Tourists don't know where they've been, travelers don't know where they're going. – Paul Theroux
Friday, March 16, 2012 (DAY 12)
The next morning is bittersweet, as our group is beginning to lose two more wheels, and the remaining trike of Tim, Char, and myself are departing for Coban with anticipated aspirations of visiting the enthusiastically bragged about, Semuc Champey. The typical hugs and farewells are exchanged, verbal hopes of reuniting with Eva in Antigua, Lago de Atitlan, or even El Salvdaor, as she is still in the first stages of her year long travels that are taking her round the world as well. Staying behind to enjoy a few more days in Flores before David has a bus to catch on Sunday for Mexico before flying back to Prague, they stand on the uneven cobblestone street in front of the Mesa De Los Mayas, and wave at our shuttle as it pulls away.
The next morning is bittersweet, as our group is beginning to lose two more wheels, and the remaining trike of Tim, Char, and myself are departing for Coban with anticipated aspirations of visiting the enthusiastically bragged about, Semuc Champey. The typical hugs and farewells are exchanged, verbal hopes of reuniting with Eva in Antigua, Lago de Atitlan, or even El Salvdaor, as she is still in the first stages of her year long travels that are taking her round the world as well. Staying behind to enjoy a few more days in Flores before David has a bus to catch on Sunday for Mexico before flying back to Prague, they stand on the uneven cobblestone street in front of the Mesa De Los Mayas, and wave at our shuttle as it pulls away.
Four hours later we reach the Campo Dos bus terminal just north of town about midday, and we choose to discard the option to take a taxi for the opportunity to stretch our legs with a 2km walk over the hill to the center of Coban. Following Tim uphill, I turn thinking Char will be struggling to keep our pace, but she is directly behind me, marching as if we are on a military mission, the tops of the towns building become visible at the top of the hill. We settle on Casa Luna for Q50 ($6.25 USD) per person for a dorm, only after our first choice, Casa Blanca Hostel is no longer in operation, but functions only as a restaurant, thanks Lonely Planet. The Spanish-influenced hostel has a small grassy courtyard lined with hammocks enticing you to stay awhile, the single cozy dorm room offers our choice from the three black metal bunk beds that do not tend to shake or rattle for a change, and it appears that we might have our own room once again. Each of us selecting bottom bunks, we are ecstatic to throw off our packs and take a sigh of relief, as we lay on our backs in a brief moment of serenity that is only broken by the hunger and need to find a bank, reluctantly we pull ourselves from the newfound comfort.
Walking towards the Mercado Central, a large cathedral stands as a giant protecting the plaza, the streets are busy with a mix of crowds and constant traffic of automobiles. Seeking to avoid the nuisances of the bustling commotion, we duck down one of the side streets that offers a gorgeous panoramic view of the lush green hillside. A steep decline works our calf muscles as our feet bounce along the rough stone ridden street. Hunger is again dismissed with an uneventful lunch of pizza, before stopping at the pharmacy, which awards us with an exciting afternoon of entertainment and a new story.
Walking towards the Mercado Central, a large cathedral stands as a giant protecting the plaza, the streets are busy with a mix of crowds and constant traffic of automobiles. Seeking to avoid the nuisances of the bustling commotion, we duck down one of the side streets that offers a gorgeous panoramic view of the lush green hillside. A steep decline works our calf muscles as our feet bounce along the rough stone ridden street. Hunger is again dismissed with an uneventful lunch of pizza, before stopping at the pharmacy, which awards us with an exciting afternoon of entertainment and a new story.
Our last night in Flores, we were asked to change rooms since we were now without a fourth and moved to the room next door with only three beds. This was a horrible mistake, as Char received a nasty case of bed bugs and was covered from her ankles to her shoulder with a trail of bites. Thankfully Tim and I were further away from the door and were left unscathed. The insect’s route along her body could easily be traced as the small red bumps began to become more visible, and I could only imagine the source of discomfort. Stopping at the pharmacy for some medication, the pharmacist suggests a small vile that will relieve the symptoms and speed up the recovery process. The injection is not distributed by the pharmacist, however, thus leaving either Tim or myself to be the one to play doctor. Drawing straws, it is Char’s longtime friend that is given the task. Who would have known we would be sitting in Coban, Guatemala giving one another injections as if we were heroine addicts? All of the numerous stories that the three of us share, it is a bond, and in spite of all of my travels, I know I will always remember them as the beginning of this great journey. The excitement for the day is now past us and we begin preparations for departing for Lanquin tomorrow.
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