looked around, I placed a small cross of branches on the ground at the site.

       Greg had paid to have Walfre bring extra water, so that we could all shower, which was a welcome treat. He also brought a solar water heater, but I was just thoroughly happy to have any shower at all and did not wait for heat.

        We visited the Acropolis, where we saw the restored frieze depicting the Hero Twins of the Popul Vuh. Finding it here shows the antiquity of the story. We visited the Jaguar Claw Temple and Cascabel.  We also got to crawl in with hard hats and see the newly discovered murals after Walfre got the guard to open the door. Almost everywhere you look there is evidence of digging going on. One wonders how long it will be before they unearth something that is even more surprising.

      Walfre showed us all over the site. During my earlier visits, a guard did this, but Walfre knew his way around. We climbed to the top of La Danta, which is arguably the most massive pyramid by volume in the world. Looking in the distance, any raised areas you see are either buildings in the same site or if far off, they are deserted cities in the jungle. By looking closely, you can see darker areas are lower and that presumably the remnants of shallow lakes that were likely the lure for the Maya moving here.

       We headed back toward Tintal and Mary fell from her mule, but did not appear to hurt herself, although she stopped riding.  Walfre became worried after both of the middle aged women with us had fallen at least once from a riding mule and apparently everyone except for me had serious blisters, so after reaching Tintal on our way back to Carmelita, he suggested him heading back to Carmelita and driving his truck back to a place about an hour and a half from Tintal, up to where xatero trucks shared the path. This was around 3 pm and when we agreed, he set off.

       We finally visited the site. After I had seen enough, I started back, but eventually realized that I had gone too far without actually getting to camp. Although I had no idea how to find camp, I realized that I could find my way back to the ruin, which I did. Once back, I looked up a long staircase and saw some of the others above. I was relieved and, when they asked what there was to see down there, I responded, "not much".  I climbed up and stayed with them until we all walked back to camp together. 

       Around 3:45 am, Walfre returned, put up a hammock and climbed in to rest. He later assured me that he did get some sleep at his home not far from Carmelita, but we were all impressed. This did cut short the hike, but it helped cut down on the possibility of my sister or Mary breaking something with the next fall. It also showed Walfre's dedication.

       Once we got back to the truck, as prearranged, Walfre had five beers awaiting me. Because it was kind of early and they were kind of warm and there were no other takers, I grabbed one, but gave the other four to the two arrieros to drink later.

       Back at Carmelita, we had a lunch consisting of tough chicken and rice soup in the back room of the little store where we had started out.  As eventful as the chicken’s long life must have been, I enjoyed it a lot more than I would have liked the scrambled eggs and frijoles at the town’s comedors.

       As I was giving Walfre a cash tip, I told him that I generally do not tip the owner/operator of a business, [because they already have any profits from the trip], but that he was exceptional. There was no way I was not going to tip him.

      We got back to Flores and all of us gathered for a party at Restaurante Capitán Tortuga.  The service there is not fast, but if there is no rush and you are in good company, the good food is well worth the wait.  Afterward I headed over to find a cab ride to the bus station. I had mentioned this to Lente, the colorful driver from my 2008 trip and he was at the cabstand when I got there.

       This time I was trying the overnight Linea Dorada bus, which is first class and I managed to get some sleep. Just in case, I had my sweater handy, but Petén nights have no chill to add to a bus. I was to spend two nights in Guatemala City at Hostal Las Orquideas in Zone 14, which is a B&B,  and then fly home.

       It’s always pleasant to have a couple days to rest up before going home and sometimes it is more important than others. This was one of those trips. For my last breakfast in Guatemala, I had the cook come up with eggs sunny side up with sausage. I enjoyed every morsel.