Semuc Champey

My dorm mates turned on the lights and talked loudly while preparing for the day's trip. These two were of a group that had a sense of entitlement, tend to travel in large packs and take over a place with little regard for others. A rooster crowed, it was six in the morning and I had no great desire to start my day's activity so soon. Fifteen minutes later I was left alone and rolled over to catch a couple more hours of sleep. When I awoke I found that the bathroom had no water but was told at the reception area that the bathrooms behind reception were in working order. After a nice warm shower I went down for breakfast of a passable omelette and a couple of cups of coffee. My companions from the previous night were all preparing for a day's trip to Semuc Champey. "Aren't you come with?" I was asked. My inquiry about the time of departure of the next bus was met with a response of "Todo dia" all day, which I interpreted to mean buses left throughout the day.

As people had checked out it was now possible to obtain private accommodations and I secured a cabin between the reception area and the restaurant which is down the hill. My cash had been going surprisingly quickly and there is no ATM although there is a bank. Never get caught short of cash when going to out of the way places. Usually web sites and the lonely planet will warn you when a popular destination doesn't have an ATM. I should have known better, even towns with an ATM have cash shortages, broken ATMs or network connection problems which preclude ATM withdrawals. Fortunately this hostel, El Retiro accepted visa with a 10% surcharge, actually using an old mechanical card imprinter. With the morning light and the music off I could see and hear that the restaurant was on the banks of the river. I opened my packs and spread out my gear on one bed, pulled out my charger for my iTouch and my camera and started charging. Too bad I didn't have a cube tap as I had another camera, flashlight batteries and a computer to charge. I returned to the restaurant had another cup of coffee with the Dutchmen, the two Austrians, the Italian and the Spaniard. Upon my return I discovered that I had left my key in the room. The key was affixed to a 3/4" piece of wood six inches square and the door was self latching. Two hours later the only person with an extra key returned and grabbed a lanyard from a pole to which was affixed a ring with three or four dozen keys. I'll never know why somebody else couldn't have admitted me to my room.

There was no other bus going to Semuc for the rest of the day. Soon I grew restless and asked how far it was to Semuc and was told that it was 11 miles. That being a good three hour hike I went to my room and grabbed my water bottle holster and headed out to the town of Lanquin. There is not much to see or do in Lanquin, it is a small Mayan town in the mountains with a few stores that sell miscellany, which here means chips, gum, cigarettes and beverages. Nearing the end of town I spotted a sign, "Semuc Champey 10 km" with an arrow. Only six miles? I hiked up hill passed lush verdant tropical forest and quickly found myself at the 9 km marker. The road went up. Around every bend it ascended further. As I had left around eleven by the time I arrived there would be very limited time to see the park. Around the bend behind came a chivas, a pickup truck adopted for carrying passengers. This one however, instead of being covered and with benches merely provided grab bars for standing passengers. Three mayan women and two European youths stood on the bed. "Semuc?" I asked? "Si." I hopped in the back. We lurched forward and within a couple of hundred yards I saw a sign "Semuc Champey 7 km."; I had not covered much ground. It took half an hour to cover the little more than four miles in the truck. I didn't arrive at the park until a quarter to two. The driver charged me Q20 for the ride, a bargain.

I walked along the river which quickly became turbulent at the base of some small falls. The water flowed over the top of a limestone ledge. The bulk of the water flowed through a large opening loaf shaped opening in the wall. Further upstream the water collected in small pools shimmering in brilliant aquamarine glory to trickle down over a small ledge into another pool. The torrents of water flowed twenty feet below, through the rock, in a natural aqueduct. A trail, usually with rock steps, lead up the side of the mountain to a mirador, a man made lookout point, usually a tower like a fire observation tower. At times wooden stairs were provided when the going got too step or the face was sheer rock. About half way to the top I realized I had left my Machu Picchu water bottle holster down by the river, necessitating a trip down to retrieve it and a second ascent. In pairs and foursomes my lodge mates descended as I climbed; all others had taken the tour and hiked the circuit clockwise while I proceeded against them; I did not encounter anybody from any other lodge.

After descending I walked to the entrance and asked the guard where the bridge was, "¿Donde este puente natural?" I gathered that it was five minutes down a secondary trail, but when I went off to look for it but realized that I was truly clueless. After bumping into the two English lads with whom I had shared a ride I asked if they knew where the bridge was, they had heard of no such thing. I convinced one of the guards to show me the way. He raced down the trails to the waterfall and stated that the falls fell off the top of the bridge. Oh, I was expecting a 300 meter archway. It extends along the length of the river and the pools are above it while the water flows below.

We started to gather in the parking lot. Two Kia double cab pickups came to collect the tour members. I managed to secure a ride with one of them, the English lads on the other. We had twenty people in the pickup, fourteen in the bed, one on the roof and five inside. The truck lurched, stopped abruptly, smoked the clutch on some hills but eventually delivered us back to the lodge for a fare of Q15 apiece.

Dinner was served at 7:30 a ample spread of Mexican food, starting with fresh crisp lettuce, shredded carrots and cucumbers I mad a small salad, no dressing was available, next on the buffet some sort of Lasagna that the DJ referred to as Quesadilla, which elicited a chuckle I tried to stifle; the Europeans and Israelis had no clue. The DJ spent half an hour loading his thumb drive with his selection of music and jammed it into the large speaker in the corner in front of which I was seated and cranked out the music at high volume. By this time all of the other seats were taken. The talk turned to drinking games and I retired to my room to read.