Greetings from Guatemala
We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore; in fact, they filmed the original Tarzan movies here, which gives one a sense of the setting. We motored about 20 miles up a winding river gorge edged by 300’ cliffs dripping with green vegetation: mahogany and teak trees, palms, vines, orchids, and other exotic flowers and fauna. Guatemala means something like “land of many trees.”
The whole way up we passed Maya Indians in their little dugout cayucas. There are several creeks that feed into the river and a couple of places with hot springs. Further up, Lake Izabal, surrounded by misty mountains, is home to about 15 small and sometimes run-down marinas scattered over a few miles. There is a small Spanish fort, and there are ancient Maya ruins a bouncy bus-ride away.
This place looks like something right out of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness—a combination of swamp, rainforest, and jungle. From where we first anchored out, we could hear a platoon of howler monkeys up in the trees which themselves are dripping with orchids and other plants, some of which look like cactus. Howler monkeys are supposed to be the loudest animal on the planet.
Castle San Felipe was built in 1652 when 2/3rds of Spain’s revenue came from the new world. Pirates and buccaneers of course wanted that gold and silver, so the fort was built complete with moat and bronze cannons. The Spanish ships were rowed up the river. Lake Izabal is 26’ above the Caribbean, so there is a pretty good current.
At first glance, the town of Fronteras compares to Calcutta: loud, dirty, smelly and poor. No sidewalks--tourists crossing the street play chicken with the trucks, taxis, mini-van buses, and motorbikes.
There are the usual open markets with colorful displays of fruits, vegetables, and spices. The diesel fumes, burning trash, sewer smells are accompanied by street vendors, flies, trash, loose dogs, children, prostitutes, passed out drunks, beggars, back-packers, and of course boaters. In short, this place is cool, and exactly what we signed up for—a third-world education.
Outside of Fronteras, the scene is dramatically different. The slow pace is set by the meandering current of the river. Mayas still fish and farm as they have for perhaps a thousand years. The wildlife and vegetation are suggestive of times past.
The cruisers here aren’t in any hurry to go anywhere, at least not until after hurricane season.
The marinas are little enclaves inhabited by retirees living off of social security and a few foreigners waiting to sail somewhere after hurricane season. Some, originally with more ambitious plans, liked it so well they are staying put. Virtually every type of boat exists here, from fancy catamarans and boats kept Bristol fashion, to rust heaps, and loose affiliations of planks.
We have seen boats from Holland, England, France, Germany, Sweden, Canada, Australia, and several from the Republic of Texas. Each morning there is a VHF radio net where cruisers exchange information about—emergencies, people lost and found, pot-lucks, movie night at the marina, weather, stuff to buy, sell, or trade, local specials at restaurants, arrivals, departures, and so forth.
We anchored out the first two days, but now we are at the small Xalaja marina (Sha-la-ha) which is built on an exotic looking swampy island next to Fronteras. For $220 a month, we have a boat slip AND a cute but creaky little two-bedroom cabana that sleeps six (2 sets of bunk beds and two singles) built right over the water in what looks like a nature preserve. (Yes, we take malaria pills; no, we don’t drink the water.)
Our cabana is so surrounded by trees and foliage that you can’t really see it, so this picture is of the cabana next to us. The ceiling is made of bamboo; the roof is tin, and it is completely screened-in to keep the mosquitoes out.
Because of hurricane season, most of the marinas are full, so we didn’t have a lot to choose from. Even so, it took us most of the day to dinghy to all of them, talking to owners and cruisers and then trying to pick one before committing to a month’s stay.
There is growing community of expatriates who live aboard here more or less permanently. And although the marinas are relatively cheap, the electricity is not. It can cost as much as the slip if one runs an air-conditioner.
Of course to get here we had to sail for three and half days from Isla Mujeres which for us means sea-sickness, a.k.a. feeding the fish. The first day we had a strong current against us, so we averaged three knots, but the highlight was when Henry caught us a nice fish for dinner. He has been dying to catch and eat a fish for quite a while, so he was delighted and proud, and the fish was delish with just lime and salt. If you know what kind of fish this is please tell us.
The second day, a little bird, perhaps a swallow, landed on our boat. We were quite a ways offshore, and I suspect that she was tired. Pauli was conked out in the cockpit, and she flew right over and perched on the coaming about six inches away from him. Then she flew off and came back, this time landing right on Lora’s head. And finally, she flew down below and made herself a little nest on my bed. The boys sliced up some almonds for her to eat, and they put out water, though I don’t know if she took any of it.
William and Parker were the only ones that didn’t throw up on this passage, so they get the iron-stomach award. On our previous crossing, Parker did get sick, so this time we were relieved.
Pauli suffered the worst. Lora uses Scopolamine patches, and what we call a shock watch, relief bands that send a small electrical current to a pressure point inside the wrist. They seem to work for us.
We had a big harvest moon which kept us company on night watches. And it was nice to be able to check the sail’s trim without having to use a flashlight. Leaving Cancun we saw several ominous funnel clouds, but they were higher up than the ones we had previously seen off the coast of Louisiana
The second day a couple of wheels inside our autopilot broke, so Warren took a long turn at the wheel while I fixed it. It’s no fun steering for long periods of time. That night we made around 7 knots with just a jib up.
The third day the wind and waves were abeam, making for a rolly passage. As we neared the mouth of the Rio Dulce, we saw lots of palm branches and small logs and, unfortunately, trash floating out to sea.
There is a 5’6” deep sand bar that guards the entrance to the Rio, and almost everyone that we have talked with has run aground there. Our boat draws about 6’, but we were armed with a series of 8 way-points that we got from another cruiser. Fortunately we arrived exactly at high-tide, 9 p.m. and were able to cross without hitting the bottom.
Unfortunately, we were so concentrated on the chart-plotter/gps and depth sounder that we failed to notice the fisherman’s net strung right across the channel. It fouled our prop, and we were quite stuck.
I was loath to cut the fisherman’s net, so we put down our anchor and waited for daylight. We worried that we might get in trouble or that the fisherman would be mad.
At 7 a.m. the fisherman arrived in a large cayuca. He stripped right down to his briefs and dove in the water to untangle the mess. We loaned him a mask and flippers. I was very grateful I didn’t have to clear the prop myself; he was very grateful for the $20 that we gave him. Lora told him, “You caught a very big fish!” He smiled shyly.
A few hours later we were boarded by officials from immigration, customs, port captain, and health department. Of course they all want money. They all have forms for us to fill out, and they all needed us to go to their office to get an official stamp or sticker or paper or something.
The port town of Livingston, which can only be reached by boat or plane, has seen more prosperous times. The side streets are cobbled. Although it was once the main port for Guatemala, now it is really just an entry point for the Rio Dulce, eco-tours and that kind of thing. We were surprised by how many tourists there were from many different countries—everything from scruffy backpackers to portly retirees.
The town lies atop a steep hill and overlooks the Gulf of Honduras. Belize is just about 15 miles away. The palapas, and general architecture here are different from those in Mexico--steeper rooflines, more corrugated tin, fewer cinder blocks and more wood houses. The town also has a unique mix of Maya Indians, mestizo Mexicans, Ladino, and Garifuna, descendents of African slaves whom the British deported to Roatan centuries ago. Some of them speak Garinagu, a dialect of Arawakan. In Guatemala the Garifuna are found mostly in the towns of Livingston and Puerto Barrios, but they also live in Belize and on the Bay Islands of Honduras.
Guatemala has a population of about 13 million, and it was involved in a 36 year-long civil war until just ten years ago. Sadly, Guatemalans know all about having colonels and generals for president. They’ve had a coup d’etat, military juntas, para-military groups, CIA involvement, guerilla rebels, Marxist movements, Christian socialists, revolution, propaganda, disputed elections, genocide, massacres, rape, torture, and disappearances. During this time some 200,000 Guatemalans were killed; many others immigrated illegally into Mexico and the U.S. to avoid the upheaval at home. As if revolution were not enough, in 1976 an earthquake killed 25,000 people.
Rigoberta Menchu, an indigenous woman (Quiche-Maya) ran for president this year but did not do well. She won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1992 in part because of her book “I, Rigoberta Menchu.” Some years later Anthropologist David Stoll conducted a thorough investigation and repudiated some of her claims. In its entire history, only three Latin American countries have ever had an indigenous president: Mexico, Peru, and Boliva. In Guatemala about 40% of the population is indigenous. There are several Maya sub-groups and 20 distinct Maya languages.
Some of the social and economic problems date back to the late 1800s when banana (and pineapple) farming and shipping took hold through the efforts of the United Fruit Company which owned millions of acres of land throughout Central and South America. Of course they were in cahoots with the government, and of course they did all in their power to maintain a monopoly, and of course they often exploited workers--thus the popularity of Marxist ideologies.
On the other hand the company also developed the infrastructure of rural areas; they constructed roads and railroads, drained swamps, built ports, provided free elementary school education, minimized malaria, employed the most workers in Central America, paid the highest rural wages, and for a time they even delivered the mail.
Although public education is technically free in the primary and secondary schools, students must provide their own books, supplies, uniforms, lunch, and transportation. Because of this many children can’t afford to go to school, and so nearly 30% of the adult population is illiterate. In Guatemala per capita income averages $4000 a year, but the minimum wage is only $6.50 per day, so many are living on $1,600 a year or even less.
Well, we have a lot of exploring to do, so we’ll report back with more pictures and news in a couple of weeks.
