In which Roz and Layla cycle far and admire 8800 Buddhas

By Roz

The next day was our first big day of cycling and both of us had some nervousness - particularly about the heat and humidity. But it turned out to be fine. More than fine.  Mostly. We cycled along pretty country paths, along the side of the lake, and then by streams (passing water buffalo being ridden by tiny boys and being washed in the river and the like) and farming land. We passed monks on motorbikes, schoolchildren on their way to school in addition to the expected passing mules, cyclists and cars. People of all ages seemed truly delighted to see us - possibly connected to the fact that we didn't see a single other tourist. A lots of the time we were cycling alone (and not because we were last!) which was jolly. As we cycled along dirt paths that turned to gravel and tar, we were charmed to find development in action as the road was actually being built beneath our feet on occasion, by groups of locals. We initially reveled in it as a sign of how much the country is changing now - but then as the road building occasions became more frequent, the temperatures higher, and the cycling diversions onto makeshift paths through red sand to avoid the putative road more challenging, we became less charmed and more disappointed whenever we spied a road being built ahead. As the sun blazed down and the hills became more numerous, we soldiered on, and when the end came into sight, we agreed we were very glad it was over - but had had a jolly time nonetheless. 

Lunch turned out to be at a lovely looking place by the river. Somewhat to my sorrow it turned out to be owned by the same people who owned the restaurant we'd been in the night before, with the same menu. But we managed to find something different to eat - as well as consuming numerous strawberry juices (delicious). Then it was a short-ish boat ride to Inthein, site of hundreds of stupas (mini shrines, built by the powerful over the centuries - the oldest being 13th century). We walked up to the site past a million souvenir stalls, showing tourists are not unknown in Myanmar... we then got to the stupas. In parts overgrown, it was fun to wander round, admiring the hundreds of pretty stone monuments, each containing a Buddha artifact or teaching within. We then walked back through the woods, past bright blue water, and hopped on to our boats, and had a delightful hour long boat ride back to our hotel. Layla nodded off in the hot sun every now and then, whilst I read (Bonfire of the Vanities) whilst glancing up to look at the occasional passing foot-rower and the pretty scenery.

After a shower we were in the hotel bar (this is a very kind description) with books and gin. We contemplated our plans for the evening and, when we heard the guide say that dinner should be at one of the two places we had already been to, decided to make a break for it (despite being urged not to go to any other venue in town) and headed to the delightful  Viewpoint restaurant which we'd seen from a distance, looked pretty and was recommended in Lonely Planet. I certainly felt a little criminal / rebellious that we had broken from the others so soon. On the other hand, the restaurant was packed (indeed we had to work hard to persuade them to give us a table, and we only succeeded by introducing them to the concept of two seatings for dinner a night). We then had quite the best meal we have had in Burma so far - a delightful avocado salad (really interesting to taste something I am so familiar with prepared in an Asian way), a tofu dish and something lovely with butter beans as well as some crackers - and the piece de resistance, banana flambé for dessert. All washed down with the same wine we had in Monsoon on our first night. We sat overlooking the river and felt very happy indeed. 

This morning we were up even earlier (alas). I note, though, that though we are undoubtedly the last people to get out of bed in the morning, we are never the last to be ready to go. People can be such pfaffers, and with 18 of us in the group, this is one element of the holiday which I am not enjoying... Our day started with an hour long drive (to reduce down the mileage we would need to cycle) into the mountains and we spent the journey in some fear, given that we had been told that the entirety of the cycle would be undulating. 50 miles of a hilly landscape - however pretty - is not either of our favourites... Surprisingly it turned out to be fine, and involved going through a very different kind of country to that we saw yesterday. Then it was all lush and green (other than roadworks). Today it was much more stark - sometimes almost other worldly - with fields and hills, and it was hard to believe it was the same country. Though cheery to stop for green tea and local snacks in little roadside tea shops, and fun to happen upon a village initiation ceremony celebrating some local boys going to the monastery. After a LOT of hills, we both felt very proud of ourselves as we made it into the town where we will be staying the night.

Lunch was delightful if small (pumpkin soup) but it was very pleasing indeed to check into our surprisingly nice hotel. I used guile to nab us a double bed (homosexuality is illegal here so we have been a bit cagey about demanding one with vigour) and we then settled down on a delightful wooden balcony overlooking the hills to read and sip beer (and eat trail mix, still feeling hungry after lunch). Then it was over to see a giant cave. Filled with stalagmites and so forth it would have been worth seeing anyway, but in fact it has been turned into a Buddhist site and contains 8800 Buddhas (and counting). It was fun meandering through them and getting lost in the "maze" which pleasingly did have a giant Buddha in the middle. And it was also fun to see who had commissioned them - lots from narcotics police(?!) as well as a fair number from outside of Burma. My personal favourite being the one commissioned by a chap in Illinois who had given his full address on the plaque...

And now we are back on the balcony, and I am reveling in the breeze that is coming over the mountains. And my legs are quite stiff. 

In which Layla and Roz get on our bikes and don't see jumping cats at the floating monastery

By Layla

After another lovely swim in the Chatrium Hotel pool (and a sneaky partaking of high tea in the club lounge - for we are fancy, don't you know), we bade goodbye to glamour and somewhat shamefacedly asked for a taxi to the Asia Plaza Hotel - an establishment bearing significantly fewer stars, the site of the start of our tour. We checked in to our perfectly adequate if basic room, then met our 16 tour mates for the next two weeks: all British except one American, mostly couples, and nobody who is obviously a kindred spirit. But all pleasant. Except for the Scottish couple who claimed I no longer have a Scottish accent: I was speechless with horror. A man then turned up insisting he wasn't our tour leader, and caused much confusion and angst, including trying to insist that a random fellow bike person was the tour leader, despite her protestations. We extracted ourselves with another four people and went for a walk through the streets of downtown Rangoon (or Yangon, as it's now officially called), past street markets selling everything from fruit to plug converters, and lots of people sitting on the pavements on tiny plastic chairs eating dinner from the numerous stalls, to a tea house, as identified from our trusty Lonely Planet guide. We sampled extremely sweet tea (condensed milk was involved) plus more green tea-ish tea (when you order tea they bring you two types, inexplicably), then Roz and I left the other couples and wandered off for dinner. 

We ended up going to several places, not liking the look of them, going into one place, having suboptimal food, and feeling quite ratty. Then Roz had the inspired idea of the cool bar in the fancy Traders Hotel, where we had G&Ts, bruschetta, potato tapas things, and much cheeriness, which turned the night around and had us strolling back to the hotel feeling cheery, despite the lack of tour leader or organization.

The next day our trip to the airport with our group in a giant bus inexplicably took 4 times longer than our trip from the airport (okay, there was more traffic). Was quite exciting to go past Aung San Suu Kyi's house, where she was kept under house arrest for so long. Of course she isn't there now because she now has a government role and the government relocated to a newly designated capital city, Naypyidaw, a few years ago, leaving Rangoon/Yangon as merely the commercial capital. We lunched in the Green Elephant and the food was very nice... But I couldn't help glancing at my watch. Sure enough we made it to the airport at 1.55 for a 2pm flight. Me being me, I nearly had a heart attack. Luckily it was a very small airport and they gave Roz the boarding passes to distribute, we ran straight in, out, onto the runway, and were soon zooming towards Heho on a plane small enough to have turbulence that made us clutch our armrests in terror. 

We were all delighted upon arrival in Heho to be met by a grinning guide holding an Exodus sign. At last there was order to the chaos! He took us to a nearby cafe for drinks and planning before we set off on the hour-long drive to our base for the next 3 days, Nyaungshwe, bitterly complaining that the scheduled flight time had made it impossible to go on the planned 20km bike ride the itinerary promised. Delightfully though, once we'd checked into the basic-but-adequate Hupin Hotel, we were given our bikes and along with another friendly tour person, we set off for 40 minutes on an idyllic cycle along the canal (which leads to Inle Lake), on a dirt track peopled by locals grinning, saying hello (Mingalaba!) and going about their business, to a backdrop of fields and water. Glorious. We returned, grinning, for an orientation meeting, a cheery group dinner of multiple tasty vegetable items, some Myanmar beer, and a shameful bedtime of 9pm.

This morning we were up bright and early for a speedy pancake-and-omlette breakfast at the hotel before a 7am start. It was perfect weather for cycling at that time and we zoomed happily along a flat back road, alongside locals on bicycles, motorbikes, and only an occasional car. The fields, villages, houses, schools, and temples flashed past. We stopped at a sugar cane farm and watched them extracting and boiling the juice, which was very cool. And then we left our bikes, changed our clothes, strolled through a random village, and boarded 5-seat dugout boats moored in an inlet so filled with lotus leaves that we didn't even realize at first that it was water. But soon enough we were off, onto Inle Lake, one of the biggest tourist draws in Burma.

The 16x6 mile lake seems split into 3 main parts. First there's the open lake, beautiful and blue and populated by fisherman, perched upon their dugouts with old fashioned nets, and a very specific way of rowing that involves wrapping the oar round their ankle rather than using their arms. And incongruous modern tracksuit garb... Photographs were snapped as we zoomed past, the sun sparkling on the water. There are 'floating gardens', areas where vegetation has accumulated on top of the lake and somehow been farmed, eg tomatoes. Then there's the floating villages, more than 20 apparently, made up of houses on stilts. We visited a cotton, lotus, and silk weaving workshop in one of these buildings, where we had tea and read our books after a cursory appreciation... and also had lunch at a nice restaurant (it was actually called 'Nice') in another stilt house - quite fun to go to these buildings whose only access is by water. Indeed the waterways are full of boat traffic, mostly of the wooden dugout narrow boat variety (and some replicas in plastic), with a motor at the back. As we chugged through picturesque villages, seeing local families washing their hair or their clothes in the river, or sitting on their balcony with a cup of tea, I couldn't help but feel sorry for these river-dwellers for the ubiquitous motor attached to these otherwise traditional boats, continually roaring past by their front doors. The tourist traffic was high, but so was local traffic. Happily the water is still clean and blue...

After lunch we went to a temple, which was a little interesting, but we did glance at each other and wonder whether the 'temple fatigue' we'd heard about as afflicting Burma visitors could reasonably commence at essentially temple visit number one. Essentially, there is a lot of gold, and lots of Buddha statues. At this particular floating temple (the fanciest of quite a few we saw on the river) there were four gold lumpy things on a platform in the centre of the temple. It transpired that, as with similar temples, the lumps had originally been Buddhas, but it's tradition for local Buddhists to buy an extremely thin piece of gold paper and paste it on whenever they visit, thus gilding the Buddhas into gold-plated lumpy oblivion. What was even odder was that even though according to our tour guide Buddhist teachings say men and women are equal, this is apparently a men-only activity: signs all around the platform firmly declared: 'Ladies Prohibited'...

We then floated off to another floating building, thus one the very famous cat jumping monastery. Just as it sounds, this monastery is famous for the resident monks having taught cats to jump through hoops. It's all over the travel guides as a must see activity. However, when we got there we found that two months ago the Abbot had died, and when he did, the cats stopped jumping. It was unclear whether this was because they were in mourning, or because nobody else knew how to get them to jump (or perhaps the other monks decided to take the opportunity to stop their monastery being a circus show), but the cats lay sprawled on the linoleum in front of the gold Buddhas and could not have looked less like they had ever had the inclination to jump. Alas. 

A long, sunny, and beautiful cruise down the lake and into an inlet took us all the way back to the hotel, where Roz and I decided that even at this early stage of the tour, it was high time we had a jailbreak. We were told of a vineyard and hopped in a tuk tuk bus type thing and were conveyed up the hill to the Red Mountain Vineyard, where someone (allegedly French) in Burma had clearly decided to dedicate themselves to creating excellent wine. Well, wine anyway. We had a delightful hour at a sunny table at the top of a hill, overlooking vineyards and fields, and sampling five different wines as the sun started to set and we reluctantly took the tuk tuk back into town for the next day's orientation meeting, and an unremarkable group dinner of potato curry (Roz) and pizza (me - the shame) at the Golden Kite restaurant. We promised not to go to bed so early tonight. Ahem...

In which Roz and Layla touch down in Rangoon

By Roz

The flight to Burma from DC takes 24 hours and so I had swept aside Layla's objections to expense and booked us into a fancy hotel for our first two nights in Rangoon.  As it happened, the flight wasn't particularly bad.  Or no more bad than being on a plane for 24 hours is required to be. But with a time difference of 12 hours and the prospect of staying in some very dodgy hotels the rest of our time, I was still very pleased to be starting off our holiday with more than the required glamour.  We arrived at midnight, and did little more than stagger into our Chatrium Hotel room, gaze at the pretty view of the lake and pagoda, note the enticing looking swimming pool, and have a beer before finally getting into the bed we had been dreaming of for at least the last 12 hours. 

Next morning we were both awake disgustingly early, at 6am. Most unsatisfactory, particularly given the comfortable bed, and ended up heading down to the breakfast buffet earlier than either of us had hoped. But we told ourselves that calories were almost as satisfying as sleep as we tucked into omlettes and cheese and bread. We'd anticipated having a quiet day reading our books by the pool but neither of us could resist the lure of Rangoon and so headed off on our Lonely Planet dictated walking tour around half 9. 

Deposited at a roundabout by our taxi, we looked around trying to get our bearings.  But before we had done so, Layla gave a squeal of delight, having spotted a watch repair shop across the road, just below a big gold temple. She had failed to get a new battery for her holiday watch (ie "doesn't matter if it gets too bashed about" watch) despite the fact we live no more than 5 minutes from three different watch repair shops. She'd brought her dead watch anyway, despite my scoffing, and was smug that our first proper thing in Rangoon was a practical transaction. Fastening her newly working watch to her wrist, we set off for our wander through Rangoon. The first street the walking tour took us down turned out to be full of book stalls. It was fun to see the reading material of Rangoon, which seemed very far from the western world (no translations of Dan Brown, the Twilight series or The Hunger Games so far as I could see). And there was a striking focus on learning, with textbooks on pretty much all of the stalls. We headed down to the river, which sadly we couldn't see due to all the construction work, passing lots of colonial buildings - the Telegraph Office, the high court and the city hall - and the famous Strand hotel built for the visiting rich (and too expensive for us - $600+ a night!). We stopped off for a drink at the Parisian Cafe - less French and less nice than it sounds - and read for a bit whilst drinking lime juice. Outdoors again, I was struck at how "heavy" the air seemed - not just humid and hot (though it is) but also carrying a range of smells (mostly nice). Continuing through the streets of Rangoon, we passed more and more people selling things outdoors - indeed I can't imagine that anyone actually buys anything from any indoor shops (except watch batteries!). Throughout, we were quite a spectacle, curiosities to all.  Though we spotted the odd other non-Asian, usually in the distance, they were generally older and usually men. Starting to fade a bit, we ended up in a fancy cafe where we sort of had lunch (since neither of us felt absolutely hungry, though we knew it was the right sort of time for lunch) and made good progress on our books before heading back to the hotel in the early afternoon.  

We then headed down to the hotel's very good pool and swam (slowly) a few lengths whilst watching the hotel staff prepare for a poolside wedding reception, constructing giant glittering hearts, a fake car, and suchlike.  Before any sign of the wedding guests, we headed upstairs to the spa and booked body scrubs and massages.  Both of which were excellent, though we were bemused to be treated in the same room - and to find ourselves asked to shower at the same time in what was just a normal sized shower. But it was certainly jolly. Back in our room we succumbed to a short nap before heading for our free gin and tonics in the hotel bar where we vigorously discussed whether (as atheists) we hoped the next pope would be a progressive type. We then headed out to dinner at a lovely restaurant called Monsoon, which was in an old colonial building. We drank local wine (which was surprisingly lovely) and had a pumpkin and coconut curry (Layla) and a tofu and mushroom curry (me). Also dessert and a mad cold chocolate drink (for Layla, naturally). We headed back to the hotel to find the wedding reception finishing (quite early) and went to sleep.

This morning we were again awake early, though I had the good luck to end up dozing off again. Breakfast was followed by another nap (it was a long journey, ok?!) and we are now ensconced by the pool and about to have a swim - our last taste of luxury this holiday, as we go to meet our holiday companions this afternoon.  

In which Roz and Layla enjoy a new lake, plan a new holiday, and list their holiday reading

by Roz

We went from sipping mohitos (where we left you last time) to dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant overlooking the lake where we had a truly lovely meal with fabulous bruschetta (with capers which I love but realize I haven't had since leaving the UK a year ago), homemade pasta and nice wine.  We strolled the two minute journey back to our hotel congratulating ourselves on an excellent day.  

Next morning we were awake early again (sigh) and having again rejected the hotel breakfast in favour of pancakes in a pretty spot we contemplated our plans for the day.  Layla had originally been thinking of a canopy walk but I had been such a wuss over the brief encounter we'd had with swaying bridges in Pana that it was time for a rethink.  The lake looked tempting and so we decided that a boat trip was in order (after morning ice creams naturally). First, we had a half hour boat ride to a tiny village called San Andres which was just lovely. Hopping off the boat, our inadequate Spanish and the boatman's inadequate English meant we "agreed" we would see him later, in another village a little bit along the lake shore "next to the water park". We started off by a small exploration of the village, but since this only revealed mangy looking dogs and the odd small child we didn't linger too long, but started off to walk to the next village along the lakeshore. And it turned out to be one of the prettiest walks either of us had ever done.  No cars on the road, brilliant blue sky and water, and just a sort of idyllic-ness that was completely unexpected. The tranquility of it made it all the more surprising when we stumbled across small children swimming in the water - or indeed tuk tuks sitting on the lake edge to make it easier to wash them. We meandered along, contemplating the future and all the fun places we could live. 

Arriving in the village (which was somewhat larger than the first one we'd been to, and with fewer hungry looking dogs), it was time for lunch and we stopped off at a very pleasant cafe for sandwiches and lemonade - and then settled down to read, occasionally glancing down at the lovely lake.  And so a very pleasant hour or so passed, after which we decided to start trying to hunt down the water park and our boatman. This proved much easier than I had feared, and soon we were gliding through the beautiful water en route to our next stop, which apparently had ruins and a pretty look-out spot. Further examination of the guidebook, once we had arrived, revealed that the ruins were in fact not visible to the naked eye (but instead presumed to be there because of the otherwise inexplicable big mound than we proceeded to walk up).  The look out spot was lovely though (and well worth the climb up the really rather high mound) and we stayed up there until we heard the voices of some other tourists when we hastily beat a retreat.  

It was only a short boat ride from there back to Flores - but all in all it had been a very satisfactory excursion.  We then headed to the cool cafe / bar, where we had spent time the day before, to read more. The experience was all the more novel since it was certainly the first time Layla opted for beer whilst I opted for lemonade... Time marched on and we were conscious that we had a mid-evening flight back to Guatemala City and no opportunity for dinner other than a very early one. And so we found ourselves back in the Italian restaurant of the night before, this time watching the sunset as we relished bruschetta and one portion of pasta to share.  From there, we headed to the airport and flew back to Guatemala for our final night.  We arrived late and decided to head out for a late drink. We originally hoped to find Frida's - which we had looked for the last time we were in Guatemala City - but failed again and so ended up in a mad Mexican restaurant near the hotel with mohitos.

We woke up unpleasantly early again and headed out for breakfast in a delightful cafe / restaurant recommended by all the guidebooks but pleasingly not seemingly frequented by tourists (or not western ones) where we debated the merits of Christmas and our enthusiasm (or not in my case) for it over pancakes and fruit.  We then wandered to a lovely bookshop and contemplated their selection of books before settling down for a mint tea in the bookshop's cafe where we wrote postcards and read.  Eventually Layla was too antsy to sit still and we agreed, sadly, it was time to head back to the hotel and to the airport. And now it is from a very comfy business class seat that I write this, sipping a gin and tonic and awaiting lunch - suspended until our next adventure away.  Which, might, I suspect, be a cycling trip to Burma. 

Books read by Roz whilst away: Astray (Emma Donoghue), Like Water for Chocolate (Laura Esquirel), Bring Up the Bodies (Hilary Mantel), No Highway (Nevil Shute), Dominion (CJ Sansom), The Shuttle (Frances Hodgson Burnett), The Penelopiad (Margaret Atwood), plus substantial progress made into The Day of the Scorpion (Paul Scott) and some progress into Merivel (Rose Tremain) - the latter being an audiobook.

Books read by Layla whilst away: The Secret People (John Wyndham), The Vanishing Act (Mette Jakobsen), The Penelopiad (Margaret Atwood), French Revolutions (Tim Moore) and the final quarter of Middlemarch (George Eliot), and have just embarked on Shikasta (Doris Lessing). 

In which Layla and Roz cycle round a pretty lake and visit Maya ruins

By Layla

We meandered out and up the Main Street for dinner in Circus, a very cool little quirky cabaret bar where we dined on pizza and wine, and listened to various musical efforts, followed by some G&Ts at the bar. Roz mocked me for being shy of the place - have I become too mainstream??!

The next day we were up early and - to our delight - enjoying a delicious hotel pancake breakfast, before our cycle tour around the lake. Now, those of you with an eagle eye will have noticed that on our bicycle tour of the Antigua countryside resulted in Roz falling off her bike and injuring her arm. We decided to gloss over that... And off we set with our bikes and a cheery guide on the local ferry across the sparkling lake, along with some Mayan girls, a house painter, and assorted other locals. After stopping at several tiny, pretty landings, til we reached ours. We vaguely helped heave our bikes onto the tiny wooden jetty, then found ourselves on the road that goes all around the lake. Sadly, my enquiries in Spanish as to the flatness of the road before we booked the trip must have been flawed - never did any road go up and down so dramatically or so often. If it hadn't been for the astoundingly beautiful views over the lake, and the charm of the villages we cycled through, it would have been hard to forgive. Especially because Roz's arm proved unwilling to endure either steep slopes upwards or downwards. And of course, I'm not fit enough to go uphill for more than 5 seconds. I suspect we were a great disappointment to our guide. At San Paolo we visited a women's weaving cooperative and I bought a scarf, and some horrible chocolate. Then at San Pedro we wheeled our bicycles over another little wooden jetty and climbed aboard another ferry for a beautiful half hour cruise back to Panajachel.

After changing our clothes to make ourselves presentable, we made a beeline for a pretty-looking deli in a courtyard garden for a tasty lunch, over which we lingered with our books... And then we went for a stroll along the waterfront, culminating in mohitos at the aptly named Sunset Bar, where we enjoyed a glorious pink sunset over the lake and volcanos. 

But enough of that and down to the serious business of dinner. We walked up the street and after much indecision, chose Casablanca, where I incongruously had French onion soup and Roz had pasta. And then ice cream. Punctuated by my jaunt to a local pharmacy, as Roz mentioned she was in agony post-bike ride. And then G&Ts at Circus. Other than the aforementioned agony, a really excellent day.

We got up early the next day, because we had a shuttle to Guatemala City Airport booked for 11.30 and wanted a morning activity. One look at Roz's grimaces told me that kayaking was out, so after another delicious round of breakfast pancakes, we caught a tuk tuk to Atitlan Nature Reserve. This pretty much deserted park was really beautiful. We went on an hour-long hike along well-maintained tracks with the added excitement of several suspension bridges which were nearly the end of poor Roz, as she shook, suspended on rickety wooden slats above a waterfall far below, unable to use her arm to hold on. But the views were excellent... 

When we got back into town, I deposited Roz in the Deli Llama del Fuego where we acquired licuados (sort of fruit smoothies) and take away sandwiches, and I went on a hunt and acquired a sling for her. Feeling a tad worried, I emailed doctor friends to enquire as to whether I ought to be doing anything more serious. Luckily the diagnosis: dunno, but prescribe painkillers and mohitos. Not cycling or kayaking though.

And thus with sandwiches in hand and arm in sling, we boarded the shuttle minibus to Guatemala Airport, destination Flores. However, a journey that usually takes 4 hours took only 2 hours. We ended up being dropped off in Guatemala City where we left our luggage at a random hotel, and went for a little wander in Zone 10. Our quest for a bar marked in our guidebook was in vain, and after wandering the streets which mostly comprised large hotels and bars that would be popular later, we found ourselves in an incongruous, posh little design shop (there were no other shops around), as their only customers, drinking giant jugs of pink lemonade and eating banana cake with chocolate sauce, sitting on their posh for sale chairs. Quite surreal, but both cheery and tasty.

I made Roz go to the airport too early (as usual) so we spent the next while in the charm-free departure lounge (a particular treat was when it got dark and the airport didn't switch on lights...), but our flight was on time and after an hour of flying, we found ourselves on the pretty island of Flores. 

By the time we checked into our less than glamorous hotel (I'd like you to note it was number 1 on Tripadvisor!) it was sufficiently late that restaurants were winding down. Nevertheless, having purchased shuttle ticked for the next day's trip to Tikal, a Mayan ruin, we settled ourselves in a nice restaurant, drank mohitos, and had a quick dinner, then some wine, til it was bedtime.

Noting sadly that every day is an early morning day, Roz and I sloped downstairs for a quick hotel breakfast before our 8am shuttle today, only to find that the hotel breakfast was so rubbish that we had to go elsewhere. Cue a mad dash to last night's restaurant where we inhaled emergency pancakes and orange juice, in time for the bus. I'd got myself in a flap about the bus as I'd heard it was subject to an armed robbery a couple of months ago, so had left all valuables at home, which was rather inconvenient, and thankfully the trip was absolutely fine. 

Tikal is thought to have been the capital city of the Mayan empire, and is the most impressive Mayan ruin, we were told. I'd been once before, 9 years ago. It was lovely to go back. The site is deep in the jungle, but in a civilized way that requires lots of walking up nicely cleared paths through the jungle to the various pyramids and temples scattered around a large site. We visited pretty much all of them, including the more obscure ones, and climbed a couple for cool views over the jungle. But of course, true to form, while we enjoyed the Gran Plaza and such, we really liked it when we were the only ones there so we could feel like Indiana Jones... And thus we enjoyed one out of the way temple complex, a 20 minute walk from the others, til another pesky couple appeared, which spurred us to leave our explorations and continue along the road.

About 15 minutes into the 25 minute walk between temples, we suddenly froze. Just ahead, we heard the most bloodcurdling roars and snarls you can imagine. We clung to each other in terror - what on earth could it be? We looked at our map/guide to the site for lists of animals that resided within. Could it be a jaguar? It sounded more like a lion... We decided to move forward, then heard it again, louder than ever. And again. And thus Indiana Jones became Indiana Wuss as we lurked, willing the other couple to come round the corner. Eventually they did. With anguish we indicated to the ongoing roars. At which point they tittered: "howler monkeys". And sheepishly we walked on, to the next temples...

We had a lovely four hours of exploring this really excellent site, before having sandwiches at the visitors' centre, and catching the shuttle back to Flores. Again, no bandits: phew!

Having watched the sun set over the lake with an ice cream in hand, and wandering round the promenade that circles Flores, we are now installed in what can only be described as a funky cafe, with mohitos. Medicinal, you know...

In which Roz and Layla enjoy the countryside by bike, foot, and boat, and Roz sustains a bike injury

By Roz

We headed out for dinner, promising ourselves to resist the lure of the delicious and jolly Mexican place we had been for lunch (Frida's) and agreeing that it was about time we sampled a little rice and beans - in other words, some Guatemalan food.  And so we ended up - with some hesitation - in a small local restaurant. To our amusement / bemusement, rice and beans were strangely absent form the menu, and so we resigned(!) ourselves to starting off with guacamole... Layla showed her continued commitment to local cuisine through ordering a rather dubious sounding vegetarian option which turned out to be potatoes and something brown, with plancha and rice on the side, whilst I went for "typical" Guatemalan cheese fondu. It didn't take us long to demolish these, and we then wandered over to a nice wine bar called El Sabor del Tiempo, photos of which were immediately - and oddly - recognized by friends on Facebook. We then called it a night in anticipation of our bike ride into the valley the next day.  

Awake slightly too early for a holiday, we consoled ourselves by nice waffles up on the roof terrace where we had jacuzzied the night before, looking at the volcanos and hoping that our bike ride wouldn't entail riding up anything so steep. We headed round to the office where to start the bike tour to find only to find that we were to be joined by a third person on the tour, a girl called Alice.  Pleasingly she turned out to be very nice (and even carried a fair amount of our stuff for us, given that our handbags were vigorously discouraged by the bike tour people). We set off through cobblestoned streets which were very pretty if not optimal for cycling. We cycled through villages - including passing a street that had been modeled to look like Jesus' site of cruxifiction (having disappointed the tour guide by telling him that none of us were Catholic). All was going well, despite a steep hill which caused Layla to breathe more deeply than she might have hoped, until disaster struck. Well near disaster. Turning my head to listen to the end of the tour guide's sentence "what you need to know about this trip is...", I fell off my bike. I slammed against a nearby wall and got generally tangled up with my bike.  A few moments of confusion later and it became apparently that I had done something to the muscles in my shoulder / arm and other than that just had a few cuts and grazes. I hate missing out on something fun, so suggested to Layla et al that I take some painkillers and we just press on and see how it went.  It turned out that all was well unless I needed to break or to go uphill (I never realized that I use my arms for going uphill before). This made for a reasonably exciting journey for me.  But the scenery - with the volcanos in the background - was lovely and there is just something fascinating about travelling through the countryside on a bike, getting a small snapshot of local lives. In one village we passed through there was a giant bath in the centre of the village square, where people from miles around came to do their washing.  Well, I say "people" - unsurprisingly I mean women (there was one lone man) and it was somewhat depressing to realize how few people here have running water. 

We stopped at a macadamia nut farm and had quite an interesting time learning about macadamia nuts and how they are farmed. Tasting some nuts - it would have been rude not to - it was striking how different they are from that which we get in either the UK or the US. Much more flavorsome. The experience was somewhat marred by the slightly creepy owner of the farm who insisted on rubbing macadamia nut oil into our hands / arms. But when he put his arm on my injured shoulder and I let out a howl of pain Layla shouted at him in a pleasing - if slightly excessive - fashion. They then had a fun exchange when he said he knew how to fix my arm (by rubbing macadamia oil on it) since he's a paramedic - and Layla responded that he might well be but she was a doctor... (She didn't mention that she's a psychiatrist...) But as I sit here writing this blog now, eating nuts we bought there and drinking a beer, I still can't believe how good the nuts taste.  

As we were about to leave the farm, the tour guide tried to persuade me to get a car home given my arm and they did make me quite anxious with their descriptions of the very bumpy terrain we were about to encounter. I was about to give in - which I loathe doing - when our companion for the day chipped in so encouragingly, telling me she would be happy to walk if my arm got too sore, that my resolve strengthened and off we set. And what a fabulous part of the trip it was. We went through pretty woods and through walking tracks through fields, passing kids playing football and farmers working and villages far from the nearest road.  It felt exceptionally far from home... Stopping off in a village before a final and very significant hill (which I would mention that - despite walking my bike - I was the first to reach the top of) we stopped off in a textile museum and market which was quite fun though as ever Layla and I felt guilty about not buying anything (I dislike acquiring useless things we will never use, but recognize this isn't the right attitude in this scenario) and made it home after our 28 km cycle in time for a late lunch.  

The three of us headed to the nice cafe where we had had key lime pie the day before, and I had beer and clutched ice to my arm (not least in honour of a friend who thinks ice is the solution to all injuries). We had a very pleasant time and then headed back to the hotel for a shower. Post shower, we headed to a cafe to read our books and hope my arm would magically and swiftly heal.  It didn't but both of us managed to terrify ourselves with what we we reading and so headed back to our hotel for another jacuzzi slightly early and in some terror. Post-jacuzzi we headed out to dinner at the Rainbow Cafe (not gay, but instead hippy) which was very pleasant and then met our cycling companion from earlier for a mohito or two in Frida's. A very pleasant evening ensued and then we headed home, all planning to get the 8am shuttle to a place called Panajachel.

Up early again, we had an early breakfast (alas no waffles this time) and then hopped on the shuttle. It was a good journey, through fab scenery. Best of all was our first sighting of Lake Atilan, which Panajachel is on the shore of. The lake was a brilliant blue - looking the colour of the Mediterranean at its best - and the ever present volcanos were as always spectacular. We said goodbye to Alice (who was only visiting for the day) and checked into our hotel and contemplated our plan of action. As ever when in time of doubt, we opted for a very pleasant lunch (no guacamole this time) and then headed off on a hike / walk to another village on the lake shore, a few miles away.

The walk turned out to be lovely - the lake in clear view pretty much all the time, and with pretty hills and so forth. The undulating road started off being crowded with cars, but a couple of kilometers along, there was barely any traffic; just trees, flowers, and sparkling water. We stopped at the first village, Santa Catarina Palopo, for a lemonade and a read of our books at a cafe overlooking the lake, then pressed on to San Antonio. By the time we got there, we were dreaming of taking a boat ride back to Panajachel... But sadly the last ferry had long gone. Faced with the option of a pick up truck, we managed to negotiate chartering a private ferry, and so it was that we cruised back to town, across sparkling blue water, with volcanos on one side, and pretty towns and evidence of our 10km effort on the other. We felt very extravagant (though it was in fact not very expensive), and climbed out, feeling like celebrities. We booked a bike ride for tomorrow and are now sitting on our hotel balcony planning our dinner. And feeling quite full of macadamia nuts...

In which Layla and Roz cook marshmallows on a volcano in Guatemala

By Layla

Having been to Guatemala once before, in 2003, I worried about the intrepid quotient of us going there on holiday yesterday. My fears were allayed by the check in woman at National Airport in Washington who, upon enquiring as to our final destination, queried "Guatemala? Is that in Mexico?" Though to be fair she also claimed not to have heard of Britain, so it wasn't entirely reassuring that Delta would get us to Guatemala City at all... but get there we did, inexplicably in business class no less, and as we sipped mid-flight mimosas, we felt we were starting the holiday in grand style.

An hour and a half of taxi fighting through dreadful traffic, and we stepped out into the sunny, colorful, cobbled streets of Antigua, a beautiful little colonial town. Since we were too early to check in, the first order of the day was clearly a search for late lunch (glossing over my early lunch courtesy of business class!). We strolled a few paces to the very attractive main plaza, with greenery, fountains, and churches galore, then walked up a restaurant-lined street with our mouths watering. We settled on a cute little place where we acquired mohitos and guacamole, and were very cheery indeed - til some Googling got us anxious about difficulties of getting cash in Antigua, dodgy cash machines, etc. And so, feeling like a very good wife indeed, I left Roz with her mohito while I embarked on a quest for cash. Four cash machines later, and several conversations with bank type men holding guns, I procured 2000 quetzales, which I felt was a vast sum of money. The exchange rate is killing me - I just can't do rapid sums that require dividing by 7.8! Luckily I have now told Roz she's in charge of money...

After our guacamole, and checking into our cute little boutique hotel, we embarked upon a further food and drink mission. We had mohitos on a rooftop bar, then some tasty wine and bruschetta in a second, charming establishment, then local beer (Gallo) and tacos in a third establishment. And after all that we rolled home to bed, anticipating our 6am start the next day...

Today, up bright and early, we seized packed breakfasts from our hotel and climbed aboard a minibus with 10 others, bound for the Pacaya Volcano. It's an active volcano, so we couldn't go up to the crater, which we saw steaming, but we could and did have a fab hike up through countryside, then across fields of black lava grit (familiar from our Nicaragua volcano surfing experience), and finally to a hot hole in the ground where we roasted marshmallows with volcanic heat, and munched them while gazing at the really glorious scenery, of lakes, craters, steaming volcanos, and a range of peaks like the way I drew mountains in childhood art classes, all under a brilliant blue sky.

We bused back to town, then set out for lunch. We had a pleasant panini in Cafe Barists, overlooking the square, then we went to a travel agency to book a bike ride for tomorrow. And then it was time for our customary Lonely Planet walking tour. We wandered down pretty cobbled churches and admired copious churches and monasteries. Antigua really is a beautiful town. We came across a little bookshop and Roz bought Like Water For Chocolate. And then proceeded to read the whole thing, first over mint tea and key lime pie in a beautiful sunny courtyard cafe, then beer and chips at a second pretty courtyard cafe. So far, this holiday has not been slimming...

We returned to our hotel at 5 as we'd booked an hour in their rooftop jacuzzi. This turned out to be lovely - they'd left robes on our bed, and sprinkled flowers in the water. We enjoyed the jacuzzi while gazing out at the nearby volcano - a fabulous view. And now we are getting ready for dinner. A relief, as we are definitely in need of more food urgently.