Lunch in Livingston

Am currently in a wee town called Livingston, which is where Guatemala meets the Carribean. One boat ride away, and it seems we are in a completely different culture. Already we have been mobbed by women wanting to braid our hair (none of them have braided hair, I notice) and A. has had it done.

We are staying in Rio Dulce, a hotel (literally) on the water; little cabins over a swamp, connected by wooden platforms. I spent most of yesterday (after our 8 hours of travel) sitting by a pool listening to late early 90s disco music, watching certain members of the group get steadily drunker, and willing time to pass. I would have preferred a slightly more active afternoon, but there was literally nothing to do except wait. And write postcards. By evening, with the lights glowing on the pool and the symphony of lurking insects it did seem idyllic.

Sleeping was not quite so smooth, as my mosquito net was several decades past its prime, and I ended up tangled up in it-- over and over again. And every time I woke up in the dark (too many times to count) I wondered where I was. K. woke up at 5 AM to go kayaking with howler monkeys. Then we set out at nine for the tour to Livingston. I was not particularily interested in this one, but the prospect of another day of inactivity was too much to handle.

People are eating something which is a dish of coconut milk with whole crabs in it. This morning we stopped at a store in the middle of the lake, surrounded by lily pads, and bought hole coconuts. They are not as good as they look, or sound, but still...

Off to Flores tomorrow, and Tikal the day after!

Sending my love for this crazy, sunburned life out into the cyber-void.

N.