7 - 21 November 2006

by Ruth Richards

{Note: Ruth posted her complete daily journals on-line, accompanied by photographs. Only the bird-relevent portions of these diary entries are included here. To read her full diary, and view her photos, click HERE. The complete Trip List is at the end of this report.)

Birdwatching is a wonderful pastime. It takes you to many different places to add to your lifelist of birds. While there, you can take in the new sights and culture and try out some new food. The money you spend will help out the locals, and they are as interested to talk to you as you are to them.

Planning the trip is half the fun, and I started early. In June of 2006 I had already purchased my airline ticket for Guatemala City in November. I'd hoped to fly into Flores, in the Peten and closer to my birding site of Tikal, but the ticket price jumped $200 in a couple of days so I waited. A couple of weeks later the price had climbed $300 more, so I bought my ticket to Guate (Guatemala City) for about $500, including taxes and travel insurance. Over the next five months I watched the price of the ticket to Flores climb as high as $1900. In October it settled back to about $700. Then In late November the only airline that offered flights from the U.S. direct to Flores discontinued them.

In preparation for my trip, I read every blog and trip report (birding and non-birding) I could find on the web. I read at least three or four travel guides and bought the newest one I could find to take with me. I read suggested packing lists from several sources and started accumulating the things I didn't have. I joined three or four online travel forums to get current information.

I decided against the recommended immunizations of Typhoid and Hepatitis A and the pre-trip malaria medication (chloroquine). The total cost of the doctor's visit, injections, and medications would have exceeded $400, and I have had no medical insurance for twenty years. Since I expected to be in the jungle for long periods, sitting and watching birds, I contacted a Guatemalan doctor by email for advice. He very graciously explained that Aralen (chloroquine), was readily available over-the-counter at any Guatemalan pharmacy and was very inexpensive. He suggested that I take two tablets each week I was there, and then one tablet for each of two weeks after I returned home.

I planned to leave Guate as soon as possible after I arrived. Whether by air or by bus, I couldn't decide. Website information was sorely outdated, and even the travel guides couldn't keep up with the rapid price and schedule changes. All assured me that I would have no problem getting either a hotel or a bus or airline ticket after I arrived in Guate. I decided to believe that it was true.

My major concern was my age and health. At 63 and with chronic back problems and a leg recently injured playing table tennis, I no longer had the physical stamina I might need. I decided to carry along a lightweight birding chair, which I usually carry draped over one shoulder. I rigged up a lightweight backpack to it, so that there would be two shoulder straps for long jaunts and a place to carry field guides, water, and snacks. I strapped the two tightly together for the plane trip. In addition, I used a carry-on size backpack with wheels. I never carried it on my back, and I always checked both pieces of luggage so that I had less to worry about.

I wasn't overly concerned about all the warnings against women traveling alone. Whatever might happen to me there could just as easily happen to me anywhere. Birding alone presented unique problems. Tour groups or guides were considered, despite their cost (which is surprisingly high for Guatemala). In the end, I decided to go it alone, as I do at home. I like going at my own pace (slow), staying quiet to attract birds (hard within a group), and sighting and identifying the birds by myself (more of a challenge and an accomplishment). Ideally, one other self-sufficient, independent, dedicated birding companion would have been great. Oh, well.

I made a journal entry for each of the days of my trip (two weeks), and a summary at the end. The entries were very detailed, as that's the way I remember things and that's what I searched for before I left and hope will help future travelers. I hope all readers will glean some needed information and enjoy!

Guatemala City, Nov. 7, 2006

My 7a.m. flight to Guatemala sounded good when I booked it, not taking into consideration the half-hour drive to the airport and 2-hour cushion the airline suggested. I carefully readied everything the night before. At 4:30am, however, I was already awake and excited to begin my adventure.

I had a two-and-a-half hour wait in the Charlotte airport. I found a place where I could rest my head and attempted a short nap, to no avail. When I made my way to the gate, I expected to find lots of other tourists traveling to Guatemala. Apparently, I was the only one. It seemed all the Guatemaltecans must have been in the U.S. and were now returning home. Children abounded, and everyone was speaking Spanish—rapidly. I’d been in places where there were a lot of Spanish-speaking foreigners, but I had always felt sure of myself. Now there was a different feeling in the air. I was going to their country. I would be the minority. I felt a little unnerved but more empathetic.

When my two seatmates were chatting in Spanish I was checking off in my mind the things I had to do when we arrived. I had to change some traveler’s checks or look for an ATM to get some local currency (quetzals). I had to find my luggage. I had to check on flights to Flores that afternoon or find a hotel. If I found a hotel I’d still have to make either air or bus reservations for the next day. Most sources had said there was an INGUAT booth at the airport where English was spoken and where information was dispensed.

As it turned out, the INGUAT employee spoke very little English. She wasn’t able to give me any of the information I needed (nor had their website before I left), so she pointed to the TACA airline counter. I retrieved my bags, changed some money, and stood in the line she pointed out—the wrong line. When I finally found the right line and was able to talk to the airline employee (in English, thankfully!), I found I could fly out of Guate on the last flight of the day…in about an hour. I’d thought about shopping around for a ticket price cheaper than the $138 TACA charged, but both INGUAT and several other uniformed people assured me that TACA was the only airline that flew to Flores (despite what travel guides and online sources said). I made my decision, bought the ticket, checked both bags, and (after a wrong turn or two) found my way upstairs to the gate of departure. There I was told my ticket did not contain the stamp showing I had paid the small departure tax. Back downstairs I hurried, stood in line, and paid the tax (relieved I had changed money, since the tax was payable only in quetzals, if I remember correctly). Back to the gate, the plane was boarding. I sank into my seat, wondering how I would fare in Flores after dark without a hotel reservation and with very little to eat that day.

Flores, Nov. 8, 2006

I woke up an hour or more before dawn. I switched on the tiny book light I’d brought and scanned the floor before I stepped out of bed. No bugs. Good!

Last evening when I’d arrived at the airport, I found the INGUAT booth and asked if they would call a couple of hotels I’d checked in my guidebook as promising, to see if they had space and to confirm the price. Again, the girl at the desk spoke no English, and she didn’t have the numbers of the hotels I suggested; but she did mention a Casa Azul, which sounded familiar. I thought I’d remembered reading a good review of it somewhere, and it was close to the other two hotels I’d had in mind. She called, they had a room with private bath for $26 (including tax), and I found a taxi to take me there at a reasonable price, so off I went.

The hotel was at the far side of the island from the causeway. I’d thought it might be quieter there. The cobblestone streets were narrow, and all the buildings were close together and run down. Tired and hungry, I was less than charmed by my first impression of Flores. I asked to see the room while the taxi driver waited with my bags in the lobby. It wasn’t bad! There were two double beds in a pretty large room with an adjoining private bathroom. Everything seemed clean, if dim. The lights must all have held 20-watt bulbs. I paid for one night, paid the taxi driver, and he helped me carry my bags upstairs to the room. Looking around a bit more, I noticed a T.V. inside a compartment near the ceiling and a remote nearby. Surprise! There was also a door at the back of my room leading to a porch overlooking Lake Peten Itza. Nice! Now to find something to eat.

The lady at the front desk said there was a restaurant two doors down, so out I went. The restaurant had tables under thatched roofs down by the lake, as well as indoor seating. I just order a hamburger with ketchup only, to go (para llevar). It took quite a while, so I strolled around (few people inside) and peeked into the kitchen. Quite shocking! No health inspectors around here, it seemed. And this was supposedly a nice restaurant! My hamburger came, surrounded with fries I didn’t order, and topped with lettuce and tomato, which I’d specifically told them to leave off. I put my health in God’s hands, paid for the food and a bottle of Pepsi without comment, and returned to my hotel, where I consumed everything with gusto. The hotel had Internet, so I was able to email my family to let them know I’d arrived safely. Then I took a shower, found one channel on the T.V. that spoke English, and relaxed. Thoughts of the day whirled through my mind. I was asleep soon after.

Since I awoke so early the next morning, I stepped onto the porch overlooking the lake at dawn’s first light, and it was a beautiful view, indeed. By the time it was fully light, I was on my way to the Parque Central. I made it a half-block before a light rain sent me back to the hotel for an umbrella. By now the cobblestones were quite slippery from the rain, and the tiny sidewalks (where there were any) weren’t much better. The route from the hotel to the park was a steep, uphill walk. I made it there with much effort.

Once at the park, the rain soon stopped and the sun came out. This small, treed park was a haven for birds on the stony island. They were active in the early morning and I had a delightful several hours. Few of the birds were ones I’d seen before, and I was kept busy identifying them all in my field guides. Getting hungry, I noticed a street vendor surrounded by customers. Having eaten the forbidden greens without consequences, I was feeling brave. I edged up to the vendor and watched for a while as others chose from four or five different dishes. I decided on two. I just held out my hand with some bills and change and let the vendor take whatever she wanted. The food was very cheap. It was also very delicious.

The bird life quieted down after that, so I hired a tuk-tuk (renovated golf cart?), for about a dollar, to take me to a farmacia (pharmacy) I’d seen earlier. There I was able to buy Aralen (chloroquine) for protection against malaria. Eight tablets cost twenty quetzals (about three dollars). It was only about a block from there to the hotel, so I walked slowly and took in the sights.

Suddenly my left leg went through a hole in the sidewalk up to my knee, breaking some pipes and drenching me with water (I hoped it was water). There was no one to help and no one to blame, so I pulled my leg out of the hole (the same leg that was just healing from the table tennis mishap) and limped back to the hotel, dripping wet and with one shoe soaked. The lady at the front desk told me she would dry my clothes, and I dried my shoe with the hairdryer I’d brought for just that purpose (and so glad I did). Later, I took a photo of one of the many square sections cut into the sidewalks with iron circles attached for lifting them up to get to the pipes below. I was told that children had probably removed the cover of the hole into which I’d fallen, as a prank.

I was ready to leave Flores for El Ramate, where I had reservations for the next four days. I asked the lady at the front desk to call the taxi driver who had brought me to the hotel. He’d given me his card and told me he could take me to El Ramate for about $5. As it turned out, that was for a morning trip in a collectivo (minivan) with others. Alone, he would charge me $25. An owner of the hotel overheard the conversation and told me $25 was too much to pay. He knew a taxi driver that would take me to El Ramate for 50 quetzals (about $7-8) and could be there in 15 minutes. That suited me.

The taxi wasn’t really a taxi. I think the driver was just a friend of the owner’s, but he was nice and polite. We rode with the windows down all the way. I thought maybe the air conditioning was broken, although it was a fairly new car. I was not unhappy to leave Flores.

I showered and went to bed soon after dinner, wanting to get up before dawn for a full day of birding.

El Remate and Biotopo Cerro Cahui, November 9

It was time to get up. I stowed everything in the backpack attached to my birding chair and headed out front to get a bicycle. The bicycles hadn’t been brought out for the day, so I had to wait while someone went to get one. The one they offered me was in pretty bad shape. It seems the one I’d ridden yesterday belonged to a hotel employee, and he wasn’t there this day. A lot of the workers rode bicycles, most of them pretty nice. I asked if there was a better one available and they took me below, where they kept them, to take my choice of several more. What an awful selection. I finally chose the one that was least offensive. At least it had a rack over the back tire so I could secure my chair/backpack combo to it with a bungee cord and not have to carry it on my back while I rode. They lowered the seat (pounded it down with a hammer) before I could ride it. Then they had to go get air in the tires.

Despite the delay I managed to get to Biotopo Cerro Cahui a bit before it opened, birding along the way. A guard showed up soon and unlocked the gate. He told me to pay the small entrance fee when I came back down from my walk. There were no maps, despite what sources had said, other than the one printed on a large board at the entrance. I questioned the guard long and hard about directions, not wanting to get lost, and about the length of time it would take. He assured me that one could walk the entire path easily in three hours, even taking it slowly. That would allow me time to eat in one of the restaurants I had passed on the way, or wade in the lake off one of the piers (all public).

Not far into the forest I heard large wings flapping overhead and saw a huge black bird with yellow and blue on its face. My guidebook told me it was a Montezuma Oropendola. What a great start! I continued my gradual uphill climb. I didn’t see a lot of birds, but every one I did see was one I’d never seen before in my life.

The path soon became steeper, and there were lots of wooden stairs. I had to stop as often as every ten or twenty yards just to catch my breath. I was glad I had the chair. The entrance map had shown three overlooks along the way, branching off from the main path. After the first overlook one could take a shorter loop back to the entrance. It wasn’t long before I saw a sign that pointed toward the first overlook. That was hopeful. But after a lot more climbing, and several more signs pointing toward the overlook, I began to wonder if I’d ever get there. It was very hot and humid, I was drenched with sweat, and I’d drunk half my water already. I knew no one was ahead of me on the path since I was the first one in the gate, and no one had passed me from below. Finally, I heard voices. A couple from France passed me on their way to the overlook. We spoke a few words in our broken, common tongue (Spanish) and they trudged on ahead, being younger and in better shape than I. Much later, when I was ready to turn back, I heard them coming back down. They said it wasn’t much farther and that I shouldn’t give up when I was so close.

By now the path was narrower, almost vertical, and had tree roots for stairs. I refused to give up, though, and inched my way along. At long last I reached the overlook, a breathtaking view of the east end of Lake Peten Itza from far above. After I’d eaten my snack, had a few sips of my diminishing water supply, and taken in the view for a while, I started back down. There were several confusing signs pointing out various options, but I planned to retrace my steps. Descending the steep path was almost as hard as climbing it. My toes were crammed into the front of my hiking shoes, and I felt blisters forming. I held onto tree branches to keep from slipping, and my neck ached from looking down all the time. I finished my water before I got back to the entrance.

When I finally saw the path widen and knew I was close to the entrance, all I could think about was water. But there was none. I asked the guard, a different young man from the one who let me in, if there was a store nearby. None close, I was told. In desperation, I asked if he could ride his bike to the nearest one and buy me some water. I would pay him. He hesitated only a minute, and then agreed and was off. I soon had a two-liter bottle of water and downed much of it on the spot. I tried to give him a generous tip, but he would only accept the money to pay for the water.

The first guard reappeared then and wanted to know how I liked my walk. A little irritated, I asked him why he had so greatly underestimated the time it took to see the Biotopo. It had been six hours since I began the hike, and I’d only gone a third of the distance he had said I could cover easily in three hours. I suggested that he adjust his advice for older hikers. He just grinned and said I wasn’t old. I assured him that I was—sixty-three, in fact. He just grinned again and said I didn’t look it. I wasn’t flattered.

El Remate and Tikal, November 10, 2006

I woke up early again, as usual.   I gathered my pack, chair, snacks, water, and sack lunch from the still-closed office, making it out front to the waiting van with only a minute to spare. I got into the van with the Canadians, a French couple, and enough others to fill the van (which didn’t stop the driver from picking up another passenger along the way). We drove in the dark for about a half hour.

After pausing at the entrance to Tikal, we continued on to the parking lot, another fifteen minutes. By that time it was beginning to get light, and we spotted a flock of ten to twenty Ocellated Turkeys on the grounds of the Visitor’s Center as we passed by. Everyone got out of the van at the large parking lot (old airstrip), in front of one of the museums. To the right were the Jaguar Inn and Tikal Inn hotels. To the left were the Jungle Lodge hotel and the path leading into the jungle. I went to the thatched guard’s hut to pay the entrance fee of 50 quetzals (about $7). The entrance fee was payable daily, whether one spent the night in Tikal or not, and was payable only in quetzals. I’d expected the fee to be higher.

Right past the guard’s hut, on the left side of the road (it was still a wide road for some way), there was an embankment that hid a pond. Three Gray-necked Wood-Rails were foraging in the grass. What amazing birds! After watching them for a while, I continued walking along the road, which then narrowed into a wide path. I soon came upon a huge Ceiba tree on the right, in a little clearing. It took three photos to take in the tree, top to bottom. A little farther on I came to an intersection with a guardhouse on the left. The guard punched the ticket I had received when I paid the fee. There was a huge wooden map ahead, showing the various paths and ruin sites (there were also paper maps for sale).

I chose the path to the left, wanting to bird quietly away from the crowds that I expected would be at the Great Plaza (although there were few people around anywhere at this point). I spent all morning happily alone, watching toucans, parrots, trogons, and many other wonderful birds. I spotted a troop of howler monkeys, several spider monkeys swinging through the trees, and even two foxes. I walked for miles.

Several small pickup trucks loaded with workers had passed me while I birded. I wondered if they would give me a ride. I was very tired. Sure enough, I waved one down and the driver kindly dropped me off at the entrance.

El Remate and Tikal, November 11, 2006

At dawn’s early light I biked to Biotopo Cerro Cahui again. It had poured the night before and yesterday afternoon, making for slippery footing along the paths. I birded the clearings close to the entrance and just a short way up the path before deciding I might just as well cut a day off my stay at El Remate and head to Tikal. The birding was much better there and, hopefully, it would be quieter at night. It had even seemed a slight bit cooler at Tikal than at El Remate (maybe only low-nineties instead of mid-nineties!).

I felt it was too late in the day to venture far into the jungle, so I birded around the comedores and hotel grounds and was not disappointed. I was very, very hot and sticky, so I then decided to take a dip in the pool at the Jungle Lodge. It soon became apparent that I needed to return to my room for my binoculars. The trees were filling with parrots, toucans, and monkeys.

Tikal, November 12, 2006

I awoke refreshed after a good night’s sleep. The only sounds were the hooting of an owl and some other night creatures.

I prepared for a long day of birding. I paid my fee at the guard’s hut at dawn and headed east down the old airstrip and jungle path beyond. Birds and butterflies were everywhere. I checked out a swampy pond far down the jungle path that was supposed to hold crocodiles, but I didn’t see any. I did see my first Keel-billed Toucan. I also saw dozens of tiny frogs. The larger ones were a half-inch, but the smaller ones were only a quarter-inch. I caught one in my hand, but it quickly escaped. I was alone all morning; not one other person did I see.

When I finished exploring and turned back westward, I saw a large animal on the path about 200 yards ahead, walking toward me. I lifted my binoculars and saw a large catlike animal with a long, thick tail curled toward the ground (like a cat holds its tail). The head was small in proportion to the body and was black. All the rest of the body, including the tail, was a tawny brown. It looked to be about twice the size of the fox I’d seen at Tikal. The animal saw me and paused but then continued toward me to within 100 yards, when it turned to its left and casually walked into the jungle. What a thrill!

When I returned to the hotel area I questioned guards, guides, and others as to the identification of the animal. Some said it might have been a jaguar, some said a young panther, and others suggested names unfamiliar to me. There were no guidebooks with wildlife photos in the Visitor’s Center or elsewhere. I would have to wait to discover the identity of this strange animal.

That afternoon I birded among the jungle ruins. I took the path that led to the Temple of Inscriptions (Temple VI), the most remote of the ruins and the most deserted. I saw no one else, not on the way, nor after I arrived at the site (but I did see my third fox). It was a long way and only about an hour before dusk once I finally arrived. I had my headlamp with me, but I didn’t want to be in the jungle alone after dark. Before I had to leave, though, I heard a hawk-like cry and searched the sky. As I had hoped, I spotted an Orange-breasted Falcon, circling and calling not far overhead. As I watched, it flew to the top of a dead tree near the temple and perched there for some time. I felt grateful to have seen this rare species.

Tikal, November 13, 2006

I paid my daily fee at the guard’s hut and entered the forest, excited to be birding. At the second guard’s hut I turned north toward Uaxactun, birding along the road. I didn’t see a lot of birds, though, and trucks filled with workers kept passing on the narrow road, so I backtracked and made my way into the ruins via the path that led to Temple VI. About a third of the way from the entrance to that path, a small path branched to the right. It wasn’t noted on any of the several maps I had. The path was dedicated to some man (can’t remember the name), and had signs posted every so often explaining the use of certain plants and trees (in Spanish, for the most part). About halfway through this side path I ran into lots and lots of mosquitoes. Everything on me was covered except my hands and face (I always wore long sleeves and pants, regardless of the heat). Fortunately, I had brought some lightweight gloves and a mosquito net that fit over my hat, covering my face. I quickly put them on, wondering how I would be able to see through the net with my binoculars. Surprisingly, the net didn’t hamper my view very much at all. I was very grateful I had brought it.

The side path came to an end near Group G, the excavated ruins I had seen my first day at Tikal (and where I’d seen my first fox). From there, the path led to the Great Plaza. For a while I watched flocks of parrots and oropendolas there. Then I headed for the Lost World, via Temple V and the Plaza of the Seven Temples. I’d heard the roar of a troop of Howler Monkeys and wanted to get a look at them again. The first time I’d seen them they had been quietly feeding in the trees overhead. On the way I spotted a pair of foxes.

When I reached the Lost World (getting close to the roaring monkeys but not spotting them), I climbed the smaller of the two pyramids (not a hard climb), hoping for a better look into the canopy at some small birds flitting about. They turned out to be Yellow-throated and Olive-backed Euphonias—a flock of about ten or twenty. 

Tikal, November 14, 2006

Today promised to be the first in which I could bird all day long, without having to be concerned about checking in or out of a hotel. I went through my morning routine, making sure I had extra food and water for the day.

I wasn’t sure which way to go first. I’d already birded all of the major ruins: Group G; the Central Acropolis; Great Plaza and North Acropolis; Plaza of the Seven Temples; Plaza of the Lost World; Tozzer, Maudslay, Mendez, and Maler Causeways; Group H; Complex R and Q (where I’d fallen my first day at Tikal); and Temples I, II, III, IV, V, and VI. They were all equally good, so I took the paths that required the least effort. The thick jungle canopy partially blocked the intense rays of the sun, which was a relief.

After birding for a couple of hours, I walked toward Temple IV, the highest temple. Birders had reported that standing atop Temple IV at about 10am was a good way to spot hawks rising on the air currents above the jungle canopy. I really wanted to add some hawks to my list.

On my way to the site, I saw movement in the undergrowth off the path. Suddenly I saw a raccoon-sized animal with a long snout and a striped tail, which it held straight up in the air. Then I saw another, and another, and another—large ones and small ones. I counted at least eighteen. I recognized the Coati from photos I’d seen in a wildlife guide before I left home. They were quite tame and came to within a yard or two, probably looking for handouts. It was quite a sight!

When I reached Temple IV, I watched the tourists climb and descend the almost-vertical, one-way ladders attached to one side of the temple. Several of the tourists were older-looking women, so I asked them how hard it had been. They all encouraged me, saying that I shouldn’t leave without the experience—that the view was worth the climb. They said to take my time, stopping as I needed to, until I reached the top (which couldn’t be seen from the bottom). Well, I thought, I could climb a bit and return to the bottom if I couldn’t make it all the way.

It took a while, but I finally reached the top, carrying my chair/pack on my back. A couple had stepped over the barrier rope in order to sit on the shady side at the top of the temple, and I did the same. The view was spectacular. The jungle was a green carpet stretching for miles in every direction, unbroken except for the tops of several other temples in the distance. I sat for a while, resting and taking in the grandeur. I didn’t see any hawks, but a White-necked Jacobin (Hummingbird) hovered in front of me briefly. .

Soon after my descent, I saw another group of Coatis. This time I counted twenty-eight! Tourists were all taking photos, except me. I hadn’t brought my camera this day. Later in the day I saw the only Agouti of my trip—a rabbit-like creature with short ears and hind legs longer than the front.

Behind Temple IV I discovered a thatched roof restroom. It was the only restroom I had seen anywhere among the ruins. They had sinks with running water, so I was able to splash some cold water on my face. The guard said not to drink the water (although he did).

In the clearings near the excavations, under the tall trees, workers with handmade brooms were busily sweeping the dirt clean from constantly falling leaves and branches. I saw these sweepers at most of the sites, all day long. These clearings were great places to watch birds—open enough to allow a wide view, but enough cover so that the birds didn’t seem to be bothered by my presence. I set up my chair at one of the clearings to rest and eat some of the food I’d packed, binoculars always at the ready.

A group of tourists had surrounded a tree not far from where I rested. I heard their excited voices and rose from my grassy bed to discover the reason for their excitement. It seems a guard had discovered a young Fer de Lance at the base of the tree. It is the most venomous and aggressive of the area’s snakes. I think he called it a Barba Amarilla. We were told that a bite could kill within fifteen minutes. The tourists finally drifted off, after taking lots of photos, and I watched as the guard used a tree branch to pick up the snake and move it to a more isolated spot. He kept dropping it, and the snake was obviously agitated. It didn’t slither away when it was dropped, though. It stood its ground. It took quite a few tries before the guard was finally able to carry it off.

Tikal to Sayaxche to Coban, November 15, 2006

The desk clerk told me there was no transport going directly to Coban. I would have to go to Flores first. There was a minibus returning to Flores after dropping off some workers, but it was leaving in fifteen minutes from the guard’s hut. I would have to hurry.

I stood at the guard’s hut for quite a while, waiting for the minibus. It never arrived. Or maybe it had left early. I left my suitcase there, in the care of the guards, and walked back to the hotel lobby. The desk clerk suggested I take a taxi to Flores and then the 600-quetzal shuttle in the afternoon (which I would reserve through the desk clerk). The shuttle would arrive in Coban after dark. That didn’t suit me. I was sure there must be a better way.

The desk clerk offered to talk to the various minibus drivers arriving with tourists to see if any were returning to Flores, or if any would drive to Coban. There were no takers. The desk clerk returned to the hotel and I was left at the guard’s hut with my luggage, no room, and no ride. After standing around for a while, talking to the guards and asking for suggestions, one of the guards went to talk to a driver about my situation. The man said he would drive me to Flores. His price seemed high, but what other choice was there?

The taxi driver said he had been driving tourists around the area for twenty years. He said he knew all the schedules and prices. I had missed the first class bus to Coban from Flores, he said. Couldn’t he drive me all the way to Coban? “For 245,” he said. That seemed cheap, until I found out he meant dollars. Why, that was much more than my flight from Guatemala City to Flores, I objected. But gas was expensive, he explained, and there were no flights between Tikal and Coban. After thinking about it for a bit, I declined his offer. Then he suggested that he drive me to Sayaxche, between Flores and Coban. He thought we could get there in time for me to catch the early bus to Coban, which would get me into Coban by 1pm (three hours). He would charge me $80. It seemed like the only option.

We sped along and made it to the river, Rio de la Pasion, about 10am. I knew there was a ferry that had to be crossed near Sayaxche, but I assumed that it was a vehicle ferry. Wrong! The ferry was a small, canoe-like boat with some tarps thrown over some posts to keep the sun off a part of the boat. No life preservers or vests in sight. I could see to the other side of the river, but I saw no bus station. The taxi driver lifted my luggage from his car and set it on the ground. Wasn’t he going to come with me to the bus station? I asked, anxiety obvious in my voice. After a moment’s hesitation, he agreed, and paid our fare (less than a quetzal). We got aboard and sat on one side, the only passengers. Within fifteen minutes, the boat had filled with passengers and baggage. It was so filled, in fact, that the water rose to within a couple inches of the top. I would never be able to swim to the other side if the boat overturned or was filled with water. Maybe this would be the way I would die. Ah well, I comforted myself, it would be quicker than a painful disease. Several others (all natives, as I was the only tourist) seemed fearful as well, or maybe they were just teasing the tourist.

In a very short time we reached the other side, but I had very little time to appreciate my safe voyage. The taxi driver hurried me over to an old bus near the river. I’d thought it was a junked bus, or one waiting for repairs. He talked to the bus driver in rapid Spanish, arranging the fare that I would pay after the bus was underway. At the end of their conversation the taxi driver said, “No mas,” (“No more”), with a reproving look at the bus driver, suggesting that he thought the negotiated price might be changed later. I was told to sit in the front single seat, behind the driver. I put my suitcase/chair in a space to the left of the driver’s seat. I paid the taxi driver 560 quetzals ($80), which I’d gotten from an ATM in Flores (my new debit card had worked!). Then he left.

Now that I had a moment to catch my breath, I looked at my surroundings. Sayaxche seemed very rundown. There were lots of skinny dogs in the dirt streets, and one swimming across the river. The bus was pretty rundown, too. Across the front was a sign that read, “Dios Bendiga Este Bus.” I think that meant, “God blesses this bus.” I hoped so. The bus didn’t leave for another half hour, and I sat baking inside, sweat running down my body. There had been only two other passengers when I arrived, clear at the back of the bus. When I saw they were obviously tourists, I went back to talk to them. They told me what they had paid to ride to Coban, and it was less than my fare. Ah, well.

The bus driver had a helper. The helper carried the passengers’ large bundles and bags onto the bus. A lot of the stuff ended up on a platform at the front of the bus, right next to me. Most of the men carried machetes, and those were wrapped and placed with the parcels. It was fascinating to see all of the different types of things that people carried onto the bus, some of the cargo probably bound for the market in Coban. When the bus pulled away, the helper leaned out of the open door, soliciting passengers and calling out warnings to the driver when he came too close to vehicles or pedestrians along the very crowded streets of Sayaxche. I was so glad I hadn’t rented a car.

When the engine of the bus had roared to life it was unbelievably loud. The driver solved that problem by playing his music of choice at a volume that exceeded the roar. I solved both problems by inserting earplugs. Wonderful earplugs. I had brought several pairs after testing different kinds at home before my trip. The bus raced through the streets of Sayaxche at about 10mph. I was anxious to get out on the open road, hoping for a breeze through the open window. Even after that happened, however, the bus would pull over frequently to pick up anyone who waved them down from the side of the road. The door was never closed, and the helper stood leaning out of the open door the whole trip. He was a handsome young man (teenager?) of boundless energy and smiling demeanor. As soon as the bus would slow for a new passenger, the helper would jump off, grab the cargo, and stow it on the bus. Later he would collect the fares.

The view was spectacular. Tall mountains. Lush green valleys. The higher we climbed into the mountains, the slower went the bus. I’m pretty sure that at least a quarter of the way it only managed 5-10mph. Several times on a steep incline I actually thought the bus would stop altogether and begin rolling back down the hill. A couple of weeks before my trip I had read of a bus with forty passengers that had plunged off a mountain road, killing everyone aboard.

The bus stopped at a tiny village along the way and the driver hopped off. About ten minutes later he returned, carrying some food and pop. How I wished I’d known I could have done the same. I was very hungry. I’d had a few cookies at breakfast and nothing since. It was well past noon. An hour or more later, the driver stopped at another tiny village and hopped off. This time I followed and explained to him that I would like to get something to eat. He led me to a grubby row of food stands. There were several large, steaming, black pots. I pointed to one and they filled a small paper plate with what looked like pork hocks and small kidney beans. They put a few tortillas inside a paper and handed everything to me. I requested an eating utensil (with motions, since I’d forgotten the Spanish word for “fork”), and a lengthy search for one ensued. Then I got a bottle of orange soda from an icy wheelbarrow and re-boarded the bus.

I soon understood why no one else used a plastic fork. It was of no use. I gingerly picked up one of the bones and tried to gnaw off some meat. There was no meat. Just fat and gristle. I ate the few mouthfuls of beans and handed my plate to the helper to do with as he chose. At least I had an ice-cold drink. When I unscrewed the lid, I found out just how icy. Bits of orange ice exploded out of the bottle, all over my pants. I held the bottle in such a way that the rest of the explosion went onto the floor in front—where my suitcase was sitting. I lifted it off the floor with my left foot so that it wouldn’t rest in the growing orange puddle. I managed only one or two sips from the bottle, the rest of its contents frozen solid. I passed it to the helper. He handed me a rag to wipe my hands.

The bus ride seemed never ending. I was sure it had been more than three hours, but I didn’t have a watch and couldn’t get to my clock. There was nothing I could do about it anyway. The driver was obviously bored, as well. A woman had boarded the bus several miles from Sayaxche and had asked if she and her children could sit in the front seat next to him. I wished I’d asked to sit there, with an unblocked view. The two were talking non-stop. When a vehicle approached, coming toward us, the driver would pull slightly to the left, over the white line (this was a narrow, two-lane road). The other driver always gave way and pulled onto the berm. Then our driver would look at the woman as if to say, “Now what do you think of me?” The woman seemed impressed. I’d thought these buses were called “chicken buses” only because passengers carried chickens on board at times. Now I realized that there was another reason for the name.

Another long time had passed. The bus slowed to a stop. The helper hopped out with a large can. Down the hill he scrambled, to a creek, where he filled the can. He poured the contents into a hole in the floor of the bus and returned for a second can of water. Then we were on our way again.

After five uncomfortable hours, we finally arrived in Coban. The bus driver called over a taxi driver for me and told me not to pay him more than ten quetzals for a ride to the town center. I asked the driver to take me to Casa D’Acuna, a hotel recommended in my guidebook. They were full. They recommended another hotel a couple of blocks away. It was also full, as was a third. The fourth stop, at Pension Monja Blanca, was a success. They had a room with a private bath for about $35. The taxi driver wanted fifty quetzals for the several extra blocks. I knew he was ripping me off, but I was beyond caring.

The room was dark and small, but I was glad to be there. There was even a television, but the remote didn’t work. After talking to several people, a refined-looking older woman came to my room and loaned me her remote. I guessed she was the owner. I lay on the bed for a while and watched a tennis match. I had to turn the volume up pretty loud, because the head of my bed was against a wall that was only a few yards from the busy, one-way street into town. Most of the vehicles that passed were trucks. Huge trucks. Few, if any, of them had mufflers. Soon, a car equipped with a loudspeaker parked across the street. The driver turned the volume to “blare” and began advertising his wares. I left the room, after being assured that the traffic would die down by 8pm.

I walked back to the Casa D’Acuna, since their restaurant was also highly recommended. I had a very large chef’s salad and a cola. It was so-so, and overpriced. Worse, the music in the restaurant was much too loud to enjoy. I ate quickly and left in search of an Internet Café.

Back in my room, I prepared for bed. The traffic was still rumbling by outside my window at 8pm…and at 9pm…and at 10pm. I inserted my earplugs, knowing I would have to wear them the whole night. That helped with the noise, but the vibrations shook the bed.

Coban to Biotopo del Quetzal, November 16, 2006

I was determined to see and enjoy the sights of Coban for half a day. Checkout time was 1pm. Then I would catch a bus to the Biotopo.

Quite ready to leave Coban, I checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to the Monja Blanca bus station for ten quetzals (about a dollar). That was the going rate to go anywhere around town, I’d learned, despite the first driver asking for fifty. The ticket man behind the counter told me to go take a seat at the front of the bus and I would pay the fare after the bus was on its way. This bus was pretty nice. I stowed my luggage on the overhead rack and settled down. Before long a young woman with a baby sat down across from me. As we talked, she told me I should have a ticket in hand (as did she), and she agreed to watch my things while I went back inside to buy one. When I approached the ticket man again, another man standing in line had agreed to help me with the purchase (he spoke both Spanish and English). The ticket man seemed agitated for some reason, but he sold me a ticket for five quetzals, bearing a seat number.

I’d asked the bus driver (twice), the young woman with the baby, and a woman sitting in front of me to alert me when we approached the Biotopo. The guidebooks said it was easy to miss. I’m pretty sure the bus driver would have driven by if the two women had not called out. He let me out somewhat beyond a bus stop with benches and a thatched roof. I’d called earlier that morning to reserve a room at the Hospedaje Ranchito del Quetzal for 100 quetzals. I’d chosen the hotel because the rare Resplendent Quetzal had often been seen on their grounds. I could see the hotel ahead, but it was too dangerous to wheel my suitcase along the edge of the curvy mountain road. Traffic was heavy (and noisy). I hailed a boy walking across the street and he carried my bag to the hotel. When I gave him twenty quetzals, he beamed. I don’t think he expected a tip.

I was met by a friendly Senora and her four-year-old daughter. Her husband, the one I had spoken to on the phone about reservations, had left by bus for a few days of business in Guatemala City. I was the only guest in the hotel at that moment. The single room they had did not have a hot water shower, so I was given a unit that had two double beds and one single bed (and private bathroom). The concrete block building had two units in front and two in the rear, all with tiny porches. The building sat up a hill from the main hotel and restaurant, along a curving dirt path. The main hotel and restaurant sat up a hill from the main road. The Senora said I could pay when I was ready to leave.

Before I’d even had a chance to unpack, the little girl knocked at my door, repeating in an excited voice, “Hembra, hembra.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she obviously wanted me to follow her back down to the main area. The Senora and workman were pointing into the top of a nearby tree. There sat a female Resplendent Quetzal, its brilliant colors shining in the sun. It sat quietly for about ten minutes before it flew away.

I spent the rest of the late afternoon strolling around the grounds, which were quite lovely. There were many kinds of tropical flowers, including a six-foot-tall blooming poinsettia. The view was magnificent. Green mountains towered in all directions, some of the tops obscured by clouds. There was only one lone, winding road in the area. What a shame, I thought, that its noise and pollution disrupted this pastoral beauty. I set up my birding chair in the hotel parking lot and watched more birds I had never seen before. When it got dark and cooler, I returned to my room and finished unpacking. The shower didn’t put out much water, and it was only just warm, but I was happy with everything.

Biotopo del Quetzal, November 17, 2006

It was quite chilly when I woke up at dawn. I’d spread the two extra blankets on my bed last night and was glad I had. I got dressed in a hurry, wearing my jacket, gloves, and hat, and went in search of food and heat. The workman had two fires going under an open-sided, thatched-roof shed even farther up the hill than my building. I warmed myself until the sounds of birds called me away and made me forget how cold I was. I set up my chair in the same spot in the parking area, next to a tree stump. The Senora served me hot chocolate there, and later, breakfast. She agreed to just keep track of everything I ate and drank and put it on my hotel bill, to pay when I left. There was no menu, and I never asked how much anything was.

By late morning it had warmed up a bit. Unfortunately, the birds had quieted down and were out of sight.   The Senora had told me that there was a waterfall at the top of their property and that the workman would accompany me there if I wanted to go. This seemed like a good time, so off we went. The dirt path was muddy in places, and I had to watch for protruding roots and stones. The path was also very steep. I had to keep asking the workman to stop and wait while I caught my breath. He didn’t seem out of breath at all, as he went ahead of me with his machete, occasionally hacking vines and branches out of the way. He must be younger than he looked, I reasoned. I finally asked him. He was sixty-three—my age exactly. I tried harder to keep up.

It was a long way to the waterfall. The workman asked several times if I wanted to give up and turn back. I suspected there were things he’d rather do, but he didn’t let on. He was always smiling and pleasant. I struggled on, and we finally reached the waterfall. It was about twenty or thirty feet high, and fell into a clear pool surrounded with beautiful ferns and tropical plants. Downhill we had passed a covered reservoir, which the workman had pointed out, probably from this pool, and probably the source of the hotel’s water supply. I suggested that the workman could return to the hotel and leave me alone there, but he seemed reluctant to do (to his credit). When we descended halfway, to the reservoir area, he was willing to return without me, leaving me to explore a bit.

That afternoon I walked the equivalent of several city blocks to the Biotopo del Quetzal. I paid the fee to the guard and got a map. Stairs with railings zigzagged their way up the face of the forest-covered mountain. I climbed slowly, taking frequent rests on my chair. The few birds I heard couldn’t be seen in the thick undergrowth. I’d hoped to ascend all the way up into the cloud forest, where the chipi-chipi (heavy mist of the clouds) was always present. Halfway up, however, I realized I couldn’t make it. My legs and lungs burned from the exertion. The scenery, although beautiful, was no better than that of my hotel’s grounds. I took the shortcut back to the entrance.

The weather continued to be cooler than usual (said the Senora), and the chipi-chipi descended upon us as the evening wore on. I wore my poncho and stowed my binoculars safely underneath. The birds were hidden away in the trees, keeping warm and dry. The female (hembra) quetzal did make another brief appearance, however, delighting me and the other guests.

Hospedaje Ranchito del Quetzal, November 18, 2006

When I got up at dawn, I could see my breath. It was colder than ever. When I had visited Mexico thirty years ago and been informed there would be no central heat, I’d packed an electric blanket. It kept me comfortable my whole trip, and I left it with my host family when I departed. I had not anticipated these low temperatures. I added additional layers of clothing to those I’d worn to bed, donned jacket, hat, and poncho, and went in search of birds. I had only seen birds in the early morning and just before dusk. I don’t know where they hid out the rest of the day.

As I was eating breakfast on the porch, I finally spotted the male Resplendent Quetzal. He flew jerkily from tree to tree, his two-foot long tail feathers floating behind. I called the Senora and she sent her little girl to alert the other guests, shouting “Macho, macho.” The Cuban doctor, his wife, and their friend came running. I shared my binoculars with everyone, since no one else had any. The Senora, her little girl, and their workman were especially excited to see their resident Quetzal up close. The other guests had a better camera than I, and they took several good photos of the Quetzal. I gave them my email address, and they said they would send copies to me when they returned to Brazil. The doctor had been doing volunteer work in Guatemala City, and they had rented a place outside the city. They were presently on holiday, but they planned to return to their place via Guatemala City the next day. They asked if I would like to travel with them on the bus as far as Guatemala City. The Senora was going to buy their tickets in the nearby town of Purulha when she went to do her (daily?) shopping. That suited me. I had decided to go to Antigua before leaving Guatemala, but first I had to get to Guatemala City via the Monja Blanca bus line. Traveling with someone fluent in both Spanish and English would surely be a help. I gave the Senora 38 quetzals to buy my reserved seat.

Knowing I would be leaving the next morning on the 10am bus, I went to my room to begin packing some things. I planned to leave everything I thought I could do without, and I made a pile of those things on the spare bed. I found the workman and gave him 100 quetzals. He had been so nice, guiding me to the waterfall and keeping fires built in the hilltop shed so that I could get warm. And what a fire builder he was! Using his huge machete, he would adeptly whack off tiny bits of kindling from long, dry boards. And he still had all of his fingers! I also gave him my headlamp, knowing that he made frequent trips at dusk from his family’s place to the hotel where he worked.

The sun finally came out for a while in the afternoon, clearing away the chipi-chipi. It was too muddy from all of the rain to enjoy climbing up toward the waterfall again, but I enjoyed sitting alone by the fire in the shed and reading. For a late lunch I had steak, which the Senora recommended. Long, thin strips of beef had been marinating in a bowl. She prepared it with tomatoes and onions, with a side of French fries, and it was the best meal of my trip. The Senora was an excellent cook, and everything was prepared from scratch. She did her cooking in an open kitchen, mostly on a large, wood-burning stove, although there was an electric stove as well.

That evening there were more birds around, maybe because of the sun. New birds I saw at the hotel included White-eared Hummingbird, Emerald Toucanet, Spot-crowned Woodcreeper, Black Robin, Rufous-collared Robin, Slate-throated Redstart, Golden-browed Warbler, Common Bush-Tanager (quite common), Stripe-backed Tanager, and of course, the Resplendent Quetzal.

Biotopo del Quetzal to Antigua, November 19, 2006

Getting up at dawn on my last day at the Hospedaje Ranchito del Quetzal, I had quite a few hours to go birding before having to catch the 10am bus. Although it was still cold, the morning was clear. Birds were everywhere, and I had a thoroughly enjoyable morning.

Yesterday I had asked the Senora to prepare my bill, including my usual breakfast. Last night she had presented me with a bill for 360 quetzals (about $50) for three night’s lodging and all of my food and drink. That couldn’t be right, I protested. The lodging alone was to have been 100 quetzals a night, plus the food. No, she assured me, the lodging was only 50 quetzals a night. Later in the evening I gave her 700 quetzals. I thought it was a little strange that she didn’t thank me, but this morning after breakfast she brought me change. No, I explained, I had meant for her to keep all of what I had paid her. Now she thanked me. I also told her I would leave a lot of my belongings behind for her or anyone else who could use them. She thanked me and said she was sure she could use whatever I chose to leave behind. I wished I had brought my extra pair of binoculars so that I could have left them as well. The rules for travel to Guatemala, however, forbade bringing into the country more than one pair of binoculars.

About 9:30am my three traveling mates and I made our way down the hillside to the bus stop—the same bus stop I had been dropped at when I arrived. The bus was on time. We hopped on and found our seats, two on one side of the aisle and two on the other. It was nice to have someone to talk to on the journey, especially in English (with the wife). The scenery along the way continued to be magnificent. When we pulled into the bus station in Guatemala City, they hired a taxi to take them the rest of the way to their rented place. Their driver agreed to drop me at another bus station along the way, for a portion of the fare, where I could catch a bus to Antigua. Everything was happening faster than the pace I was used to, but I soon found myself on another chicken bus, alone, heading toward Antigua.

It took almost an hour just to get through the traffic of Guatemala City on the chicken bus, stopping frequently for passengers. There was a helper, as on my first chicken bus ride, who leaned out the open door all along the way, soliciting customers. Once we finally got out of the city we made good time (generating a pleasant breeze through the open window). The bus’s engine and the driver’s music were unbearably loud, as usual, but I inserted my trusty earplugs.

In Antigua, the bus pulled into a large parking area beside rows and rows of vendors. This was the open market. I’d read that one could easily walk from one end of Antigua to another, so I struck out on foot to find a hotel, wheeling my suitcase behind me. The streets were all cobblestone and the open market area was dirt and stone.

From my guidebook I had chosen the Hotel Posada San Pedro II, simply because it had a bathtub. I really liked the room. Two shuttered windows overlooked the courtyard, giving me a view of the front desk and locked gate. Both the windows and shutters could be opened and closed. In addition to the two beds there was a beautiful desk, with a locking drawer, and a wardrobe. A step led up into a private bathroom with a large shower. It was the nicest room I’d had on my trip. It cost $35.

Leaving the open market, I walked to the Parque Central, the plaza in the center of town, about a city block square. On the west side of the plaza were coffee shops and cafes. A treed park with a fountain and benches filled most of the center of the plaza. I sat there to rest and watch birds.

There were few trees, except in the plaza. I wondered if birding might not be better outside of town, on the green mountains. Looking to the north of Antigua, far up the hill, I saw a huge cross. I’d read there was a park up there. I’d also read that tourists should not go there alone.

Antigua, November 20, 2006

I sat on a bench to eat my breakfast and gazed longingly at the huge cross on the hill to the north, surrounded by green. That was where I wanted to go birding, but how could I get there? There were lots of inexpensive, little tuk-tuks that would probably take me there, but how would I get back? Neither taxi drivers nor tuk-tuk drivers wanted to wait there for me. When I finally found one who said he would wait, the price was very high. Besides, I would still feel uncomfortably hurried, knowing someone was waiting for me and probably bored. Also, since the driver wasn’t a birder, he would probably be moving around and scaring away the birds. At last I decided to just hire a tuk-tuk and make further decisions once I arrived at the Cerro de la Cruz. If it didn’t look safe once I got there, I would simply return with the driver right away.

Once we arrived at the site, I was enthralled by its beauty and peace. No one else was around, although we’d passed a few people farther down the hill, in what looked like a park. The trip up was a longer way than I had thought, since the road had a lot of cutbacks to allow vehicle traffic to ascend the steep hillside. I walked over to the cross and peered straight down the hill. Surely there was a way down the face of the hill. I told the tuk-tuk driver he could leave. I felt confident that either tourists or police would visit the site sometime during the day. If not, I would find a way down the hillside.

As soon as the driver left, I found a quiet and secluded spot beneath a forest of pines and set up my chair. The fragrant odor of pine needles surrounded me. I heard bird sounds everywhere, and soon they began feeding and flying near me. There was a flock of small birds that looked somewhat like the chickadees we have in Ohio, but I couldn’t find them in my Mexican bird guide. I wrote a careful description on my checklist for later research. I also saw my only Black-capped Siskin of the trip. My concentration was interrupted by the sound of a car engine approaching, and I walked out of the trees to see who it was.

The tourist police had arrived. They were surprised to find me there alone. They urged me to return to the city with them. I was torn. I didn’t really want to leave yet, but if no one else arrived later (as the tourist police assured me they might not) I wasn’t sure I wanted to brave the steep hill. Finally I agreed to return with them. After the early morning hours the birds usually quieted down anyway. I might as well tour the city and perhaps return later in the afternoon or tomorrow morning.

Guatemala Birding Trip, November 7-21, 2006: Summary

Now that it’s been almost two months since I returned from Guatemala, I am ready to summarize my adventures. Trip preparation, including packing lists, luggage, and immunizations, were covered in this journal’s overview.

My two-week trip cost $1,566.45. Below are the individual expenses, rounded to the nearest dollar:

Roundtrip airfare to Guatemala City from Ohio, (including insurance): $504

Internal flight from Guatemala City to Flores, one-way: $139

Ground transportation: $150

Hotels (one included 3 meals): $386

Food and Beverage (including water): $155

Entrance Fees: $49

Misc. (souvenirs/internet /medicine/phone calls): $100

Donations of cash (not including $122 of goods donated): $83

Experiences with various hotels and locations are listed in individual journal entries. All but one of the hotels charged about $30 a night. I opted for the mid-range hotels, but still had a problem with bugs and noise.

I ate street food, dairy products, leafy greens, and peeled fruit, all of which were discouraged by most sources. I felt nauseous on the last day of my trip, and for several days after returning home, but I can’t pinpoint the reason. I wouldn’t change my eating habits if I returned. Most of the food was delicious and prepared from scratch. I bought chloroquine (Aralen) from a pharmacy for a couple of dollars and had no ill effects from taking it. Since I prefer to spend my time doing other things than sitting in a restaurant waiting for a large meal, I would pack more food for a subsequent trip—especially nutritious breakfast food. I saw no grocery stores on my whole trip. The only snacks sold in the few shops I visited were cookies and chips. One shop had tiny packages of nuts.

The heat was overwhelming, and I was there in the cool season. I never knew the exact temperature while I was there, but I picked up a local newspaper on the day of my arrival, which I brought home. The temperature for Flores was listed as 34 degrees C.  That’s hot. And it was hotter still in El Remate. I was always drenched with sweat. Nevertheless, I dutifully wore long sleeves, long pants, and socks with my hiking boots. I also dutifully slathered on insecticide and suntan lotion daily. I had very few mosquito bites and no sunburn.

Keeping enough cash, especially quetzals, was a problem. Traveler’s checks were a hassle. Even when there was a bank around to cash them, there were long lines that took up valuable time. Credit cards of any kind were not widely accepted. There were no ATM’s at Tikal or El Remate, where I spent most of my time.

Transportation was another problem. It would have been wonderful to have a car to travel to the remote birding sites. However, the routes to those sites (and to everywhere) were congested with traffic. I’d heard that cars’ windows were often smashed and the contents stolen when left unoccupied. Dealing with authorities and insurance companies in a foreign language in the even of a mishap didn’t thrill me either. That left buses and taxis. There were good buses between major cities if you could plan ahead and reserve a seat, and if you could leave in the morning. If you arrived somewhere in the afternoon or evening, there usually wasn’t a good bus leaving for your next location, meaning you would have to stay overnight in a hotel. There were night buses to a few major locations, but then you would miss the sights along the way, and you might not be able to sleep on the bus. There were minivans and minibuses, sometimes called camionetas that were reasonably priced and convenient. These usually had to be reserved a day ahead, however, and left very early in the morning. Taxis were not cheap. As a matter of fact, I found that most taxi and bus drivers were willing to charge more than the going rate if they thought they could.

Keeping in touch with family and friends was difficult, if not impossible. I don’t have a cell phone, but most of them didn’t work in Guatemala anyway. There were Internet cafes in good-sized towns or cities, which I found to be the best means of communication (unless they were down for some reason, which happened). There were few pay phones anywhere, and they took a special phone card. I didn’t know where to buy the cards, nor did I care to expend the time and energy necessary to learn which card to buy or how to use it. Only one hotel I stayed at had a phone, and my Spanish wasn’t good enough to allow me to go through the desk clerk to use it. I mailed postcards (expensive to mail) to family and friends early in my trip. Only one was received—a month later.

I speak Spanish reasonably well, having had four years of study, living in Mexico three months some years ago, and taking a refresher course before my trip. However, I still found it difficult to communicate. Speaking was easier than being able to understand what was being said. Guatemaltecans use slang and idioms, just as we do here, and many speak rapidly and with various accents.

Physical stamina was important. My stamina is not what it once was, and I became exhausted from all of the necessary walking and climbing. Both the extreme heat and the extreme cold (in the mountains) bothered me. I dislike noise, especially when I’m trying to sleep, and there was too much of it for my comfort. Loud traffic…loud dogs…loud music. Take earplugs if you go.

By the way, I got used to being double-checked by security guards in airports (“wanded”). I think it happened every time I went through security. I either forgot to remove something objectionable (like a metal hair barrette) or I wasn’t given enough time to do so. I saw lots of others being “wanded” as well, so I lost my embarrassment.

That brings me to the subject of safety, the major concern on most travelers’ minds. I tried to be as careful as possible. I tried not to go out after dark. Still, one cannot guard against every situation, especially in unfamiliar surroundings.

It seems that most of the problems I had were due to my impatience. Before I left home I’d decided to take it easy and stay in just two places, spending the days in a hammock if I couldn’t find anything else to do. Being there, though, I didn’t always remember to do so. My worst day occurred when I made the rash decision to leave Tikal before I’d planned to do so—without checking travel resources or relying on the advice of obviously informed people. I don’t know why I hurried. Hurrying isn’t fun.

The primary purpose of my trip was to see birds. Hopefully, lots of birds. But especially birds I’d never seen before. Any other wildlife would be a bonus. I filed a detailed birding report (species seen, date seen, where seen) before I ever got around to this trip report. Birders can find this report at www.birdingtheamericas.com, Blake Maybank’s wonderful repository for birding trip reports for North and South America. Just follow the links on the main page: North America-Central America-Guatemala. Surprisingly, I only saw a total of 121 species on the two-week trip (I’ve seen almost 100 species in one day on birding trips to sites in my own state). However, 73 of those 121 species were life birds (birds I’d never seen before). I’m usually excited about finding one new life bird on a day’s outing. Incidentally, the unidentified birds I saw on the hill near Antigua were Black-eared Bushtits (discovered after some research).

I was very fortunate to see as many animals as I did. The highlight was the unusual, catlike animal I saw at Tikal on November 12. After a great deal of research at our local library, I identified it as a Jaguarundi. In addition, I saw the Gray Fox, Coati, Agouti, Howler and Spider Monkeys, Fer de Lance, many beautiful butterflies, lizards, spiders, hornets, bats, and (yuk) cockroaches.

As for my best experience, it would have to be the evening I spent sharing God’s Word with the two young backpackers at the hotel near the Biotopo del Quetzal. I might have been privileged to lead the girl back to God (and to have influenced the boy as well). It was certainly one of those opportunities to lay up treasures for eternity.

I got much more for my money than a two-week vacation. I thoroughly enjoyed the six months of planning prior to the trip. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reliving my trip as I’ve prepared this trip report. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the comments from those who have read my trip report on the Internet or by my sending them a typed copy. Altogether, I figure I have had eight months of enjoyment for my $1500. That’s pretty good.

TRIP LIST

Flores – Nov. 8 (morning)

El Ramate – Nov. 8 (afternoon) (Grounds of and near hotel, La Casa de Don David)

Cerro Cahui – Nov. 9, 11 (morning)

Tikal – Nov. 10, 11 (afternoon), 12, 13, 14

Biotopo Del Quetzal Area – Nov. 16, 17, 18, 19

- all listed sightings are from the grounds of the nearby hotel, El Ranchito. One afternoon and a few hours another day turned up few birds (no new ones) at the Biotopo itself)

Antigua – Nov. 20

Bird Sightings are ordered according to Peterson Field Guide, Mexican Birds. Indented Bird Sightings are from Golden Field Guides, Birds of North America.