Guatemala

We never intended to go to Guatemala at all. It was an accident of fate that we had to spend a night here en-route to Honduras from Belize. From the accounts of many other travellers we met, it's a great place to visit, but when you plan a world trip, you have to make a few choices, otherwise you try and cram too much in. (There was a traveller's story floating around about a Korean chap who wanted to see all of the Latin American countries. The trouble was, he had just three weeks holiday, and when he got back home he had fine photos of every South American airport lounge.) Anyway, our stay in Guatemala was just one night in Puerto Barrios, a huge container port follwed by an arduous trip up into the mountains and the pilgrimmage town of Esquipulas. Puerto Barrios is Guatemala's largestt port. In fact being a mostly land locked country, it's the only port, an important transit point for the grillions of tons of bannanas and other tropical fruit that gets shipped out by the massive Chiquita and Dole fruit companies. The dockside was a mass of huge container marshalling yards, with 40 tonne containers of fruit stacked seven high.
We picked up our packs from the front of the speedboat and set off in search of immigration. It was at leat a mile from the jetty, it would have been very easy to enter illegally, but we decided we'd better get everything official or we mightn't ever be allowed to leave! I had heard several stories about corrupt officials in Guatemala imposing unoffical 'taxes' on tourists. Katie and I were steeling ourselves for a 'heated discussion', but it never happened. The guard was very charming, and noticing Katie's date of birth, he even wished her a happy birthday for later in the week.
The Hotel Del Norte is a fantastic old colonial building precariously perched on rotting wooden stilts by the harbours edge. It was the place where all the fruit company big wigs would stay when they visited their operational empires. From a distance,it looks fantastic, a cream coloured wooden pile with sweeping verandas overlooking the ocean. It's still one of the best places in town - but this just means that the rooms are rented by the night rather than the hour as is the case for many of the rest of the establishments in the town. Signs on the walls ask you to respectfully not bring any women of dubious repute back to your room. "That rules you out then Katie!"
7a Calle Final Y 1a Avenida, Puerto Barrios, Guatemala Phone: +502 (0) 9 480 087	Up close the place is well past its prime. A rich smell of decay ermeates the corridors. The stairs lean precariuosly to one side, like some fairground crazy house. However the place is still run in much the same way as it might have been in its glory days.
Waiters dressed in white tunics were gliding amonst the neatly laid out tables in the dining room before dinner time, making fine adjustments to the silverware. There was a wood panelled bar with glass cabinets where we could order an apertif. But the place was in terminal decline. All manner of fauna scuttled across our bedroom floor as we opened the door to go to bed. The bed was unbelievably damp and it smelled like a freshly rained upon compost heap. The air was thick and dank, and sleep came fitfully. I was glad when the dawn light filtered in, and I was able to get dressed. I was also awoken from my slumber by an excruciating stinging sensation as I pushed my arm into my sweatshirt. A tiny little red scorpion fell out of the sleeve. Fortunately for me it wasn't deadly.
Up into the Hills There was no boat from PB to Honduras as we had hoped. This was a major disappointment, which meant a major detour inland up into the Cordillera and back down again to reach a point down the coast in Honduras that was no more than about 50km as the crow flies. We dodged the early morning articulated fruit lorries, walked into the centre of town and began making enquiries about buses to Chiquimula. We soon found it, a dishevelled second class heap in blue and chrome with sagging seats and cracked windows. we bought a bag of sponge cakes and some bags of water for the trip. The bus edged slowly out of town, stopping frequently and filling up to overcapacity with people. I remember passing a river so polluted its colour was jet black. We finally left town and ground along up into the hills. In the towns along teh way, the arrival of 'the bus' was a big event. At each stop we were boarded by crowds of hawkers selling fresh fruit from baskets, water, bags of banana chips (delicious), ice creams, pastels and pies. When tghe food sellers had gone, they were replaced by quacks selling miracle home-remedies for all known illnesses - rheumatism, arthiritis, gout, you name it "all cured by this mracle pill". The guy was doing a reoaring trade. He sold out. At Chiquimulas, we had to change bus. We only realised this after everyone else got off, and we were the only two mugs left on. The next bus was a beaten up Japanese minivan, roof piled dngerously high with packages and baggage, inside it was busting at the seams. There were 26 people sharing seats for what should have been a maximum of 14 passengers. There were five in the front. It was amazing that the driver could get to change gear. We set off at a truly hair raising pace around well surfaced but very bendy mountain roads. It's an hours' journety to Esquipiulas, normally, but our trip took ages longer, since we stopped in some nondescript town, and the driver refused to leave until the 4 people that had got off were replaced with 4 more sardines. Finally, after one of the most painful days of travel to date, we descended into the town of Esquipulas at about 4pm.
Esquipulas Esquipulas is a place of some renown throughout Central America as an important pilgrimage destination for catholics wishing to visit the 'black christ'. Legend has it that in the 16th Century, the then bishop of the region, was dying from chronic illness. He had a miraculous recovery, which he attributed to a hardwood statue of Christ. In awe, he then devoted his life to building a magnificent basilica to houise the black christ and sat back to enjoy the prosperitythat the many thousands of visiting pilgrims brought to the town. Even today, the main industry of the town is the servicing of the many thousands of religious zealots that visit each year. There are dozens of hotels, restaurants and souveir shops selling every conceivable religious memento. Perhaps most bizarre were the plastic gearknobs with an effigy of the black christ embedded in them, or theflimsy cardboard mini-shrines complete with fairy lights. I loved the collectors cards of the saints, a bit like the football cards you colect as a kid, with all the key statistics laid out. "Oy Katie, I'll swap you San Ignacio for San Juan and a stick of bubble gum!".		Basilica of the Black Christ
It would have been rude not to have paid a visit to the Basilica to see the statue itself. I made my way up the magnificent marble steps, parrying the hordes of instamatic touting portrait photographers aside. As with many Latin American churches, it was very gloomy inside, despite the many hundreds of candles that were lit. A woman was shuffling down the long aisle on her knees. When miraculously, as she reached her pew, she was able to stand! Maybe there's something in this black christ thing after all.
We didn't have enough Quetzales to hang around in Esquipulas, Guatemala, sowe decided to make a break for the borderand caught a bus to Honduras. The border is at the top of a pass. There were about thirty trucks queued up waiting to get through. Shifty looking money changers milled around. We had to pay a $10 US 'entry tax' this time round. A really crappy old bus was waiting on the other side.

You are reading the story of Adrian and Katie's travels through the Americas between May and August 1998.
Adrian and Katie put the rat race on hold for a year to travel the world.

                 

Adrian & Katie's World Tour News - Guatemala                                          Last Updated: 9 September 1998
Web Page by Adrian Ball  (email: adrian.ball@virgin.net)