Playgrounds of Paradise, Lanquín

Welcome to Lanquín, the lost mountain village of jiggy-jig. The ultimate playground of paradise. I must sound like a bit of a toss by now, claiming each new place surpasses the perfection of the last; but somehow what began as a long awaited holiday, has rapidly evolved into a way of life. My awsome new life. If you were here, you might begin to understand. I no longer crave those ridiculous, unnecessary comforts of my former existence, and I've long ago ceased to question why I'm even out here, traversing unfamiliar tracts of The Americas all (but never) alone. There are always worthy substitutes. I've done more cool shit in the past week than most can manage in an entire year. So, I guess we might say I've made the right decision. Thumbs up, happy times. Lets roll.

I just flogged this chair from the hostel bar, and now I'm busy killing time outside my tent. In an hour or so we'll all be heading out tubing; and here from my panoramic vantage point atop a high, steep sided hill, I can already see the churning river valley far below. It's the first time I've managed to find a spare moment since leaving San Ignacio back in Belize, about a week ago. Rico's neighbour had seen me off in a wild wail of abuse - an 'old school' bitch from hell, not warming to the current influx of cashed up tourists whom now frequent her sweaty little town. Although this most likely occurs more often than I realise; when hanging about in English speaking Belize, that awkward language barrier, which in hindsight actually allows an awkward confrontation to pass by in a much less awkward fashion, simply does not exist. Squashed between books and school bags, I was soon booted off the school bus which had taken me to the border town of Benque Viejo. I decided it would be a great idea walking the remaining few miles to the Guatemalan border - my previously tight arsed nature finally making a resurgence, as the appeal of saving a pivol amount of small change prevailed over the comfortable, air conditioned taxi ride. I was an infamous wandering warrior. At one with the natives & the open road. Until of course I hit the borderline and run smack into the hoards of white trash all over again...

View from my Tent in Lanquín

Once stamped & official, the road through to Flores was much better than I had expected. The low vegetated flats of Belize had gradually given way to lush green, rolling hills, spiced with crop and livestock. A few times we were forced to slam on the brakes as a stray bull would wander out across our path. On arrival into Santa Elena (the large mother city which feeds the tiny, lake encircled island of Flores), we were cut short of our destination by a road block, where hundreds of elderly locals were sitting out in the middle of the highway on plastic chairs in some form of protest. Apparently the government had taken away a huge chunk of their pension entitlements quite unexpectedly. Cringing at my new found Texan laziness, I made a good thing out of a bad situation, and so it was...return of the Tuk-Tuk!! I hadn't seen these little bad boys since Thailand; itsy three-wheeled pocket rockets! Another item added to my list of must haves for when I return home - and soon my driver had us zipping through the colourful markets along dusty, potholed roads. On checking into my hostel I ran back into Chris & Ash, and we spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on all we'd been up to since Caye Caulker.

Now by this point of my trip, I'd evidently become all ruined out. The once mighty Mayan city of Tikal of course, would make an epic & obligatory last hurrah! Nodding off like bobble-heads on the pre-dawn shuttle out to the site, I was intrigued when we woke to find the jungle blanketed in thick morning fog. It only added to the already incredible atmosphere; some form of cicada created the background loops, while monkeys screeched out from the tree tops in a raping, ranting fashion. We climbed the tallest temple in Tikal, where we were granted with an astonishing view of the tangled forest, as far as the eye could see. To remind us of our location were the crumbling, surrounding summits of other mighty temples, poking up through the thick canopy.

Grand Plaza at Tikal

Back in Flores, the island was living up to its shapely resemblance to a massive frying pan. It was stinking hot, so Chris & I joined some locals jumping off wooden jetties into the lake. Our hopes of instant refreshment were abolished as soon as we hit the water, which felt as warm as the outside air temperature. Some of the local girls asked us to run & jump over them...and in the process Chris came frighteningly close to kneeing one smack in the face. That afternoon we drank so many Mango Locos (a vodka & mango juice cocktail) back at the hostel, that we had to clear the table 3 times before nightfall due to our embarrassing accumulation of empty glasses.Our last day in Flores was spent in a much more vegged out manner, crossing the causeway to visit the markets of Santa Elena; munching bananas & peanuts, while hunting around for some kind of pocket-knife. All we seemed to find were huge, fuck-off machetes or knives which could rip the guts out of all but the largest killer bear.

Jetty jumping in Flores

Fast-forward through a winding, jittery commute, along an ever diminishing in quality stretch of road, and we arrived here in Lanquin, the gateway to the natural wonderlands of Semuc Champey. There were times I swear our 'rally' driver had us up on two wheels, hanging precariously over 100% fatal drop-offs, and bouncing us off our seats like balls in a pinball machine. Disbelievingly it seemed, we survived the drive. Our posse all of a sudden seemed to multiply, and after pitching my tent in one of the most spectacular settings I have witnessed on this trip, we got stuck into playing a drinking game called fuck the dealer...and yes of course, I was the dealer who got fucked up! At some point during our drunken antics, I must have mentioned to Josh (my new energetic American pal with a military background) the circumstances of my earlier market quest in Flores. Problem solved. "Ohh dude! Hang on one second. I've got something you're gonna love!" Off he shot, up to his room, and before I could say anything else WHAM!! the fattest monster of a knife I had ever seen was slammed down on the table in front of me. "Man, I can't just take your knife! This things insane!" Haha...and with true steriotypical, American redneck stylin' "all good my friend, I've got another one!" and in one swift graceful movement, out pops this flick-knife staring me down across the table. My jaw dropped. This guy was nuts!

'The Lanquín Gang' smashin Brew!

I woke up in my tent the next day hungover as hell. Time to wash away those fluffy-mouth blues! I jogged on down to the river below, took off all my clothes and since it's the dry season, laid down flat on the pebbly bottom as the only way to fully submerge myself in the freezing water. As I was getting out, a local man with shovels thrown over his shoulder walked on by. I was still stark naked..."Buenos dias!" a wave & a smile was all I could let out! The man stops for moment, smiles, then waves back with his free hand "buenos dias! Muchas frio?!" He had me...laughing as he continued on to where ever the hell he was off to at this time of the morning...

All spruced up, it was time for Semuc Champey! After breakfast, our bustling group piled on into the back of a pickup truck. The ride was interesting to put it bluntly, and I was thrilled when the short ride was finally over. We had our faces smothered in war paint, and were then shown the ways of the most hectic rope swing in the world. What a way to start a morning! We all took turns hurling our bodies out into the river, before Josh's girlfriend almost killed herself missing the point of letting go! Man, that shit freaked me out...I pictured it all as it was happening; accepting her face splattering all over the rocks that lined the shore. But as all (thankfully) ended well, I can't say I did much better to be honest. On my third time up, I flipped backwards so much that I began to loop around again, smacking into the water hard on my stomach! For a moment I couldn't breathe, my hangover taking instant control all over again. By the time I got back to the shallows my body was throbbing all over, nowhere more so than the blood red tip of my poor old nob.

Rope Swing!

The rest of this incredible day was packed full, taking part in all kinds of other crazy heart-racing bullshit. We spent two hours caving along an underground river; our paths illuminated only by the faint flickering of the candles we carried. Next we got to jump 12 meters off the top ropes of a suspension bridge. Our guide Carlos, teeming with hyperactivity, pointed out the exact location where we wouldn't hit the bottom, by reassuringly performing a perfect swan dive! The astonishing thing was, this was just a warm up. The natural limestone bridge, which stretches 60 meters above an angry, whitewashed river gorge; decorated by dozens of piercing blue & green translucent pools, has to be one of the most picturesque & unexploited wonders of the world. I've never seen a place quite like it. There is a theme parks worth of tunnels, jumps & slides from which you could lose days enjoying the crystal clear waters, lazily splashing about at your own pace.

Semuc Champey

By the time we got back to the hostel, I was wrecked. My ribs ached from a stupid head first slide attempt, and the adrenaline buzz from all this excitement had finally worn thin. One of the Canadian girls had said to me earlier, "do something everyday that scares you, and everyday you'll be made to feel alive." I don't think I've ever felt so alive. Maybe this place really is freaking me the fuck out without me realising it, engaging this prophetic effect. But I guess maybe it's that same reason, why I know there is no way I'm ready to come home any time soon. This life is just too much fun.