Rio Dulce and the Finca (awesome name for a childrens book!)

I've gone rather off-piste and, having survived a night in the delightful Hotel Lee, a night spent firmly clutching a can of pepper spray to my sweaty bossom, I have made it to Finca Tartin at the mouth of the River Dulce, Guatemala. You can only reach this place by boat, which, having arrived I find out actually comes pretty much direct from Puerto Barrios. Nice Hannah, nice. I could have skipped out this morning's 3 hour journey, which feeds into my increasing suspicion that I am actually one of the most chaotic people at getting from point A to B, and absolutely consolidates the notion that having a copy of the Lonely Planet, or at least consulting a map once in a while, would be advisable. Having said that, despite additional stress, it means I have been managing to completely avoid tourists when and have found myself quite a few times over the past few days with a huge grin on my face, feeling completely free (semi-scared/petrified at times, sure) but completely free.

There is no electricity in the place, apart from between the hours of 7 - 10pm, and there are bugs here that I'm fairly sure have yet to be documented by science. I've hooked up with a bunch of nine other people and we'll head to Livingstone tomorrow. Then, after much procrastination, many wrong turns and unnecessary meandering, I'll journey forth into Belize and the Cayes.

Oh boy, it's been a hard day canoing down the river, swimming and attempting to open coconuts and I'm knackered. Inappropriate to got to bed at 9.30? I think not. Beunos noches.

　

Finally managed to leave Utila, only 5 days later than scheduled

One ferry, one bus (collectivo-style), one shuttle, two caminonettas, one border crossing and several painful miles carrying an over sized backpack with a sense of impending dread as night draws in... Who said 'being on the road' wasn't a barrel of laughs?

To be fair, today's epically gaylord adventure (which involved a ridiculous amount of time going precisely nowhere) was preceded by a pretty handy week learning to dive on the island of Utila, just off the coast of Honduras. Somehow, though, it is always easier to talk about things that went wrong as opposed to things that didn't...or maybe that's me being the cynical wench that i am.

Yep, having pontificated on diving as being a thoroughly unnecessary and somewhat terrifying way to spend ones leisure time, ever since doing a 'fun taster session' on holiday a few years back, I just completed my PADI Open Water certificate. Despite the initial pangs of intense fear, compounded by an overwhelming urge to spontaneously throw up into my regulator, punch my instructor and bolt for the surface, I am now looking forward to getting tanked up and back into the sea. The water around Utila is crystal clear and we saw sting rays, approximately 30 bazillion fish, dolphins AND , a whale shark touched my leg (not in a sexy way, as in, it's tail hit me as it swam past).

The Utilan accent is excellent. Every time you think you get what's going on with it, it transforms. The combination of Afro-Caribbean, American and Spanish influences combine to create a malleable and incredibly unique language. When we went to watch Utila play San Pedro Sula, at football, the mixture of dialects was incredible, and massively confusing. One minute, you could have been watching a Celtics game, the next, well...you could have been pretty much in any country in the world - Dick Van Dyke - formerly holding the title for most bizarre accent of all time, 'fankoo Mary 'oppins' - ain't a patch on these people. As an aside, the woman selling the tickets had the must humungous shelf-like breasts I have ever seen. She literally kept all the tickets and change just balancing there, under her chin. Practical I suppose, work with what you have and all that.

I am spending the night at some shifty hotel in Peurto Barrios on the East Coast of Guatemala. First thing tomorrow I'll catch a lancha to Belize for some more sun and sea action. And, fingers crossed, tomorrow's journey will be rather less sketchified than today...however, after an awesomely cheap 15Q supper of frijoles and heuvos over which I chatted to a Honduran family on their way to Mexico - who will be sleeping on the street tonight whilst i complain about my perfectly adequate and secure place to crash, I shouldn't really complain.

　

　

On an island in Honduras

Ok, so ain't in Guate no more...and yes, the more astute amongst you - and I use this term figuratively dear reader (probably, if we're honest, my mother) - may have noticed that my last post which was just posted said that I'd be heading east in a couple of weeks. Well, I wrote it and didn't publish it because, as continues to be reinforced, I am actually pretty diabolical when it comes to keeping a blog, i.e. weeks have past, I did go east and now i'm here.

Happy old times! I have a new computer. It's pink and awesome. I fully intend to make full use of it before it inevitably gets stolen again, therefore, expect much in the way of hilarious anecdotes and generally excellent witty banter until then.

Arrived yesterday after a fairly mammoth bus journey from Antigua, including one night in La Ceiba which is, just in case you had it on your list of places to visit, is absolutely not somewhere you want to spend any length of time. Unless you like seeing a lot of people sleeping on cardboard in the street and arguing with taxi men.

Utilla looks pretty handy...staying at a place owned by a gentleman who goes by the name of Rubi. He is probably now one of my most favouritest people ever and has the best/ weirdest accent known to humankind. Tomorrow I'm starting a PADI course, something which is potentially a pretty dreadful idea since the last and only time I have dived I didn't like it. Nevertheless, the water is delish and I can't be on this island and not don a pair of flippers and join the rest of the backpackers on their quest for a whale shark.

Having not been 'on the road' for a while, it's strange to be back amongst the travelling masses. Fun for the most part but, yeah, strange. More on that some other time...oooh, man I'm mysterious, edge of your seat stuff, huh?. This must be like reading an Enid Blyton book, but with less homo-eroticism, and minus Aunt Fanny's home-made lemonade.

Short but sweet, will keep you posted.Or endeavour to, at least...

What a month

So, this is one of those times when i'm not going to apologise for not blogging more. I´m just not going to. And, if we´re honest, it´s most likely that nobody noticed I haven´t written anything anyway... (sigh with distant self depricating look).

This month has been nothing if not dramatic, and not always for all the right reasons. Natural disasters, muggings, kidnappings. Oh Guate, sometimes I dispare.

After Hurricane Agatha, things were hairy for a bit. I´m tempted, in fact, to use the expression DARK. Yes, in fact I will. Things were DARK. The clean-up effort has been impressive but, at points, hugely frustrating. For the first week it felt like the hoardes of people who descended on the village of San Miguel Escobar wielding shovels, tins of beans and lashings of good will barely made a dent. Tonnes of stinking gloop covered everything, burying cars, houses and people alike. And, without the help of machinery, I have come to the educated conclusion that mud is pretty hard to shift.

They still dont have the figures for how many people died or are still missing, even in this one village, let alone in the rest of the country, but the statistics kind of fade in importance anway when you're raking through the remains of people's lives as if participating in some viciously warped version of the generation game....a mud stained text book, an abandoned cuddly toy, a half-made loaf of bread which will never be finished...

Rather lower down on the devastation-scale, I was mugged a few weeks back, which was, actually pretty bloody scary though i´d never admit it coz i'm, like, well 'ard. Yes, walking back from my beloved Rainbow, I was accosted by a delighful gentlement who decided it was imperitive that was mine became his, and lickety splick. So, with the aid of a knife and bit of good ol' fashioned brute force, he made away with my computor, cards, money blah blah blah. Awesome. Happy times. It could, however - as people are swift to remind me - have been worse, hence the reason I am now the proud owner of both a taser and pepper spray (thanks to a friend here who, lets just say, it's best not to delve too deeply into his business dealings).

Swings and roundabouts though, eh? Taking a break from Antigua and Guatemala in a few weeks time, bound for Honduras and some sunny seaside action. If, that is, HSBC pull their finger out and decide to provide me with some means of withdrawing cash before 2012 and the impending apocalypse.