Recovery -- Flores, Guatemala

I'm starting this post from the deck of Lacandon hotel in Flores, Guatemala. Cathy reads her Kindle, John is fiddling with (and probably messing up) Cathy's computer, and a Guatemalan family is, uh... dancing on the bar. And taking photographs for posterity. 

Lighting flashes in the distance and a night wind sends pink flowers, yellow/green leaves into frenzied, chaotic dances on their delicate stems. Tiny drops of rain splatter my computer screen, hinting at yet another night of torrential downpour.

Our first day in Flores was relaxed. After two days of full-on, rear end annihilating travel, we were all feeling the need to slow down and settle in. And our poor, overused backsides seemed to scream in protest at even the inkling of a thought about another few hours bumpity-bump-bumping along a Guatemalan road. 

I woke up early, grabbed my camera, and headed out into this touristic island town to snap some photographs while the light was soft.

This trip has been a challenge for me in a lot of ways, I mused as I circled my island home.

 

The best and biggest has probably been being THE person who speaks Spanish. Or, tries to speak Spanish, at the very least. It's pushed me out of my comfort zone in a lot of necessary, wonderful ways. 
 

I've been forced to just figure things out. To listen hard. To listen harder. To make people stop and explain things because even my hardest listening doesn't make up for my lack of Spanish sometimes. 
 

I've learned to be determined. To be proactive. To get shit done in a way I probably wouldn't if I only had myself to take care of. 
 

When I travel, I'm usually living with local people who speak English. And I can ask them all the questions I might have. Without worrying about whether or not I misunderstood or miscommunicated. But this trip has been me trying to figure things out in a language I'm still very new to. 

But I'm here. We're here. In Flores. In one piece (even if our rear-ends are a bit worse for wear). So. I must have been able to do at least a bit of it right. 
 

 I'd wondered why the road in front of our hotel was so quiet.

It doesn't feel like Guatemala without the incessant buzzing of tuk-tuks. 
 
I didn't realize that it was because just a few meters away from my hotel, the whole damn road was flooded.

Flooded and swarming with tadpoles.

John, Cathy, and I had a breakfast of crepes and omelets at a nearby cafe, then returned to our hotel to relax. And do nothing else. We simply wanted to be here and to enjoy the glorious view from our deck.

At two, we headed down to the flooded road and hopped in a boat bound for Arcos, an animal rehabilitation facility across the lake.

The facility was small, but full of interesting animals with rather tragic backstories.

Dozens of tropical birds who had been taken as pets were in the process of learning how to eat food that grows in the wild. A puma was a permanent resident. A leopard.  A couple of wide-eyed ocelots, one with an amputated leg.

 We napped the rest of the blistering afternoon away under our fans and air-conditioners (an imperative activity in the tropics), then went for another leisurely stroll along the lakefront.

We returned to our hotel just as the evening storm rolled in, retiring early because we had purchased tickets to Tikal for the next day. At 4:30 am.

That. Is my kind of tour. 

Tikal. Wow. I can't believe I'm finally going. I've been wanting to see these ruins for ages -- since my first time in Guatemala, over three years ago.  

And now it's happening. 

I'm the luckiest lady. Holy bananas.