Salt Pond and Paranoia

Night and day... A tired simile to be sure, but the best way for me to compare our old and new campsites.

Salt Pond Beach is large and sunny; families barbecue, couples picnic, kids swim, and further down the park they're setting up the pavilion for a party.  There's food, alcohol, a DJ, karaoke.  I'm itching for an invite.  Later, I'll find out it's a baby shower.  Hawaiians know how to throw a party.

In one of the closer pavilions there's a big group of young people drinking and they invite us to join.  They're an eclectic mix of young nomads and older street people; they hail from all different areas of the states.

I start chatting with 'Crispy.'  We've only just started talking, but already he's insisting we come visit his secret campsite in the middle of the forest.  "We don't usually allow any outsiders up there, but you guys seem really cool."  Something's off.
When I misplace something, those around me become immediately defensive, even though I never suggested it was stolen. 
Crispy warns us, "You can't trust anyone on this island not to steal your shit.  I mean, everyone in this group is cool, but don't trust anyone else." 

A few minutes later when I go to the tent to get a corkscrew for a couple of the girls, someone approaches Mike and tells him, "Yeah, people will act really nice to you, but once you're a few beers deep and out of sight of your tent, their buddies will be over there stealing your belongings."
As he is saying this we are currently:
a) With a group of strangers who are being extremely friendly
b) A little drunk
c) Out of eyesight of our tent
d) Noticing a few members of the group lingering around the camping area

Mike subtly excuses himself, then speed walks over to me.
"Maybe I'm being overly cautious," he says, "but my instincts are screaming that something is wrong."
We decide to err on the side of caution.  At first, we think to lock our valuables in the car.
"Wait, what if that's what they're expecting us to do?"  The car park is a distance aways and pitch dark.  Paranoia is really setting in now.
We decide to put our most important items (passports, wallets, electronics) in a backpack and take turns wearing it all night.  We subtly rejoin the group, trying not to let on to our suspicions.

The night continues and we have some laughs.  One of the older guys corners me to tell me about his struggle with heroine addiction.  I feel for him, but he hasn't even told me his name yet and my social anxiety is rising, so I excuse myself and go join the others by the fire. 
I chat to the one guy in the group who seems the most down to earth.  He tells me he hates the guy who was just talking to me.  Someone else comes over and warns us not to trust this tall guy with a limp.  Clearly there is some inner drama in this seemingly tight-knit group, as they begin to squabble amongst themselves over the remaining booze.
The final straw is when we overhear Crispy tell someone, "I love getting drunk and straight up lying to people's faces."
We make our exit.

Back in the tent, I wonder if we really were about to get ripped off by a bunch of gypsies or if we totally overreacted.*  As I'm drifting off, it suddenly dawns on me that they had a lot of expensive steaks, imported rum and brand new cellphones... 

*Our paranoia is eventually validated, but that's for another story... 

~~~

The next morning is a bit uncomfortable, as we go out of our way to avoid the group.  By the time we get our day going, most of them have cleared out of the park.  We enjoy our first proper beach day - lay in the sun, snorkel, see some cool fish.  When it begins to gently rain, I lay in the tent and devour a good book.  

Kauai You Gotta Be Like That

I'm dazed.

Could have something to do with the 14+ hours of travel.  Or maybe the 3:30 am wake-up call.  Or the fact that I didn't really sleep the previous evening.  Apparently Clarion Hotel/Park &  Fly is home to a Sunday night coke binge party (dramatic crying in the hallway included!)

At any rate, I'm a little out of it.
The woman driving the taxi tisks, "...they really should have sent someone to pick you up."
I don't understand.
She stops a few kilometres away at our car rental.  The metre shoots up from $8 to $10.  I offer her $12.  "... waited for over two hours and for only twelve dollars!"
The issue becomes clear, but I'm too tired to argue.  I end up giving her $15.  Suddenly, she's all sunshine and rainbows, "Enjoy your trip, thanks so much," she coos.

Following a mountain of paperwork, they bring our car around.  She's a beat-up old Honda, but she'll do.  She makes some worrisome noises, but she's still a steal.  The receptionist asks us where we're camping first.  When I answer Anahola, she says "Ohhh..." her look says it all.
Once pressed, she admits, "There's a large homeless population who live at that beach, but mind your P's and Q's and you should be fine."
A tad worrisome.

Fun fact: Kauai has the world's largest feral chicken population 

We hit up Walmart to grab the essentials (ie: beer and candy) and replace the camping stove that was detained at customs.  The greeter stops me at the door and scolds me for trying to bring my backpack in.  She points me to the electronic locker system.  We're definitely not in Fernie anymore.

We crawl through the evening traffic and make it to Anahola Beach before nightfall.
There are several tents dotted along a grassy bank and a couple more setup a few metres over, in a sparse forest.  At the farthest end of the forest there are structures that look more permanent, so we stay on the side we're at and setup under the trees.

The gusty winds make setting up an ordeal, to the point where when we realize the opening is facing the wrong direction, we can't be bothered adjusting it.

A couple beers later and my eyelids are sandbags.  I call it quits by 8 pm and retire to my tent for another restless night.  Between the paper-thin sleeping mats and the sporadic gusts of tent-rattling winds, I barely sleep.

~~~

I wake up to Mike trying to lure me out of the tent with coffee (the little angel).  It's luke-warm at best, but it's coffee, so I'm happy.  See, we couldn't find a camping stove at Walmart, so we settled for the only other option: a chafing fuel disk stove.*  It's measly stature paired with the gusty winds means it can sort of warm things, but don't count on a rolling boil.

*I urge you to check the link, so you can truly appreciate how pitiful this thing is 

The sky is a muted grey, the wind hasn't let up, so we decide to explore.  We chase waterfalls, munch on roadside grilled chicken and hit up a nearby thrift store (which doesn't hold a candle to the Fernie Sally Ann) before retiring back to our campsite and enjoying some tepid no-name brand ramen.

More and more campers arrive for the second night and a couple approaches us to ask how and where we obtained our permit (answer: through much back and forth with the recs department, snail mail and two cashier cheques later.)  They begin setting up nearby and shortly after the girl approaches us again.
"Someone just told me that a couple nights ago all of the tents pitched under the trees had their cars vandalized and their stuff stolen."
Oh.
"Will you guys move?"
We haven't experienced any issues yet and besides, there are so many people set up around us now, surely there's power in numbers.  We opt to stay put, but it makes for yet another restless sleep.

Morning light fills the tent and I rise and shine before my alarm.  I'm optimistic for sunshine.
I place my little pot of water on the chafing stove in preparation for instant coffee and start to pack.  I'm eager to get to the Hindu Monastery in time for the 9 a.m. tour and apparently I'm not alone.

The place is packed with silver haired tourists, many proudly returning for their 2nd or 3rd times.  We're corralled into a large tent where our old, white tour guide drones on and on.  He asks if anyone has questions and the crowd delivers.  He answers half-heartedly and even admits to making up some answers on the spot.  What he's really passionate about discussing are all the items available for purchase at the gift shop.  Heck, they even have apps available for purchase on iTunes.
At one point, a man in the front row raises his hand; when he's picked he stands up, faces the group and explains that he is a born and raised Hindu from South India and that he respectfully wishes to clarify some things.  He reiterates some previous questions and expands on the explanations given.  When he finishes, everyone bursts into applause.  I wish they would let him take over as our guide.

The worlds largest crystal is cool and all, but LOOK AT THIS SPIDER!

We waltz through the stunning grounds and hear interesting facts.  We're asked to stay together as a group and not to stop for photos until the tour portion is complete, but no one listens.
Slowly, we make our way down to the new temple being constructed.  Five carpenters are hand chiseling all the intricate details into multiple kinds of granite.  Construction began in 1990, but won't be complete until April 2022!

Pretty impressive stuff

We slip away from the never-ending-tour and are beyond gleeful that the sun is finally shining.

We hurry down to the boardwalk to rent a couple bikes and cruise along the oceanside.

A local man is selling big drinking coconuts out of his truck.  Excited, I approach him and ask how much.  He tells me $5 US (special tourist price, I'm sure.)  I almost respond with, 'Muy caro!' and then remember that I'm in the states.  Too ashamed to be branded as a cheapskate, I cough up the $5.

I really need to learn to haggle... At least it was a good coconut...

Guatemala - Semuc Champey to Tikkal

We're off again, this time to the town of Lanquin, Guatemala.  As it's the last leg of our trip and we don't want to waste our few precious days fucking around with public transit, so we pay the extra dinero for the shuttle.  It's glorious: there are only a few of us so we sprawl across the seats and sleep most of the way.
We reach Coban and begin the long slow descent into the incredible valley that holds Lanquin.  It's vibrant, lush, glowing green.  The recent rainfall has the surrounding mountains framed in mist.  I almost feel as if I'm back in Canada.
In town we hop out of the van and, along with two French Canadian girls, are ushered to the Zephyr courtesy shuttle (aka the bed of a big 4x4 truck, with roll bars to hold onto.  We quickly realize why when the truck has to gun it up the steep, muddy roads to get us to our destination.)
We arrive at our hostel and are dumbfounded.  The views are spectacular.  I'd had my reservations since this would be the priciest hostel of our trip, but it's worth every penny.   We settle in, enjoy our complimentary beer, play some pool, and eat some dinner.

In the morning it's raining so we sleep in late and when it lets up we go into town to explore and find some cheaper food.  By the time we return it's beginning to brighten up and by late afternoon it's sunny and hot.  We start drinking beers in the infinity pool and get to chatting with some other Canadians.  Four of them are from Nanaimo and one is best friends with Kerrie, my former co-worker.  She sends Kerrie a picture of me waving and smiling with the caption, 'Fran says hi!' to which Kerrie responds: 'WTF?'  Small world.
Day drinking leads to an early night and althrough we'd originally planned to go tubing another rainy day causes us to re-think it.
We have a nice relaxing day until Mike notices that his ankle is swollen and bruised.  "I must've bonked it last night," he muses, uncertain to how or when said injury took place.  Upon further examination he notices a small, light coloured circle and within it two distinct fang marks.
"Must've been that spider I saw in here this morning.  That asshole!"
Mike's fairly certain the spider he spotted was a wolf spider and he's not exhibiting any of the signs of a black widow or brown recluse bite (fever, chills, pusing wound, etc) so he cleans it well, takes a Bendaryl and puts ice on it.
The next day we are RESOLVED to go to Semuc Champey and arrange to take another 4x4 up into the park.
It's still a bit drizzly but the sun is trying to peak through.  We finally arrive and are starving for lunch - we've been told there's great barbecue at the entrance to the park.  We soon realize there are actually about 6 different little barbecues stands, all are vying for our business.  They all call out at once, trying to usher us in, it's overwhelming and I worry about hurting feelings.
We chow down some food and begin exploring the park.  It's stunning.  Never have I swam in waters of that colour - such a vibrant turquoise.

Finally the day comes for us to settle up our tab and I beg the guy at the front desk NOT to email me my receipt.
Once again, we decide to treat ourselves and pay for a microbus through the hostel, but this time it's absolutely packed and takes us to Flores, a little island on Lake Petén Itzá that will be our gateway to the Tikal ruins.
As we roll into town, a local travel agent guy jumps on the bus and convinces us that he is the only option as far as booking buses to the ruins.  He also insists we must pay now in order to secure our spots and happily ushers us to the bank.  We find out pretty soon after that this is not at all the case.

We check into our hostel, Los Amigos, and although it is really cool with an awesome open concept layout, because we are in a private room we are shunned to another building down the street, away from all the fun.

We opt for the first trip of the morning to avoid the hordes of tourists which unfortunately means a 3:30 am wake-up call.
Once we eventually get in and start off exploring on our own it's worth the early morning, we virtually have the park to ourselves.  We explore for hours and take in all the history before jumping on a returning bus.

We finish the afternoon traversing the little island, taking in the sites.