On Wednesday, we signed up to do cave tubing at Jaguar Paw. But because another couple at Black Rock Lodge — Brian and Lauren from Long Island, New York — had already signed up for a similar excursion from a different resort, the management asked us to tag along with them. “It’s more expensive, but we’ll give it to you for the same price,” they said. And so we did it.

Victor drove us from Black Rock to San Ignacio to Belmopan (the capital of Belize) to the Ian Anderson resort on the Caves Branch River. Along the way, we chatted with Brian and Lauren, whom we had not met before. Again, they’re another interesting young couple who likes to travel. (Brian owns a small parcel of land in Costa Rica, and hopes to one day build a house there, I think.)

At Ian Anderson’s we joined folks from two other resorts. Our party of nine piled into an old school bus. Our guide Pablo sat behind the wheel, and we started our journey.

To reach the river, we drove about two miles over a bumpy dirt road that wound through an awesome orange grove. (Awesome because the scent of the orange blossoms was so strong and so delicious.)

I wish I’d managed to get a shot of the hills that lined both sides of the orchard valley. With the low morning clouds hanging over the forest, it was absolutely gorgeous.

At one point, our rickety old school bus actually forded a river bed. Fortunately, the river we crossed was just a stream, though the bed itself was very broad (and filled with stones, not mud). Eventually, we reached our destination, unloaded the tubes, and walked to the river.

The day was much cooler than the hot and humid days that had preceded it. It was maybe 22 degrees centigrade, and the water was again about 17 degrees: All very comfortable. (Though the area around the river was filled with these nasty biting horseflies, which made things a little less fun.)

After a short paddle, we reached the mouth of the cave, which looked rather innocuous from the outside. You’d never know there was anything in here:

Looking back at the entrance once we were inside made me wish I had my SLR with me instead of a little point-and-shoot. I could have spent an hour playing with composition, trying to get a great photo out of this:

Instead, I had maybe 30 seconds.

Once inside the cave, we alternated between paddling in the water and getting out to carry our tubes.

We paused now and then to look at the cool stuff: a set of rapids (or was it a waterfall?) that disappeared into the wall of the cave, the bats perched in the ceiling, the artifacts left by Mayan people hundreds (or thousands) of years ago.

And, of course, the caves were filled with stalactites and stalagmites and other interesting rock and mineral formations.

After tubing upstream for a ways, we piled out and climbed into the cave’s upper reaches.

Here, our guide Pablo sat us down to give us a brief lecture on Mayan culture, the history of the cave, and the nature of the artifacts that have been left behind.

After we were finished exploring, Pablo spread a sheet on a relatively flat “beach” beside the river. We made a lunch of salami tortillas and hard-boiled eggs while chatting with our companions. At one point, we all turned off our headlamps to experience the total darkness. It was a little bit frightening, but it was fun.

It was so fun, actually, that we did it again after lunch. To exit the cave, we climbed into our tubes and floated on the slowly-moving current. At times, we’d all turn our lights off so that we were floating in the dark. Without light, and with a uniform temperature all around (we’d become accustomed to the water), it was impossible to tell whether we were moving or not. It was eerie, but neat.

According to Kris’s notes, we were in the water for four hours, though it certainly didn’t seem that long. I could have stayed on the water all day. I really enjoyed the tubing.

After exiting the cave, the group paused for a few minutes so that the brave souls (most of the group) could leap from a cliff (maybe 20 feet high?) into the swimming hole below. We cowards (including me and Kris) had fun watching.

The cave tubing was a great time, and I’m grateful to Erica for recommending it to us. Here’s a five-minute video that chronicles our journey to Belmopan and back. (For the shots where we’re driving, I’ve had to remove the soundtrack; there was way too much wind noise.)

Back at Black Rock Lodge, dinner was amazing, as all the dinners had been. The food at the lodge is great, but in a home-cooked sort of way, not a commercial kitchen sort of way. The lodge grows its own produce in an organic garden, and they buy poultry, dairy, and eggs from the large Mennonite population in Belize.

The soups at the lodge were particularly amazing, especially the cream of celery, which sounds gross but is actually fantastic. Look for a more extended rave about the kitchen on Friday, including the recipe for that celery soup!

After Monday’s long and tiring tour of Tikal, Kris and I decided to take it easy on Tuesday. We spent the morning on the porch of our cabana: Kris took photos of birds (look for all of our bird photos on Thursday), and I read and smoked.

When the heat and humidity increased, we made our way to the unused yoga pavilion, grabbed a couple of drinks (I had a red “fruit punch” Fanta and Kris had a lime juice), turned on the ceiling fans, and continued reading. The Macal River roared below us. It was bliss.

Floating on the River
In the afternoon, we got a closer view of the Macal. We hiked about a mile upstream carrying tubes, life jackets, and helmets. We put ourselves into the warm water (maybe 16 or 17 centigrade) and pushed off for the lodge.

We floated.

We floated.

We floated.

Every so often, we’d come to a series of rapids, which gave us a bit of variety and allowed us to get soaked. Because the water was low (and the current slow) when we started our tubing adventure, I often found myself high-centered on rocks and boulders; I’d have to stand and walk to deeper waters. But mostly, we floated.

As we floated, we soaked in the sun. We splashed in the water. We pointed out the birds, big and small. We looked at the trees and the rocks and the sky. We took our time.

After about an hour of floating, we neared the lodge — and the waterfall we knew was coming. As we approached, we could sense the pace of the current increase. (We didn’t know it at the time, but they’d opened the dam and the water level was rising.) We could hear the roar of the falls.

“If you make it over the falls without flipping, your first beer of the night is on me,” Giovanni (the day’s manager) had told me. I gave it my best shot, but my best shot wasn’t good enough. I flipped, though I managed to hold onto the tube.

Note: This is not me. This is Tim making the run when the river is high.

I watched Kris make her run. She did it! She stayed on, and the crowd of onlookers cheered — but then she lost her balance and went under.

I made a second run at the falls (in order to retrieve Kris’ lost tube), but this was worse than the first. I lost my grip and went under, sucked beneath the falls and kept there by the suction. I felt like I was under for 15 to 20 seconds. (“Nah,” said Giovanni when we got back to the lodge. “It just seemed that way. It was maybe a couple of seconds.”)

In the late afternoon, we sat in the lodge with Tim and Shana, and Simon and Catherine.

When Spiders Ruled the Earth
Note: If your name is Jeff Roth, you probably want to skip this section.

After dinner (snapper and linguini), Kris and I took a one-hour night hike. Our tour guide, Elvis, equipped us with spotlight headlamps and led us along the trail above the Macal River. Elvis, an experienced hunter and self-trained naturalist, pointed out birds, scorpions, tarantulas, and spiders. Especially spiders.

In fact, it’s impossible to describe just how many spiders we saw. We’re not talking hundreds of spiders or thousands of spiders, but millions of spiders. When our lights shone on them, their eyes sparkled in the night like tiny stars of yellow, blue, and green. It was amazing — and more than a little frightening (especially when they moved).

Here’s an audio recording of the first ten minutes of our night hike, which includes tilapia, a scorpion, a centipede, a nightjar, a couple of tarantulas, and thousands of spiders:

After the hour-long trek through the stifling heat of the jungle, we were soaked. “It’s hot,” Elvis said at one point. When the natives think it’s hot, it’s hot. Back in our cabana, we took cold showers.

This was a sad evening in a way, because it meant saying good-bye to two couples we both liked: Tim and Shana, and Simon and Catherine. But who knows? Maybe we’ll see them again someday.

We rose early on Monday to leave for Guatemala and the Mayan ruins known as Tikal. After a short van ride to the border between the two countries, we were out of Belize and in another world.

Though similar to Belize in many ways, Guatemala featured some key differences. Belize is laid back. As soon as we crossed the border, things seemed more tense: Armed guards with heavy-duty shotguns, and so on. Also, English is the primary language in Belize; in Guatemala, it’s Spanish. But mostly, the two countries seemed more similar than different.

Here’s a little roadside shack typical of the stores we saw in Guatemala and Belize. There are tons of these little buildings, from which people sell soda and snacks.

Some folks sell from carts. I asked one tour guide if they needed permits to sell from their stands and carts. “Yes, of course,” he said.

And here are a couple of Guatemalan houses, which are similar to the homes we saw in Belize. I actually think these homes are larger than most of those we saw. These have two stories, and the one on the left has a thatched addition in the rear. Many of the homes we saw were only the size of a single floor (so, a few hundred square feet maybe).

Most homes have clothes lines with laundry hung out to dry. Many also have bikes and tools left in the open and animals in the yard, few of which restrained. In Belize and Guatemala, animals roam free. Most livestock is tied up or fenced, but that’s not always the case. Dogs are unleashed and walk along the side of the road just like the people. (They seem to have their own dog agendas.)

We saw goats and chickens and horses loose, too, though I suspect the horses weren’t meant to be out. And in Guatemala, we saw pigs. Lots of pigs, many of them just trotting on the roadside to who knows where:

When we finally reached Tikal at about 10am, it was already hot.

Tikal
Tikal was once a major city, the heart of the Mayan world. Its oldest buildings were constructed over 2500 years ago, and temples and structures were gradually added over a period of more than 1000 years. Eventually, Tikal fell into disuse (as rival Mayan cities assaulted it), was abandoned, and fell out of memory. In time, the jungle took over and buried the ruins.

The site was re-discovered in 1848, and restoration began in the 1950s. Now several temples are open and available for public viewing, while other structures are slowly being restored.

Our group was led by Ronny, the very earnest Guatemalan tour guide. His speech was labored as he searched to find the right English words. Sometimes he gave up and used Spanish. (Later I learned that his English is entirely self-taught!)

Ronny wasn’t popular with the group, who wanted somebody who was more fluent in English. But I liked him. He was obviously proud of his Mayan heritage and the Guatemalan culture. He tried hard, and I was glad to have him with us.

Ronny only gradually introduced us to Tikal. First he led us down a long avenue of trees. He paused to give historical information (always searching for the right words). After maybe 30 minutes, he finally brought us to the back side of the awesome Temple I.

From the flyer I bought: “Also known by the name of the Great Jaguar Temple, it is the landmark of Guatemala to the world. It has a 45 meters high and it was build around the year 700 A.D. Underneath the temple, the tomb chamber of one of the most famous rulers at Tikal was built.” Ronny called this king the “chocolate ruler”.

We made our way around to the front of the temple and into the temple plaza.

The grand plaza was the core of Tikal, and was surrounded by Temple I in east, the Northern Acropolis in the north (surprise!), Temple II in the west, and the Central Acropolis in the south.

To get a better view, we climbed to the top of Temple II (“The Temple of Masks”), which is 38 meters high and was built for the wife of the “chocolate ruler”. From the top of Temple II, the view was amazing.

Note that part of the Northern Acropolis can be seen to the left of Temple I here. The Northern Acropolis and Central Acropolis were residential quarters for the nobles (or “no bless”, as Ronny called them). These areas also contained administrative offices and tombs.

At the top of Temple II, one of the others in our group (Leon from Saskatchewan) offered to take our photo. His snapshot cracks me up:

Thanks, Leon!

One of the great things about Tikal (and all of Guatemala and Belize) is that it hasn’t been taken over by lawyers. Tourists want to climb to the top of the temples, so the Guatemalans have built wooden stairs and ladders, most of which are very very steep. (In the photo below, Kris is descending some stairs that are only moderately steep compared to others we saw.) If you want to risk climbing, you climb. If you don’t, you don’t. As I’ve been saying all week, it really reminded me of the U.S. circa 1975. And I liked it.

As you can see, this would never be allowed in the U.S. today. Many of the things we saw and did would not have been possible in the U.S. because of safety regulations and legal concerns.

After we visited the grand plaza, we made our way to Temple V, which is one of the more recently restored temples. Here the steps were even steeper: an almost vertical ladder. But what I liked most was how during restoration, the experts decided to leave the back side of the temple as they’d found it.

“How could Tikal have been lost?” one of our group wondered early on. But after having seen it, I can understand. If the Mayan civilization here really had been routed by rival tribes, Tikal might have faded from memory after a couple of generations. And then the forest would have taken over, jungle vines consuming the buildings. When you see how the jungle clings to and covers the temples, you can see why it took so long to re-discover the city.

The highlight of the day was climbing to the top of Temple IV, which stands 70 meters above the jungle floor. Restoration on this temple has only just begun, so the bottom is still just a mound of earth and vegetation. But the view from the top was incredible:

Standing on top of Temple IV cannot be described, and pictures don’t do it justice. If only I’d thought to use my video camera, I might have captured some of the wonder.

The Mayans built Tikal on a highland, and Temple IV is on the highest point. It’s also the tallest building in the city, soaring above the jungle. It didn’t used to be surrounded by jungle, but by fertile plains. When constructed 1200 years ago, it commanded a view of the surrounding countryside, making invasion of Tikal difficult, if not impossible.

As we stood atop Temple IV, we baked. The sun was blistering, and the temple itself was like an oven, retaining the heat of the day. In addition to the usual jungle sounds, we could hear the distant roar of a troop of howler monkeys. (They sound like elephants!)

It was only once I’d climbed down from Temple IV that it dawned on me that I’d seen that view someplace before. In fact, I’d seen it many many times. “Omigod,” I said. “Do you know what that was? That was Yavin IV!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Kris.

“Yavin IV. The rebel base in Star Wars. That’s totally it,” I said. I was in a little fan-boy swoon. And I was right:

I know that’s going to seem crazy to many of you, but this really was one of the highlights of my life: To suddenly find myself in the world of Star Wars was incredible, and completely unexpected.

Hot hot hot
We knew before we left that we’d experience some hot and humid days:

But we just didn’t realize how hot and humid it would really feel. Though Monday’s forecast was for temperatures of 33 centigrade, it actually reached at least 37 while we were at Tikal (and may have gone higher!). It was very much like strolling through a sauna.

After spending three hours among the ruins and covering about four or five miles of walking, we finally took a break for lunch. We dined on chicken and onions with rice. I also had a lemon Crush (!!). I also gave in and ordered fresh lime juice, which was delicious.

On the drive home, we passed a Guatemalan school with these psychedelic muppets painted on the side:

Driving in Guatemala was scarier than driving in Belize (and Belize was scary enough!). At one point on the drive home, for example, we encountered road construction. In the U.S., you’d have a whole crew of flaggers and systematic detours. Not here. Instead, the equipment had torn up the road completely, leaving only the steeply-sloped grassy shoulders. There was nobody to signal traffic. Vehicles had to take turns driving on the side of the road, moving slowly so as not to tip over. And, of course, the roadwork went right up to a bridge over a muddy river.

From what little I saw of it, I love the Guatemalan way of life. It seems so down to earth. It’s also pretty impoverished, I think, but the people are beautiful. I’d love to visit the country for a longer period of time.

Just after we crossed the border back into Belize, John stopped the van to pick up his girlfriend and his little daughter (the same daughter we’d waved to in San Ignacio when John drove us back from the airport on Saturday night). They’d been walking along the road, just like everyone else does in Belize, so John stopped to pick them up. We gave them a lift for a mile or so.

New friends
During the trip to and from Tikal, we chatted with Simon and Catherine from London, England. Catherine is a forensic toxicologist, so she and Kris could compare notes. Simon is in pharmaceuticals and helps organize the 2000 Trees rock festival. We really enjoyed their company over the next couple of days.

Back at the lodge, we continued to chat with Tim and Shana, the doctors from Philadelphia. At dinner, we were seated next to Eric and Viola from Connecticut.

One of the highlights of this trip was talking with the other travelers, especially the young couples. They were all amiable and fascinating. If they lived in Portland, we might count them among our friends. It’s also interesting to hear their travel experiences: Many of us have decided to make world travel a priority, and are willing to make sacrifices — no children, small homes, and so on — in order to make that happen.

Belize is humid. Humid humid humid. Like Minnesota in August humid. By 9am, you’re hot and sticky, and you’d better get used to it because it’s going to be that way for the rest of the day. You (and everyone around you) are going to be stinky and sweaty until after nightfall.

How humid is it? The cover of my Belize guidebook curled overnight. The pages of my journal are soft and moist to the touch. All of my clothes feel like they came out of the dryer ten minutes early. And the floor of our cabin is always slick with moisture, like somebody mopped but didn’t dry.

Survival of the Fittest
We woke to find a katydid in the cabana, clinging to the curtains.

Kris immediately named it Katy. “I wonder how Katy got in here,” I said. “Because if she can make it inside, then surely the mosquitos can, too.”

“Let’s put Katy outside,” Kris said. “She doesn’t want to be in our cabin.” She spent a couple of minutes trying to herd the frightened bug out the door. “I think she’s hurt,” Kris said. “See how she can’t walk very well?” We left Katy to fend for herself and walked up to the lodge to have breakfast.

We ate with Tim and Shana (Shayna?), two doctors from Philadelphia. Tim is a radiation oncologist and Shana is in the sixth year of an eight-year residency for colo-rectal surgery. Kris and I thought both were smart and funny, and enjoyed our chats with them over the next couple of days.

After breakfast, we sat on our porch, putting on sunscreen and bug spray. “Oops. Katy’s leaving,” I said. “She’s scared of that bird.” I pointed to a white-collared manakin.

“That bird? That bird couldn’t eat Katy,” Kris said. Then she said, “Where’d Katy go?”

“There she is,” I said. “As long as she doesn’t move, she looks like a leaf on the floor of the forest.”

“She sure does,” said Kris. And at that moment, Katy took flight, a broad green butterfly wobbling through the air. “Ooh…look at that,” Kris said.

“I hope she —” I started to say, but at that moment, a smallish bird swooped from a nearby tree and snatched Katy away in his mouth. And that was the end of Katy the katydid, killed by my wife, who was trying to save her.

Vaca Falls
Following Katy’s unfortunate demise, we decided to hike around the lodge to get a feel for the place. We looked at the birds and the trees. Kris made friends with the dozen horses that roam the property:

Eventually, we made the 1.5-mile hike from the lodge to Vaca Falls. As we walked, I was again reminded of rural Oregon during the mid 1970s. I was just a boy then, but I remember walking in my grandfather’s woods, and scrambling across the countryside with my friends. I had the same feeling now.

As we followed a dirt road above the Macal River, we looked at the strange vegetation and watched for critters that were new to us. We saw lots of termite nests like this one:

This termite nest also contained large black ants we later learned were army ants.

Eventually, we reached Vaca Falls, where a couple of men were fishing:

After enjoying the scenery, we strolled back to the lodge.

In the afternoon, we did what we’d traveled to Belize for: We relaxed. I climbed in the hammock, smoked my pipe, and did a little reading and writing. Kris joined me on the porch. Ostensibly, she was reading, but really she was watching the wildlife, describing every bird she saw. Life was good.

Still Waters Run Deep
Did I mention that Belize is humid? By 4pm, I was a sticky, stinky mess. Kris, John H., and I were on the deck overlooking the river when three collared aracari alighted in the nearby plantain trees. John and I scrabbled around on the deck to get good photos. As I did, my own body odor practically knocked me out.

“Wanna swim in the river?” Kris asked after the excitement was over.

“You bet,” I said. We changed and walked down to the shore.

Though the water wasn’t cold (maybe 15 or 16 centigrade), I was a pansy and inched my way in; I wouldn’t dive. But once I was in, I splashed around and had fun. I swam for a black rock about 25 feet away.

Right away, I knew I was in trouble. The current was swift, and I had to swim as hard as I could against it (which admittedly isn’t very hard) in order to stay in one place. Eventually I reached the black rock.

“That’s a perfect demonstration of vector dynamics,” Kris called from the shore.

“Haha,” I said.

The prudent thing at this point would have been to return the way I’d come. But since when have I been prudent? I decided to be bold and adventurous and swim for a sandy clearing on the far shore. Immediately after letting go of the black rock, I knew that I had no chance. The current swept me downstream.

I changed tack. Spying a huge rock formation a little further on, I turned back the way I’d come and let the current carry me to safety. I paused, held to the rock by the rushing water. I was still 25 feet from Kris and there was a lot of river between us.

Based on the way the water bubbled and rolled, I knew there were plenty of rocks just below the surface. But I also saw another giant rock formation just downstream. I steeled my courage and made for it, careful to watch for sunken boulders.

At this second rock formation, things were both much scarier — and less so. I could see that just beyond this outcropping, the river broadened and calmed, so that was good. But the rock itself was dangerous. The swift current had eaten away its base, so that while there was lots of rock on top, there was nothing but an inward-sloping craggy curve below the water. It would be all too easy to get sucked under.

I s-l-o-w-l-y made my way around the rock formation, pushed off, and swam for the sandy shore. Within a minute, I was safe, and I’d formed a new resolve to respect the water.

Our trip to Belize began at 3:30 last Saturday morning. We crawled out of bed, grabbed our bags, and groggily made our way to the airport. Our travel — a 3.5-hour flight to Houston, a 2-hour layover, and a 2.5-hour flight to Belize City — was uneventful. Just the way we like it.

My first clue to Belize’s character came at Philip Goldson International Airport in Ladyville, 11 miles northwest of Belize City. Walking from the tarmac into the airport is like walking back in time; I immediately though of the grade school I attended in 1975: the wood desks and doors, the linoleum floors, the lack of most modern technology.

And immigration was perfunctory, at best. The officers who processed our passports were so busy chatting about their weekend plans that they hardly gave us a glance. It took Kris longer to use the washroom than it took for us to make it through immigration and customs!

By far our biggest adventure of the day was the drive from Belize City (or Ladyville) to San Ignacio (and the Black Rock Lodge). We were picked up at the airport by the amiable John, who drove us the two-plus hours to our accommodations.

It’s difficult to convey what the roadside is like in Belize, but I’ll try.

If you’ve ever seen how folks drive in India (on The Amazing Race, for instance), then you have an idea of what the roads in Belize are like — though admittedly on a much much smaller scale. We drove on the Great Western Highway, which, despite the name, is a standard two-lane road like you’d see in the Oregon or Washington countryside. (Much of the drive reminded me of going from Estacada to Salem by way of Molalla and Silverton.)

Traffic is chaotic. Vehicles travel at wildly different speeds: Some loaded lorries were crawling at 20 kph; our driver preferred 100 kph. Motorcycles weave in and out of traffic, passing on the left or right. And the roadside is filled with bicycle and pedestrian traffic. Many of the pedestrians are hitching a ride, just like the U.S. in 1975. So, the beds of many pickups were filled with two, five, or six passengers, just like the U.S. in 1975.

The Great Western Highway is filled with bus stops; the buses themselves are often old and rickety. (In fact, we saw a couple of shattered and abandoned bus hulks by the side of the road.) But through this chaos, order emerges. Drivers and cyclists and pedestrians are all keenly aware of each other. Maybe it’s just because traffic is relatively light, but I never felt unsafe.

After about ninety minutes of driving — first through swampy land, then through savannah, and then through jungle — we reached the twin cities of Santa Elena and San Ignacio, which are divided by the Macal River. As we drove through town, John honked and waved at people. They waved back. “That’s my little daughter,” he said, waving at a seven-year-old girl in a pink dress. She was standing alone outside a store.

The final approach to Black Rock Lodge is over a washboarded gravel road six miles long. In some places, the potholes are so large that John drove on the shoulder to avoid them.

“What’s this orchard?” I asked John as the headlights revealed a grove of flowering trees. John stopped the truck and rolled down the windows. After two hours of air conditioning, we were swamped by warm and sticky air, and by a heavy, sweet scent. “Those are orange blossoms,” John told us. “It’s one of my favorite smells.” And now one of mine, too.

We reached the resort just in time for dinner. Dinner at Black Rock Lodge is served family style — you sit at one long table with all of the other guests, and the staff serves you each in turn. (Your only options or “meat” or “veg”; other than that, everyone has the same meal.)

“Hi,” said the fellow sitting next to me. “My name is John and I’m from Oregon.”

“Ha!” I said. “My name is John, and I’m from Oregon, too. I’m a writer.”

“I’m a writer, too,” said John. “My wife Carol and I live in West Linn. Where do you live?”

I laughed again. “We live just across the river from you, in Oak Grove.”

John motioned to the couple across the table from him. “This is Beth and this is another John. They’re from Tigard.”

So, we’d traveled all day and covered thousands of miles to sit down for dinner with virtual neighbors. (Another strange coincidence: The music playing in the background as we ate was obscure 1980s “alternative” stuff, such as Opus and Marillion and Echo and the Bunnymen. In other words, the stuff I listen to every day.)

After a long day of travel, we went to sleep early. Kris put in her earplugs so my snoring wouldn’t keep her awake. I stayed up, lying in bed, listening to the sounds of the jungle.