Just outside of Cobán, after asking a number of folks, we located the Hotel Don Francisco. Paul had been questioning residents concerning a Hotel San Francisco. Little chance in locating it when the moniker was incorrect. But, we found it and within we enjoyed gorgeous surroundings, dining on the outside patio, friendly service and very delicious food. Paul and Ruth while on another pass through this area had visited this place and had tarried the night there.
Having finished our meal, we climbed into the trusty SUV and snapped our safety belts into place and took off for yet another adventure. We fired up the trusty GPS and, crippled as though it is, was able to track our progress on our continued sojourn. We traveled mostly now on two-lane roads still marked with the ubiquitous kilometer signs to give us assurance that we were piling up the distance, irrespective of the fact that we may be behind a truck, traveling the equivalent of fifteen miles an hour and loaded high with goods, two cows and a passel of young men lying atop. Other times, we may have been behind a truck with iron railings jutting upward from all four corners and curved in an arc towards the center where another supporting rod ran the length of the truck bed. Inside and standing erect were perhaps eighteen to twenty-four men catching rides of undetermined length, destination or duration.
We had easily motored along the hard-surface roads when, all of a sudden, the GPS unit showed us an abrupt turn to the right. Paul slowed considerably and made the turn onto one of the roughest surfaces that I can ever recall riding on. But, ride we did and pilot Paul did manage. His onward speed was cut markedly though to ensure that neither the vehicle nor we did shake to bits. On the gravel path we encountered a great number of ambulatory humans who, almost without exception, looked about and focused on us as we passed their way. I am certain they would have gladly accepted a ride with us. The ladies in this area wear very colorful attire and, instead of a wrap-around skirt, theirs is pleated which I would assume takes a great deal more material.
On the dirt road at the steepest places we noticed that two tracks of concrete had been laid which I suspect aids in the traction during times of heavy rainfall. However, these tracks were short-lived and not numerous. Along the sides of the road, we spotted coffee and cocoa trees which were laden with blossoms, coffee cherries and the cocoa fruit. I stepped out a time or two to photograph and to smell the wonderful aroma of coffee blossoms. It reminded me slightly of the intoxicating and perhaps enchanting odor of citrus. We also spotted cardamom and perhaps allspice drying in the sunshine.
It seemed that we were in travel status for at least an hour on this gravel portion of our route. Our forward movement was continuously slow with the exception of the times when we met on-coming traffic which necessitated stops in almost all occasions. There was not room to pass cars most often so one had to back up or find a wider spot in the road where this could be done. A look to the horizon was often rewarded with a mind-boggling experience. The scenery is some of the most outstanding that I have viewed in all of Guatemala. The Río Cahabón flows through this area so some outfitters have availed themselves of an opportunity to generate income. Trucks that shuttle folks from where our final destination was to be this evening to an entry point for river rafting on the river passed us from time to time.
While it was still light we pulled into the wee enclave where we were to stay for the night. It consisted of several small cottages, some with running water and toilets. They were set high above the banks of a beautiful river mentioned above. Central to the enclave was a meeting point, open to the elements, where meals could be ordered, games played on tables and visitation with other guests carried out. Sodas (warm) could be ordered as could be other drinks. Electricity was provided by a generator that was alive and whirling from about 6 in the evening to half past nine at night. Since breakfast was provided in the early mornings, I suspect that there was juice then as well but I did not try the electricity in our bungalow. Just outside of our little place which we shared with Paul and Ruth was hung a very inviting hammock. We shared the place with folks from Israel, France and Canada, among others.
Before the sun set, Ruth and John took the path down to the river just below our cabin. Across the river were a half-dozen local boys swimming and enjoying the water. Since I am not in the habit of carrying around a thermometer, I cannot tell you for sure what was the temperature but I would guess it was around 80 or 85 degrees F with at least that much humidity. Bear in mind that there were no fans nor the capability to move them if there had been in the cabins. On the beds were very hard and lumpy pillows (thankful for our own), a sheet and a light blanket. Neither John nor I could imagine why one could even think of a blanket, especially at nightfall with the temperature elevated. There were screens on the windows but no glass on them.
We played our quota of games before we heard the call of bedtime. El Portal had a good portion of fruit trees on its campus as well as other herbs and spices growing about. There were many flowers on the property and, all in all, it was a delight to enjoy our dwelling and common areas. Everybody present was friendly and it was very easy to exchange stories about where we had been and where we might be going next.
In order to arrive at our destination, we had to cross a span of the river where a suspension bridge had been constructed. On its metal frame were thick planks installed the length of the chasm. Over the planks were laid another set of wooden planks over which trucks, pedestrians, cars and motos would pass. The resulting clatter and rattle reminded me of sounds as a child when, just down the street in our small village such a bridge with wooden planks rattled out the reports of anything of size crossing over them. It was a nostalgic time that resurrected on each crossing until sleep drowned everything out.
But, more about the Natural Monument. Situated within a high-sided limestone canyon covered by verdant tropical forest we found the several, warm and shallow travertine pools. As we approached the area, I stopped for a moment to record the gorgeous view in my mind and on my digital camera's memory card. That having been done, Paul suggested that I look farther afield. I did and spied a half-dozen young fellows enjoying the beauty of the moment as naked as they had come from their mothers' wombs. Our presence did not deter them from their activities. We walked a bit further along and met a guide who explained some things about this unusual phenomena known as Semuc Champey. He told us that the springs that fed the area had gradually deposited the soluble travertine which, over time covered the river with a natural bridge. It was over this bridge that he led us, rope in hand, to visit, view and be amazed at Champey's most impressive feature. It is called sumidero in Spanish which translates to shallow hole in our idiom. He led us to the upper end of the bridge where the river's thunderous whitewater plunges underground, flowing through a shoot over 320 meters in length and taking a drop of thirty meters by so doing. I had vowed to not get my leather sandals wet and had a pair of Crock knock-offs awaiting at the shore but when the guide said come, I came and did not change my foot ware.
When we finished our tour of the rushing waters, we waded back to enjoy some frolicking in the pools. It was both refreshing and cleansing for me as you will recall that I refused to use the widow-maker and the water in the showers here came without the benefit of warmth. So, the pools were great. There were ledges where, if one seated himself, he could be belted with the force and massage of the waters overflowing from the upper pools to the one below. That felt good and one could easily imagine the fingers of an experienced masseuse finding those hidden areas of discomfort.
Our check-out time was at 10 and we had entered the monument area at around half past eight so we soon decided to take our leave. The walk back to the entry gate took us about ten minutes and soon we were back at El Portal which was just outside of the gate and down the road a bit. Into our rooms for a change of dry clothing and a last minute inventory of the rooms. We packed up the car, took a last look at the cacao trees and smiled at the two or three children who each had a cacao pod in their hands ready to vend.
Then onto the diabolical byway after having crossed the rickety and resounding bridge. We had traveled only about five kilometers when we met a large truck coming down a large incline. Since we were at an opening, Paul opted to stop and then to back up for the on-coming vehicle. When the vehicle passed, Paul put the SUV into gear but the two-wheel drive vehicle did nothing but spin in place. Two of us jumped out and discovered that had he backed even three inches farther, we would have been hanging over the edge of a wash that was deeper than the vehicle itself. Paul signaled the driver of the truck and told him that he had ceded for him and that he needed help to get out of his predicament. The truck driver got out of his cab and his helper and he assessed the situation. In the back of the truck he pulled out a cord which he figured might work in extracting the SUV from its position. Several passersby gathered by now and not one in the crowd figured that it would be sufficient as its girth was no more than that of a pencil. Fortunately for us, the incident had occurred in front of a restaurant. An employee quickly found a far larger rope that was quadrupled and attached to the front chassis of Paul's vehicle and to a hook on the front of the truck. It took just a fraction of a minute to nudge the stubborn SUV onto the roadway again. So, as the crowd scattered, we climbed into the vehicle again and headed for Antigua.By half past seven, we were safely back at the Philippi compound. A wonderful sojourn filled with many new adventures. Thank-you Paul and Ruth. You are delightful and we are grateful.
What a wonderful experience that we have had. But, as they say in Swedish "Borta är bra men hemma bäst." Away is good but home is best. And, thankfully, the Philippi compound coupled with their generous hospitality and caring have provided for us an awesome and stellar home away from home.
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