Getting the lingo

One of the ideas we had for our trip was to try to learn a bit of Spanish, and , true to our word, we had a weeks worth of lessons in Guatemala which were very good.

Since then, we haven't become fluent (which shouldn't come as any kind of suprise at all) but we do think we're a little better than we were before.

There are a number of reasons for this: some people seem to prefer speaking to us in English than suffering our well intentioned efforts to murder their language; we have stayed in some places that were 'international' (i.e. English speaking); we are finding the different pronounciation (e.g. between BsAs and Guatemala) quite a challenge; we are of an age which is past its sell by date for language learning and, quite frankly, it's quite hard.

Having said that, we feel we are quite fluent in restaurant-ese. It has been known for us to stumble through a whole order process (with commendably little pointing at the menu, I may add) and then find out that the waiter comes back and has a chat with us in near-perfect English about our travel plans etc.

Another source of amusement is the near similarity between English and Spanish that suddenly pop up:

The Spanish for "Predictive Text" (according to T's phone documentation), is "Texto Predictivo", and our favorite from today was the taxi driver who was lamenting the "Mucho Traffico" of BsAs.

Of course, this lulls one into a false sense of security and makes for quite and embarassing time at the ice cream counter, whilst I ask for "Chocolate Mousse" (choc-o-lar-tay moo-s) about 5 times before the chap behind the counter realises I mean choc-o-lar-tay mow-s. "Mousse", spelt the same as English - pronounced like a rodent - who'd have thought it?

However, our best moment so far; a real "Scorchio!" for those who get the reference; was when we were sitting in the back of a cab in Panama City, the local Spanish radio advert went "chile con carne; guacamole; tortilla" - we just looked at each other and giggled.

Football crazy

So, South Americans are mad on football are they? Practice makes perfect, as they say. So, why not get a bit of footie practice whilst performing necessary tasks?

Of course, it might make you think twice before shaking The hand of God, who knows where the little, fat, cheating (apparently, former) drug addict may have just been?

Grazia Replacement - Evita

Hello, I'm making a guest appearance on the blog.

Well as you may or may not know I'm normally addicted to magazines, I have managed to negotiate a few out of the kitty when we've been in the airport but other than that I've been starved of Celeb gossip - bar the gossip updates I get on email (thanks Em!)

Sooo the next best thing here in BA which remotely relates to celebrity world is Eva Peron you know the "Don't cry for me Argentina" lady ( tune belted out by Madge and Elaine Paige.)

First of all, grim but true we saw her grave in the cemetary in BA. It seems she was both hated and loved, a true diva of her day I reckon. People actually go to her grave to pray and treat her like a saint. I was allowed an afternoon's freedom (after the mobile phone issue had been organised - so I wasn't totally alone:-)) the other day and went to the museum completely dedicated to her life, she only lived for 30 years and by all accounts seems to have caused quite a stir for a large part of them (just like Madge really- no wonder she wanted to play her in the film.)

Next plan is to go on a political tour and find out more about the whole period she was around and about the dramatic political swings that have occurred here over the years.

Flashback

One of the things I meant to mention about Central America was the continual honking of horns. From the moment we arrived in Guatemala until we got to the (as far as honking goes) peace of BsAs, the sound of honking horns was a constant companion.

I personally observed horns being used for the following messages:

• Excuse me
  
• After you
  
• Oi
  
• No, you can't get in front of me
  
• Yes, just squeeze in here
  
• Um - I'm overtaking you and will have a head on crash with the bus that has just pulled out of a sidestreet about 100 yards ahead and would really appreciate it if you could slow down a bit - right now - so that there is a gap of more than six inches in front of you that I could get into - please?
  
• No
  
• OK - go on then
  
• You look like a pretty young lady
  
• Did you look in you mirror? (this is a rhetorical question of a honk)
  
• Did you indicate before turning left from the right lane? (rhet.)
  
• I am about to:
  
  
  
  • stop
    
  • move off
    
  • pull out
    
  • do a U turn
    
  • turn left
    
  • turn right
    
  • go straight ahead
    
  
  
• What did you do that for?
  
• Hello
  
• Oh, hi there
  
• How are you?
  
• Fine thanks - and you?
  
• Mustn't grumble (Actually - I just made that one up)
  
• You look like a tourist - do you need a taxi? (this is also in use here in BsAs)
  
• Would you like to get on this bus?
  
• I've just overtaken you ha-ha-ha (bus driving is a competitive sport in Guatemala)
  
• I'll get you back at the next stop
  
• There may even have been "I've safely arrived at my desination" - but I think I would always have been slightly too relieved to care and listen at that point
  

Indicators are _never_ used. Here in BsAs, hazard warning lights seem to mean pretty much any of the above. At least it's quieter.

Mini-pasties

Oh, yes - I forgot to tell you about Empanadas. They are like little mini Cornish Pasties with lots of (actually, just a few really) different fillings. The great thing is that you can have about 4 at once (instead of just one Cornish pasty) and get meat, mushroom, sweetcorn and chicken all at the same time - without o.d.ing on any one given flavour. Yummety yum.

It's kind of like a Kellogg's Variety pack but with pasties instead of coco-pops.

We didn't fancy the 'Tuna' filling that was in the posh bakery near our apartment though - A tuna pasty is just plain wrong.

That's enough about the food - sorry.

Pillowgate

After one night in our apartment, I decided that I'd get a pillow. Partially because the ones in the apartment were lumpy and horrible, but mainly because there was a bedding shop next door that was having a closing down sale. (Probably going to turn itself into a clothes shop - there aren't quite enough of them here!) Given that we were going to stay put for 30 days - I thought this to be a sound investment.

I asked T if she wanted one too (you know where this is going already, don't you?)

She said 'no' - the ones there were fine.

I had a lovely nights sleep.

I had a second lovely night's sleep.

I asked T if she also wanted a new pillow - while the shop was open. "No thanks" was the reply.

After watching some DVDs (MI:III and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) - where she had 'borrowed' my pillow "Just to see what it's like", she decided that she'd try it out for the night (Of course, the shop had now shut).

Guess who didn't sleep well that night?

We now have two new, cheap pillows. A bargain.

Meat and sweets (not sweetmeats)

Argentina is big on meat, I guess that some of you knew that - but just for those who didn't - let me tell you that it's true.

On Saturday we went to "La Boca", which is a gentrified (i.e. Touristificated) island in the middle of a run down neighbourhood. The guide books recommend getting a cab in and out - so we did. I'm not sure that walking would have felt any less dangerous than the taxi we took in there anyway!

After a little wander around some arty stalls, we dropped into a Parrilla (A meat restaurant) and ordered the house special.

The house special appeared to be a cow - cut up and stuck on a mini barbecue it might have been - but I'm pretty sure we got a goodly percentage of a whole cow. The picture below shows the parts of the animal that we couldn't manage. I hope that the 'wasted' meat got a good home.

The size of a cow

Another local foodstuff that appears to be de rigeur is a caramel sauce known as "Dulce de Leche". It tastes a lot like the home-mad butterscotch sauce my mother used to make (in the days when she made such types of food) consisting of heated sugar and evaporated milk. Around here, there are whole supermarket aisles dedicated to different brands of it. I'm not 100% sure what differentiates them, but the one(s) I have tried all taste yummy (but not quite as nice as my mum's sauce - natch). Here is a pancake (panqueque - pan-kay-kay) full of it. Yum Yum - in my tum.

A pancake - full of Dulce

For those concerned about such things, I promise that this blog will veer away from food once more and not turn into a "Things I ate abroad" list that some blogs have been accused of.

(almost) one week in BsAs

We have decided to slow the pace right down now and have rented an apartment in the Palermo Viejo district of Buenos Aires for a month. We have been in it for two nights so far. Our first morning wasn't as quiet as we'd hoped, but this morning was lovely and peaceful.

We don't have internet access in the apartment, so I am forced to nip out to a local bar and avail myself of the free wifi. This will be a terrible chore - I can tell.

On our last day in the hotel (we stayed in a hotel for our first four nights) T decided to call her friends and mum from the hotel room. Deciding that discertion was the better part, I didn't complain about the hundred quid bill that came our way for the telephone. T was mortified and decided that it shouldn't be paid from joint pennies. Hopefully she now understands the concept of phone cards and we'll use one _next_ time. :-)

So far we have done alot of wandering about. Palermo Viejo is a mass of posh bars and posher clothes shops. It's Argentina's version of Notting Hill (says a little voice to my left). Our travelling garb isn't quite what the locals are wearing - but we haven't been chucked out of any of the painfully trendy bars - yet.

We are all kitted out to communicate now - I got a chip for my mobile and we got T a thirty quid PAYG phone. So we should be able to keep in touch when T nips off to the galleries and museums and I sit around reading & chilling out.

Our aim in BsAs is to do lots of chilin and try and fit in a Tango show; a football game; some walking tours; some excercise and that kind of thing. We have four weeks to decide what to do next: Patagonia (cold), Mendoza (Wine), Meontevideo (Uruguay) and Iguazu Falls (falls) are on the horizon, we may do some of these as tours during the month - who knows.

I'm sure there will be pictures of BsAs - but we haven't got any just yet. Watch this space.

BsAs on St Guinness day

Day one in Beunos Aires (BsAs) arrived - we took a nice walking tour of the city.

The Recoleta cemetary is quite astounding, and our guide made it (to pardon the expression) come alive.

Unfortunately BsAs sems to be in the grip of a mossie epidemic. We had left our industrial strength insect repellant in our hotel under the stupid assumption that we wouldn't need it. What fools.

After a siesta after our tour - we trooped off to the Irish quarter to celebrate St Patrick's day in style. We stayed for about an hour from 10 - 11 pm (apparently quite early for the locals). When we left there seemed to be a street full of Argentinians milling around as if to say "O.K. We've come for the party - where is it?" not realising that they were supposed to _be_ the party and providing entertainment for each other by being so drunk that they couldn't stand up.

Maybe they got into the swing of things later - but, somehow, I doubt it.

Copa

The flight from Panama City to Buenos Aires was notable by a few things:

1. T and I were not sitting together, we both had middle seats - I drew the short straw and sat next to the widest thin bloke in Christendom
   
2. We had Metallic cutlery with our meal
   
3. A goodly portion of the passengers applauded a perfectly ordinary landing from a perfectly ordinary flight. Something I thought had died out about 15 years ago. (I have been on a flight where the landing was applauded reasonably recently, but the mitigating circumstances were that we had been told to adopt the brace position as the pilot thought there was a good chance that the front landing gear was broken.)
   
4. Most amazing, however, was that fact that, when the plane stopped at the airbridge, not one single person stood up and messed about in the lockers. We had been asked (in Spanish) to remain in our seats until a disabled chap had got off the plane - and everyone politely stayed firmly seated until he had passed. All hell broke loose at that point - as if to reaffirm one's belief in the human spirit.
   

We arrived in Argentina, got some cash and then got the world's most distracted taxi driver to our hotel.

Panama continued

We took a local bus up to Colon, where we visited the Free Trade Zone - which, to be honest, was pretty rubbish. For our amusement, there was a good shop sign - make whatever joke you feel is appropriate. (Best keep it to yourself, though)

Schoolboy humour

We then went to the New Washington hotel (which wasn't - new, that is). We sat and watched some locals being taught to swim and observed a whole bunch of ships waiting to enter the canal from the Atlantic side.

Boats, waiting

A train - in Panama

We returned to Panama City in style on the train - T decided to act local and ignore requests to move, so we had a fantastic view of the canal scenery. The group of French people, who were supposed to have our seats, spent the whole time trying to take pictures of the poor girls who were acting as waitresses. They seemed to be unhappy about not being next to the windows that they didn't bother to look through - we studiously ignored them - luckily, ignoring French people is something that the English find quite easy to do :-)

Palindrome

A Man

Not so much a man as the sun. But, as sun and son are homonyms and a son is male, I am stretching the point to claim that a sunset is a man.

Sunset over the bridge of the Americas, from the Casco Viejo

A Plan

Our plan in Panama was to be tourists. We touristed as follows:

• Visited the old town of Panama (Panama Viejo - the town that was built on the river and desroyed by a pirate)
  
• Visited the slightly less old town (Casco Viejo - the town that was created after the end of Panama Viejo,but before the creation of Panama City)
  
• Visited the locks of the canal at Miraflores.
  
• Got driven around in a taxi in Panama city - an exprience in itself.
  

A Canal

A ship entering the Miraflores locks

Panama

From Casco Viejo

From Panama Viejo

Whistle Stop Central America

After a lazy morning by the pool, we packed and set off to the airport. Our flight was quite long, but uneventful. A couple of hours stop in San Salvador, where we got off the plane, and a 45 minute stop in San Jose (Costa Rica). where we didn't.

San Salvador looked amazing - the whole Volcano thing is quite impressive when you fly so close to them.

Costa Rica may also have been impressive - it was dark.

We arrived at about midnight in Panama and got a taxi to our hotel.

Panama's currency is the Balboa (Written B/.), which is interesting, because it isn't. Panama doesn't print notes - it chooses to steal them from America (the US of), so dollars are the currency. Luckily for all concerned 1 Balboa is worth exactly one US dollar.

Our hotel wasn't the poshest, and it wasn't in the nicest place. However I was amazed about how noisy the street outside was - until I realised (after we had woken up and got dressed by 7am) that the window was wide open. It was tolerably quiet when shut.

Our first day in Panama was spent lookng for somewhere to base our tourism from.

After traipsing through the heat - we settled on the Backpacker enclave of the Panama Mariott.

Third time lucky

As a rule of thumb, we had discovered that we weren't too keen on places called San Pedro. The one on lake Atitlan was a smelly, dirty looking place (in its defence, the worst part of town was the tourist bit, which seemed to be suffering from a hangover), The one on Ambergris Caye was such a shock to us after the peace and quiet of Caye Caulker that we pretty much left on the boat after we arrived.

Sn Pedro Sula, coming hot on the heels of the Kir affair, had an opportunity to redeem the good name of saint Pedro.

Our Taxi driver was very proud of Honduras and, whilst swerving in and out of traffic on the motorway; honking his horn for many reasons (some of which were a mystery, most of which were reasonably, if not worryingly, obvious) and nattering away on his mobile phone - managed to give me a running commentary on the many attractions we passed.

"Beautiful View", "Clothes Factory", "Cement Factory", "Big Cement Factory", "Bad Smell (Sewage works)" - Honduras has all the things to drag in the tourists - most of them were missing from our guide book for some reason.

After trying to locate our hotel in the metropolis (San Pedro Sula is the second city of Honduras), by talking to anyone he stopped next to in traffic and asking them if they knew where it was, our driver hit upon the novel solution to his lack of knowledge by stopping in the middle of town, pointing to a police car and informing us that it would be illegal for him to go any further with us. 10/10 for style - not going to get him a tip though.

We arrived at the Copantl and Keri arranged to fly out to Roatan that very afternoon. We said a tearful goodbye to our adopted Canadian and retreated to the pool for a swim.

T had had enough of being on an adventure and decided that we were going to be tourists for a while. We booked a flight for the next day to Panama City and, as we were due to arrive at midnight, booked a hotel for the first night.

Our stay in Honduras was to be very brief.

Exit strategy

The three of us (Keri, Trudi and myself) were less than convinced of the ability of the boat and Eric to safely deliver us to Utila. Eric had stuck the pipe together with a bit of epoxy and claimed that it now worked - however - luckily for him - he still made for the safe waters of an anchorage at Puerto Cortes.

Eric, Margot and Mango (pronounced Mongo - a la francais) the dog set off in the tender for port to get some extra food.

We held a council of war.

T was not going another fathom on that boat. Keri wasn't keen either. I'd have taken my chances - but I guess that would have been daft. When Eric returned, we told him that I'd always wanted to visit Puerto Cortes (keeping a straight face should have been quite hard - given the sight of the busiest container port in Central America strewn before us, however necessity is a great aid in controlling facial expressions).

After a bit of grumbling and ensuring that we didn't want our money back - he agreed to let us off in the morning.

After a sleepless night (Eric disappeared into town after smoking a joint or two and did not reappear until 8am - I was convinced we were about to be attacked by pirates) we got off the boat and made landfall in the miniature boat that Eric carried with him as a tender.

T survived the three minute journey by talking to Mango.

After polite farewells at the Immigration office - we got in a taxi to San Pedro Sula and beat the hell out of dodge.

We learned many lessons on the Kir. One day we may have recovered enough to document them.

Pear shaped

We had been sailing for 9 hours when Eric decided that we needed to put a tack in to get us around a headland that was about 5 miles in front of us. He started the engine to help a bit and then had a bit of trouble getting the foresail in (it was a roller foresail and a halyard had got caught in the sail, making it impossible to furl completely.) I went up front to help (by holding the halyard out of the way) and we got the job done.

At this point Eric said to me that there was a problem - I thought he said that the rudder was broken - which would have been a teency-weency problem. However, he actually said that some rubber had gone. The connecting hose of the sea-water cooling system had perished and broken in two. We had no engine.

Now, on its own, on a sailing boat with favourable winds, the engine isn't the most important thing. However, if the wind changes, or you want to maneuver in port, or charge the batteries or anything else goes wrong - it is kind of critical. We instantly agreed to make for the nearest port - which was about four miles due downwind of us - Puerto Cortes.

The natives were getting more than restless.

... into the fire

It didn't start too well. Eric (our French captain's name) prepared some lovely smelling chicken with garlic and all sorts of things and placed them on the rail-mounted BBQ at the rear of the boat. After about 10 minutes of yummy smells wafting to our nostrils, we heard a bang, a sizzle and a very loud Merde!. The BBQ had deposited its contents into the Rio Dulce. Margot (Eric's travelling companion) whipped up a pleasant enough substitute.

A much less sweltering night saw us awaken to a pretty dawn and another sight of Livingston as we motored past.

Once we were out of the bay, sails were hoisted and we we on our way, driven by nothing but the wind.

T started getting a bit concerned about two things.

1. Eric's penchant for sleeping and letting the auto-pilot steer the boat.
   
2. The amount of heel (leeward leaning for you land-lubbers) that the Kir was doing.
   

I wasn't unduly bothered, as the heel was well within limits (it was quite mild, if truth be told) and the lack of Captain vigilance could be made up for with us setting up an informal watch.

Out of the frying pan ...

It's amazing what a good night's sleep in a safe, warm bed can do. On Friday morning, we decided to discover just how easy it would be to get to Honduras. T and I just wanted to get over the border to somewhere we could carry on our travels from - Keri was trying to get to Roatan - one of the Bay islands.

We discovered that the fast lanchas would only go if there were six or more people wanting to go, and we were just about to book a whole boat for the three of us - although we would have been happy to share the costs had others joined us, when we were introduced to a chap at a bar who was about to set off for Utila (another Bay Island) the very next day on a sailing boat. We couldn't believe our luck.

I was dispatched to look at the boat whilst the girls showered and did whatever it is that girls do.

When I returned, I gave a less than glowing report, however, spurred on by what can only be described as It can't be any worse than syndrome - we talked ourselves into it.

So, at six pm we found ourselves clambering over rusty oil tanks to reach a lancha to take us to the Kir

Las Sirenas - day six

Again, we were moving at the crack of dawn, with yet another unpleasant motor through the choppy seas.

T and I had decided against another night of purgatory on the Rio Dulce (it was about this time that the Pirate issue was mentioned by the crew) and so decide to alight at Livingston to see if we could get by boat to Honduras - that had been Keri's plan all along and so we decided to join her.

We left the party to enjoy their river cruise.

We stayed in a nice hotel with a pool and an OK restaurant - with local Garifuna dancers thrown in.

We had all suffered a bit from the sailing experience, lack of activity, the nightmare of the first night and the awful bashing through the wind and waves conspired to make the trip a little less than perfect. We enjoyed a nice hot shower (there we no showers on Las Sirenas!) and a nice big bed. Oh, and we will draw a veil over the toilet facilities on the boat:

Las Sirenas - day five

After a wet (the hatches didn't seal properly) and hot night, we awoke and had breakfast. On the horizon appeared a boat bringing our two missing Dutch passengers, once they had arrived - we set off to a new place.

Unfortunately, the wind had changed direction completely, so the engine was required once more - for a rather unpleasant 3 hour bash to another reef. That reef was nice.

Another wet, warm night followed.

Las Sirenas - days three and four

We spent two days moored firmly to the bottom - doing little but swimming, reading and sun-bathing (on Sunday - it rained on Monday).

Mala entertained us all with tales from Greenland - which seemed to consist of hunting and killing things, then carrying them back home to eat.

On one snorkelling trip, Mala found a shark minding its own business and resting at the bottom of the sea. After calling me over to have a look at it (which I thanked him for) he then dived down and pulled its tail (which I didn't).

Many fish were caught and prepared for our dinner - which was nice.

On Monday night, we had to shelter from the rain - in the rather cramped conditions below.

We still had not seen our missing two voyagers.

Las Sirenas - day two

After a most uncomfortable night, we awoke to the swaying of the now underway boat. The scenery was quite stunning and made up for the blood (to mosquitos), sweat and tears of the night just past.

We made our way to Livingston where we stopped to clear customs. Most of us chose to go for a refreshing swim in the crystal clear waters of the Rio Dulce as it flowed past the town. In retrospect, once we were out, we did think that the turgid brown sludge we had been bathing in may not have been as clean as we'd hoped. Nobody seemed to suffer any ill effects though.

The rest of the day was spent with the motor on, beating into the wind to reach our mooring point before sunset. Once we arrived, we swam around a bit and then tried to play UNO in a howling (but warm) gale.

Saturday night was cool and mossie-free - beautiful.

Las Sirenas - day one

OK - time to catch up on some history.

On Friday 3rd March we joined the catamaran Las Sirenas We waited around in the hottest cafe in Livingston until we were picked up in a lancha and taken across the bay to the boat.

After being robbed of our shoes for the duration of the trip, we sat in harbour for a while as we waited for the last two of our number to arrive. Eventually we set off without them and so our happy party consisted of:

• Raul - El Capitan


• Carlos - Deckhand


• El Cocinar - The (almost) nameless cook


• Trudi - UK


• Paul - UK


• Keri - Canada


• Andreas - Germany


• Ilse - Germany


• Peter - Australia


• Robyn - Australia


• Mala - Greenland


• John - USA

(Much) later we were joined by:

• Remco - NL


• Mascha - NL

A good group of characters.

The first night was made in the swelteringly hot, windless, mosquito infested banks of the Rio Dulce. We didn't understand why we couldn't moor out in the windy, mosquito-less bit of the river. Much later, we were told why - Pirates.

After a nice meal, we sat down to play UNO. I was terrible.

Change of pace

After escaping from the yacht at Puerto Cortes, we came to Honduras' second city, San Pedro Sula.

This evening, we are flying to Panama City.

Just a quickie

Just a quick update before we drop off the net again.

After an interesting trip on Las Serenas we have stopped in Livingston.

Tonight we board another boat to sail to Honduras.

T´s friends babies are doing well - as are their mothers. Congratulations.

In Rio

Just before getting to Rio, the bus emptied of naives and a sorry bunch of about ten westerners were left. The girl who had sat almost next to us for the last six hours asked us about Rio Dulce. We told her that we hadn't booked anything - as we were expecting to have arrived four hours earlier. We mentioned that we were going sailing - and so was she - on the same trip!

The three of us teamed up and found a nice place to stay on the river - called Tortugal. We have a cabin (with a few too much nature inside it for my liking). Kerry (who is Canadian) is staying in a very open-air loft/dorm thing. She is braver than I.

Thursday was spent getting money, eating, sleeping, reading books and - for me, swimming and diving.

Today we join the boat. There won't be any updates for a week. During that week, two of T's friends are having babies (on the same day - in the same hospital - how wierd is that!). We wish them luck and love.

And then to Rio

We woke up early (5:00 am) and showered, dressed and packed for the trip to Rio Dulce. We had been offered two leaving times. 6:00am would get us to Rio at 14:30; 9:30 am would get us there at 18:00 (getting dark). We wanted to arrive in the light, so we paid an extra 10% and got up an awful lot earlier to make sure we did (you can guess where this is going already, can't you?)

The hotel staff were magnificent and, as we were to leave before breakfast started, they gave us a couple of packed lunches instead of the breakfast. As it turned out, we could have had brekkie, as the bus to pick us up was late and didn't get to us until 6:30.

Rather than go straight to Guatemala City, the bus took a detour via Antigua to drop off a Norwegian schoolteaher. Outside Guate. the traffic was terrible and we felt a wave of relief as we pulled into the bus station.

The rather sheepish bus driver gave us our ticket for the noon bus. The one that would arrive at six pm. We were not happy. At least we had reserved seats on a first-class, air-conditioned, luxury bus for the six hour trip.

The bus didn't have a name, but it could easily have been called 'Titanic'. The seats were broken, the A/C, oops, no A/C. And it was packed. Guatemalan people are smaller than Europeans. We will draw a veil over the trip, driving, heat, dust etc. Suffice it to say that First Class has a long way to go in Guatemala.

Back to Pana

So, we booked a private launch to take us back to Pana (the thought of trying to put our stuff into the public ones and then trying to keep them dry was too much to bear). Our launch was due at 12:30 and was to be called 'Fatima'. After waiting for about 20 mins, spurning the near empty lanchas going our way for 1/5 of the price we were due to pay, an empty lancha approached. How we chuckled at its name 'Titanic.' "Which poor fools would get on that death trap?" We wondered.

Us, apparently. by the dint of our new found Spanish, we realised that Fatima was not coming and they'd sent the Titanic as a replacement (personally, I think that there is no Fatima - but they've worked out that no-one in their right mind would book a boat called Titanic).

As it happened, the lack of icebergs on the lake assisted us in not sinking and getting quite comfortably to Pana.

T cocked up a bit, so we only managed to stay in the second most expensive hotel in Pana, which had a pool with a water slide. I had fun on the water slide. Here is the obligatory sunset photo from the balcony of the hotel. We needed an early night for our 6:00 am bus to Rio Dulce.

Last evening in San Marcos

After my swimming and diving (and jumping in), we retired to the local bar 'Moon Fish'. We chatted with some people and Trudi had the biggest bottle of beer in the world.

A mi me gusta Nadar y Saltar

Nadar	Saltar

Our room

Was very high up - built into a cliff face.