Since yesterday it had rained buckets (the area has an
average annual rainfall of 200 cm or about 75 inches) it was a treat to wake up
to shining sun and a limpid blue sky. We were planning on being busy little
tourists, so after a quick breakfast got on the jeep, for what I thought would
be no more than 10 minutes to the place called Semuc Champey. I was wrong. We
had to go over a couple of immensely tall ridges to come down to the watershed
of the Cahabon River; a spectacular extravaganza of greenery against a backdrop
of blue mountain chains, one farther and taller than the preceding one.
Semuc Champey, or “the place where the river disappears”, is
a stretch of about one kilometer along the valley of the Cahabon River.
Upstream the river is a roaring maelstrom that, all of a sudden, precipitates
down a sumidero that is less than a
couple of meters in diameter, and disappears from sight until it comes back to
the surface, like a roaring lion, a kilometer downstream. In between, the
abundant tributary creeks feed a series of emerald-colored travertine pools
that invite the visitor to a quiet but rather cool swim (we chose instead to
wade along the edges taking photographs). A rather grueling climb took us to a mirador high on the mountain, where one
gets a bird’s eye view of the entire set of pools, which from here look like
jasper beads on a gigantic Mayan collar.
Our next stop, on the way back, was at the Caves of Lanquin
(think backtracking across the same two ridges we had conquered before; Tom was
driving so I could engage in sightseeing). The cave, or series of caves, was
the old conduit through which the Lanquin River used to flow through. Then the
base level dropped, and the river opened a new flow tube that is now 10 to 15 m
below the level of the cave. It was a fine small visit, similar to those we
have all experienced with the guide making witty remarks about the different
speleothemes. The unique moment came when the guide asked us if we wanted to
take a peek to the underground river. Of course! What followed was a scramble
down a jumble of big blocks, stretching legs and arms beyond what I thought was
possible. It was all worth it, for at the end we were able to look into the
depths of the Styx River.
By the time we rejoined the paved road, it was hard to
believe that we had ventured into the jagged mountainous heart of Guatemala, where one mountain chain follows
the other, getting taller and taller as their blue outlines faded into the
horizon. We were famished by then, so we stopped at a roadside restaurant,
where we enjoyed bean tayuyos (a fat corn “tortilla” stuffed with refried
beans) with salsa de chile Coban.
On the way back, after going around the town of Coban, we
stopped at an Orquidario or orchid
collection, which an interested collector put together 30 years ago in about
3,000 acres of cloud forest. I never new that there were so many varieties of
orchids, from tiny ones barely 3 to 5 mm across, to the Old Chinaman where two
of the petals grow a good 20 cm long, hanging from the sides of the flower like
the thin long moustaches of a Chinese old man.
Night was falling, and the afternoon drizzle was settling
into a good downpour, so we reached a convenient hotel and stopped for the
night. It was a fine place, and a couple of open fires in the main house made
for a very cozy welcome. Dinner for me was kak-ik,
a traditional dish that includes a thin pipian sauce, a turkey wing, tamales, a
cooked carrot, a cooked chayote, a cooked piece of corn, and a couple of
tamales. For lack of instructions I cut the veggies and tamales in small
chunks, and after dunking them briefly in the pipian broth, I enjoyed one of
the best meals I have had so far. Life is good 😊
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