Wily Coati: Being Outsmarted by the Tikal Natives

Feb 2, 2010

The hostels in El Remate, Guatemala lack the revelry and unruly social scene you usually associate with youth hostels. The lights in the common area go out at 10, and most travelers are in their rooms by 11. Rowdy backpackers looking for a good time head to the hopping island city of Flores, which is only half an hour west. The only, only reason anybody comes through El Remate is because they really want to see Tikal. Tikal is widely recognized as the most well-preserved Mayan ruin in Guatemala, possibly all of Central America. To top it off, the site is located within a lush tropical rainforest, and many visitors find the biodiversity even more impressive than the archaeology. For animal-lovers, the best time to spot the wildlife is at dawn, when the jungle wakes up. That half hour advantage between Flores and El Remate is crucial for beating the crowds. It is for this reason that we were awake and waiting for a minivan at the ungodly hour of 4:30 AM.

Allegedly, the most stunning views of the sunrise are from the steps of the towering pyramid, Templo IV. Naturally, Murphy’s Law mandates that it be located on the farthest side of the park. Upon arriving at the park entrance, Zack and I quickly paid our fees and made a beeline towards the heart of the jungle, immediately ditching the fellow travelers and acquaintances we made on the van ride over. The more people who feel behind, the better. We only slowed down to periodically check that we hadn't wandered off the wrong trail. As it turns out, the brisk pace was unnecessary—it was a cloudy day so the sunrise was obscured anyway. Nevertheless, the sight was no less dramatic or awe-inspiring. The misty haze that brushed the canopy created an unexpectedly mysterious, ghostly effect.

Perhaps more importantly, the overcast weather seemed to have compelled lazier tourists to sleep in or delay their visit, because for the most part, the park was empty. The sheer sprawl and scope of the site made any encounters with other visitors few and far between. There were times when we had the entire Gran Plaza to ourselves. This relative solitude was a humbling experience that only made us more keenly aware of our natural surroundings.

At one point, we overheard some raucous tittering. It sounded like a huge flock of quarreling birds, and we thought we might test those mad-trekking skills we developed in Belize. Any delusions of shrewd, Mayan tracking abilities were quickly dashed when we realized that the trees around us were filled with scores of green lorikeets. Literally, right above us. All we needed to do was squint a little. To be fair, they are called green lories for a reason - their plumage blended perfectly into the foliage. Nevertheless, even if you can’t spot them in the video, you know the little buggers are there.

Besides the loud chattering of birds, perhaps the most spectacular sound would be the deafening calls of the howler monkeys. The name says it all – initially we thought they were jaguars. They’re cheeky fellows, too. According to the guides they will strategically place themselves near the temple walls so their howls would echo against the stone, further amplifying their voices. It’s like monkeys in stereo. We were told that we were much more likely to hear the monkeys than to actually see them (apparently they’re quite grouchy when it comes to people), but we had made it our mission to spot some sort of primate.

One couple gave us a tip about a nature trail outside the park where spider monkeys had been spotted, but they gave the disclaimer that it was over 20 years ago that they were there. Against our better judgment, we headed in that direction only to find ourselves on a poorly maintained trail that required machetes to navigate. After stumbling through 20 years of overgrowth, a thick mess of vines and branches, we hit an unexpected discovery:

Coatis are actually in the raccoon family. While they weren’t technically monkeys, they were wild, climbed trees, had tails, and there were a lot of them. They were close enough. Really, we were tired, hot, and scratched up, and ready to turn back. Despite all this, at the end of the day, we were as giddy as schoolchildren after a field trip to the zoo. “Did you hear those howler monkeys?” “Those little toucans were so cute!” “I kissed a tarantula!” The only difference is that instead of a zoo, it was the wild Guatemalan rainforests. That still counts for some badass points, right?

Unexpected Visitor: Roughing it Maya Style

January 25, 2010

On the crowded Southbound bus, we were the only two people who requested a stop at the Maya Center Village. As it turns out, we were the only two people who were visiting the entire town. That suited us just fine – after three days of lounging on the beach, we had wanted an intrepid leg of the trip to improve our travel street cred. Our plan? To march through the Cockscomb Basin Jaguar Preserve. Twice. Once during the day, and again at night, when a different set of crawlies and beasties come out. Because we were arriving in the afternoon, we actually did the evening tour first.

With nothing but our flashlights and our Mopan Mayan guide, we spent two hours hiking through the trail. We crept in silence, straining to listen for the slightest movements –a rustling in the bushes, the whisper of the tree branches above. Although we could not see much, there was ample evidence that we were not alone in the forest. Some of the interesting things we lucky enough to catch were some nocturnal pigeons (just as dumb as their circadian brethren), a kinkajou leaping through the treetops, a dizzying queue of leafcutter ants which stretched for several meters, leftover nutshells from wild boars, and the proverbial jackpot: a fresh pair of jaguar paw prints from an adult female and her young cub. At one point during our walk, our fearless guide suddenly slammed his palm onto a log. He emerged with a coral snake slithering in his hands - yes, a “red and yellow, kill a fellow” snake. That's a level of badassery that deserves its own special category. By the time we returned to our hotel room, we were feeling pretty pumped up. That is, until we noticed an unexpected visitor in our room:


It's one thing to pay to see potentially dangerous animals in their natural habitat, it's another thing entirely to see one suspended inches above where you planned to sleep. Our immediate feelings were a healthy level of shock, followed by a less natural feeling of bemusement. After assessing the situation, Zack ripped off his boot and heaved it at the wall, knocking most of the scorpion off the wall behind the bed (I say “most of,” because various parts of it were still stuck... I leave that to your imagination). We hadn't had 30 seconds to catch our breath when a tail-less scorpion emerged from under the bed, scurrying wildly along the floor. Wide-eyed, I screamed, “IT'S NOT DEAD! IT'S NOT DEAD!” It was headed directly towards me, so I was yelling more to myself than anything. Since I was perched over the bed, I had the most optimal angle. Lifting my hiking boot into the air, I waited until it skittered directly underneath its sole and let gravity do its work. There was a satisfying thud and subsequent crunch. Direct hit. Tentatively I lifted my boot, only to find the thing feebly skittering around, refusing to die. Stubborn bastard. By that point, Zack had retrieved his boot from behind the bed and put an end to it once and for all. My hero.

Needless to say, that night we took the extra time to hang the mosquito net, AKA the “scorpion guard.” Additionally, we safeguarded ourselves by zipping up all our luggage, putting our shoes in bags, etc - not that it would have done much good, considering these scorpions seemed to have Wolverine-level healing powers.


The next morning, we casually mentioned to the owner that a large scorpion had somehow made it into our room. Unfazed, she shrugged and smiled. “It would hurt you, but it wouldn't kill you.” She seemed completely unperturbed by the incident, and it probably at that exact moment that we had our Avatar “You're not in Kansas anymore” moment. At any reputable hotel or guesthouse in the US, a poisonous pest in the room would have triggered a wave of obsequious apologies directly from the manager, empty promises of immediate action, comp'd rooms, free breakfasts, a voucher for a future stay – just some good, old-fashioned American ass-kissing. Here, apparently anything less than death is not a cause for immediate concern. Oddly enough, that experience only added to our stay. It was terrifying, but also kind of charming. Welcome to Belize.

Borrowed Time: Racing the Sun in Caye Caulker

January 23, 2010

In 1961 Hurricane Hattie ravaged the coast of Belize, battering the reefs and actually cracking the island of Caye Caulker in two. When we were returning from our snorkel tour, however, the rift now known as the “Split” served only to frame a sunset that was already made-for-postcard beautiful: a kitesurfer gliding over the water, the dark silhouette of his parachute bathed in the glorious backdrop of a Caribbean sunset. Breaking the silence, a crewmember said “It is okay to shed a tear.”

Minutes beforehand, he and the captain had anchored the Ragga King so we could catch the sunset before finally heading back to the docks. This was to be the capstone to a day full of activity, amazing wildlife, great company, and generous amounts of potent rum punch.

The schedule consisted of three snorkel stops, each exponentially more impressive than the last. The Coral Gardens in the Caye Caulker Reserve was our first site. Plagued by unregulated overfishing, this location served little purpose besides getting landlubbers acquainted to kicking with fins and breathing through a snorkel. While the Caye Caulker Reserves are right off the shore, Hol Chan takes longer to get to, and as a protected reserve, it only allows visitors to enter with a designated guide. For this reason that the tour is only offered as a full-day package. It is well worth the extra time and money – for an extra $15, we had the chance to swim amongst a swarm of nurse sharks and stingrays, watch the guide coax a massive grouper straight into his arms, free dive under a cove where there were a nest of parrot fish attempting to hide from us, and have green turtles flip around our feet. Incidentally, they must be some of the happiest creatures on the planet, along with puppies, dolphins, and otters. (If you're wishing that we had an underwater camera to capture all this, think about how we must feel).

When we climbed aboard from the last stop, ecstatic about all we had seen, the disappointing realization sunk in that we had done our last swim and had to begin the long haul back to shore. Fortunately for us, the crew at Ragamuffin Tours was adept at keeping us distracted in the interim. To begin, they are one of the few tour companies that uses a sailboat. One can forgive the slower pace when you compare the relaxing rhythm of the wind beating against the massive canvas tarps to the boat mechanical sputtering of a boat motor. We were also accompanied by the singular sounds of Caribbean music. Under normal circumstances, I believe most of us could agree that reggae music can be kind of... well... annoying. That predisposition dissolves once you're actually at an island location. None of us seemed to mind that we had listened to what may have been the entire Bob Marley discography. Twice. This may also have to do with the 10 gallons of rum punch they made-- the allegedly “small refreshments” promised in the brochure. There was a 17-year who couldn't partake in libations, so the captain gave her the distinct privilege of steering the boat. This privilege was stricken when he finally realized she had been driving us even further away from our destination, but by that point any lingering hints of American urgency or scheduling had long fled. We were on island time.

It's for this reason that there were no complaints about an unexpected stops or delays. Which brings us back to the beginning – a completely impromptu sunset tour. As we all know, the sun always sets a lot faster when it is being watched. Giddy with a combination of exhaustion, dehydration, and inebriation, we shared a quick, fleeting moment of hazy appreciation. Then, rather unceremoniously, one of the crew members wrapped his arms around Zack and forced both of them into ocean. Laughing hysterically, we all joined him in the warm water – finding yet another excuse to keep the day going.