Semuc Champey

We are in Lanquin, a small town in a deep valley in the mountains of central Guatemala. It is lushly green and full of blooms. Also muddy roads, straw & tin roofed houses, teeny tiendas (all selling the same bags of tortilla chips, coca cola, toilet paper, rice, canned goods and bananas) and skinny dogs. The town itself is unspectacular and would not be on our radar if not for the nearby park called Semuc Champey.

It’s only 240 km from our last stop but it takes close to 8 hours to get here, on another sinuous road. We take a private car, which is how we’ve ended up travelling for the entire trip. The “chicken buses” as they are called do not appeal as they are much slower, very uncomfortable and look downright dangerous to us. On this leg of the trip we are with Armando and his buddy Louis, in Louis’ car.

A stop in Coban for a MacDonald’s lunch break shows a completely different side of Guatemala. It is modern and prosperous looking. Armando says it is because of coffee. Who knew there was this much profit in a cuppa joe!?

In Lanquin we are at the Vinas Hotel, another “resort” that could use a refresh but is comfortable enough and the staff, especially Martine, who runs the restaurant, are friendly and accommodating. When the ceiling tiles in our bathroom collapse – after a day of epic rain – they “fix” it promptly by simply removing the soggy tiles. There’s another one in the room that looks like it is ready to go, but fortunately it’s not over the bed.

It rains all day the first day here, forcing me to sit around the open-air restaurant, reading, editing photos, catching up on emails and just being lazy. Craig, of course, goes for a long walk in the mud – he only slips and falls once – and returns scraped, bruised and sopping wet.

The next day dawns sunny. We hop into a pick-up truck and head to Semuc Champey, thinking we are going to snap a few photos of the pools and waterfalls, have a swim and a picnic and return to the hotel. It turns out to be one of the scariest days of my life. And that’s saying something as I’ve had a lot of scary days. Budapest. Boston. Vernon, November 2020.

To start, David (we try to remember to pronounce it properly: Dah-veed), our guide, takes us to the Cahabon river bank. There he demonstrates the technique for sitting on the swing and zipping out to the middle of the river. When he shouts “let go” we will follow his instructions and drop into the water. I’m not the only one in the group who is kind of surprised. I’m sure we are all recalling being told in our first swimming lesson to never jump into a body of water you aren’t familiar with.

A couple of younger guys go first, then no one steps up. I just want to get it over with so I go next. I let go a bit late and end up almost belly-flopping, taking river water into my sinuses.Thankfully the swim back to shore is not as difficult as I’d thought it would be. But, of course, I am worried about Craig. All day I will experience varying levels of anxiety about his health and stamina.

After we’ve all had a turn at the swing, except for a young British chap who declines, David asks if anyone wants to go again. Yeah, no one wants to.

Next we are given inner tubes while David shows us how to get into the river, how to paddle with our hands “always backward, never forward”. I have no idea why, but whatever he says I’ll do. In we go and down the river we zip. Sorry no pics because the cameras are all in a dry-bag.

Have I mentioned the monsoon of the previous day? Needless to say the river is swollen and fast. But no one capsizes and we all survive. I learn a new word from David: fun, un divertido.

The worst is yet to come. From the river we hike up the side of the mountain, into a small stream and into a cave. We’re given lit candles to hold for the half hour that we spend walking through a series of caves in water that is at times over my head. There are a few ropes to hang onto, particularly at the spots where there are holes we are warned not to step into or … adios.

The piece de resistance is toward the end when we are shown the technique for zipping down a narrow chute that is full of water. Let’s just call it what it is: a waterfall in a cave. Somewhat like going through the birth canal is how David puts it. Feels more like being flushed down a toilet. We’re told that at the end “do not bounce up or you’ll hit your head and knock yourself out”, David says “just stay calm and go with the water”. By now my candle has gone out so I don’t have to worry about that happening as I zip down the chute. Another nose full of water.

Again, no pics. Way too wet to have a camera out.

More walking in the cave and then finally I see daylight ahead and we are out. That’s when I start to shake with some kind of delayed reaction. WTF are two old people, one with a bad heart, ravaged aorta, and a propensity for bleeding doing in the middle of the jungle on this kind of excursion? I have no answer.

On the way to lunch we pass over a bridge and David asks if anyone wants to jump from the bridge into the water. Is he nuts? Are the two guys who jump more nuts? Deep down I kinda want to, but don’t give in to that ridiculous impulse.

Lunch is at a ramshackle primitive restaurant. We are all too ravenous to fret about the fact that the place is filthy and the woman cutting up the raw chicken is right next to the woman barbequeing it who is right next to the woman boiling chicken in a pot. I devour the chicken, rice and beans, but pass on the salad.

After lunch we hike farther upriver to the whole point of the outing: Semuc Champey. It translates from the Mayan language as “where the river hides under the earth”. Its main feature is a series of stepped pozos – pools – that appear turquoise because of the limestone rocks the water flows over. It’s gorgeous and not at all dangerous. Whew!

The trip back to the hotel would be relaxing and a relief from the day’s anxiety were it not for the fact that Craig has to ride in the back of the pick-up. I’m the oldest in the group and one of only a few females so I get a seat in the cab. A young British woman scoots in next to me, leaving Craig to hop into the truck bed. It’s a winding mountain road and there are road works on one lane. More zipping. More anxiety.

But, once we are back at Hotel Vinas we feel rather exhilarated. And there are many moments during the whole experience when we feel similarly: elated, alive, awed. A huge sense of accomplishment.

When the young British woman had balked at swinging into the river I’d said “if the old lady can do it you can too” and off she went. No one raised an argument about me being old, so I guess that’s what I am to them. Hey, if it gets me a seat inside the truck, I’ll take it.

Craig & I are now that couple we remember travelling with years ago. The grey-haired older folks who sometimes slowed the group down, but were still out there doing the challenging stuff. We were inspired by them and we can only hope that the group we spent time with at Semuc Champey feel similarly inspired by us.