I actually don’t know how people with lots of money travel. I understand some of the things that are different, for example I understand that they stay in hotels, and eat at nicer restaurants, and fly first class.¹ And I understand that unlike me, they do not ride the public bus, or cram into tiny shuttles. But I do not understand how they avoid this. I have never seen a luxury option to get from place to place in Guatemala. I mean Megan and I once paid like $50 each for a sleeper bus and it had cockroaches. Do they just hire a private driver that takes them everywhere? Is there a secret website for booking 5 star transportation throughout the world? Do they just not go to Guatemala?

These are the kinds of things I think about as I bounce down the Rio Dulce in a lancha, a Spanish word that means boat, but in Guatemalan, seems to specifically mean “patched together old fishing boat with a blue tarp attached to some metal poles and an engine that has to be repaired before each journey.” I’m riding in this lancha, water splashing in my face, my bags piled in the front getting wet along with everyone else’s, taking the blurriest pictures imaginable of the river and I’m thinking two things: I’m having the time of my life, and rich people definitely don’t travel this way.

One of the great advantages of backpacking, of longer travel, is the ability to visit places like the Rio Dulce. It is too far off the main tourist path to fit into a one week, or probably even a two week itinerary. In addition, likely specifically because of this, it is almost completely devoid of luxury accommodation. I have long promised a break down of different types of hostels, something I do still plan on doing, but for now know that the Rio Dulce area has one type of hostel: basic. But me backtrack to where we left off in the last blog.

We cram into a shuttle in Flores bound for Rio Dulce town, a place basically used exclusively as a transit hub for destinations further up river. I choose a seat for leg room and as soon as I sit realize that I chose poorly I am sitting at a significant rightward tilt that is getting worse as the journey continues. Comfort was never an option. At the first stop I recognize an acquaintance, the Dutch guy from the aforementioned cockroach bus. We reintroduce ourselves and introduce our respective significant others before piling back into the shuttle for the remaining two hours, though I select a less on the verge of collapse seat. We are dropped off around noon in Rio Dulce at the cafe/restaurant/travel agency/transport hub where we have to wait four hours for our lancha. There we find out the Dutch couple, S* and S*, are heading to the same place we are! We also discover that our hostel, Round House, has its own lancha. Megan and I have of course pre purchased a ticket for the other non direct lancha are of and those tickets are of course non interchangeable. Also of our new foursome somehow I have the most knowledge of Spanish and so have been elected spokesperson in negotiating lanchas. After our four hour wait we board our non direct lancha while S* and S* from the Netherlands² wait for the direct, only for the lancha driver to tell us at the last minute that the Round House lancha is broken and this is the only lancha mere seconds before we are to take off. We furiously wave down S* and S* from the Netherlands and reunite our foursome.

After about 45 minutes of an honestly beautiful ride up the river, we arrive at Round House hostel. As previously mentioned it is basic. There is no AC, a minor concern since the average temperature currently in Rio Dulce is only about 37C/98F. Our room is a mattress in the floor surrounded by a mosquito net. The wifi is intermittent, the dinner is communal, and the shower has an aroma and texture remarkably similar to the river water. Obviously I love it.³ It does have several things going for it; the staff are beyond friendly and fun, the location is stunning, the food is amazing, and there is a dog named Baloo who loves to swim in the river with you.

After we drop our bags, we are informed that dinner is at 7 and because we are the only 4 people staying at the moment and because I am the only non vegetarian, the dinner will be vegetarian for everyone. It ends up being to my benefit as the first dinner is vegetarian yellow curry with a caprese salad and it is a strong contender for best meal of the trip. The only let down is the bread which is basically just toasted white bread. Do not come to Central America for bread or cheese. After dinner we retire to bed, drenched in sweat from the still above 32C/90F temperatures. Luckily we have acquired a 1 foot in diameter fan that is very useful for slightly disturbing the mosquito net.

The next day heat and travel exhaustion set in. One of the great advantages of long term travel is supposed to be the ability to go slow, to take your time at each destination and not wear yourself out. One of the most common refrains you hear from people after a vacation is how exhausted they are. I of course understand the desire to try and cram 5 cities and 3 countries into 10 days when visiting Europe,⁴ especially since in the US most people only have 2 or 3 weeks of vacation a year.⁵ But we have unfortunately managed to combine both of these features and trying to maintain a 10 day vacation pace over a month long period has left us wiped. So we spend the day doing basically nothing but lying in hammocks, reading books, chatting with hostel mates, and swimming in the river. The lazy Saturday of backpacking because we are in need of rest, thank you for your sympathy. Dinner that night is a vegetarian lasagna that challenges the previous nights curry for best meal of the trip.

Having wasted a day we decide to book a tour in advance to prevent another day spent in a hammock. This one takes us directly to a beautiful white sand beach on the Caribbean Sea just about an hour by boat from our hostel, where we drink rum out of a freshly chopped coconut and lay in hammocks and swim in the ocean. After four hours of this very strenuous activity we get back on our boat to make for the town of Livingston, but on the way we encounter another lancha dead in the water and our captain spends about 40 minutes getting their engine running while I help hold our two boats together as the sea does everything it can to pull them apart. This high seas samaritanism leaves us with just enough time to visit the ATM in Livingston and look at one shop before we have to head back. It was also enough time for four separate strangers to offer us weed. Back at Round House we have a quick jump from the high dock into the river to say we did before enjoying the third contender for best meal of the trip, an artfully crafted and beautifully plated ratatouille. Morning comes and we have an equally fantastic breakfast at Round House before boarding a lancha back to Rio Dulce. We also say goodbye to S* and S* from the Netherlands as they are heading on to Livingston and then Belize. At our old friend the cafe/restaurant/travel agency/transport hub we await our shuttle to Lanquin and the natural beauty of Semuc Champey. When it arrives we cram in, and then pile back out when all 17 of us don’t fit into the shuttle’s 13 seats. A convoy is arranged that drops us off at a shack on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with promises that further transportation is imminent. After a half hour of standing in the sun our new van arrives and completely restores my faith in budget travel. There are more seats than people, and the van has actual functioning air conditioning. We are at the peak of comfort. We ride in this luxury shuttle for a further 6 hours, with one brief stop for McDonald’s, but over the last hour it begins to rain, and then pour, and then outright storm. So much for the rainy season not starting until May.⁶ The rain would normally not be a cause for concern but I have it on good authority that after we arrive in Lanquin the journey to our hostel involves a further 40 minute ride in the back of a good old American pick up truck. Not the back seat mind you, but the bed of the truck. When we arrive in Lanquin, my fears are slightly alleviated though mostly just confirmed as our onward transport is in fact the back of a pickup but it has been augmented with a tarp around a metal cage. Into this truck shelter we enter, joined by three other travelers,⁷ and begin the journey to the hostel. Oh I guess I should mention that it is PITCH BLACK inside the tarp cage. We alternate using our phones to illuminate the cave while we listen to the truck slip, slide, peel out, spin, and basically do everything but drive with traction for 40 minutes until we arrive at our hostel, where we have to walk a further 10 minutes uphill in the rain to reception. Budget travel faith once again waivering.

We have chosen to stay at place called Greengo’s Hostel and once we get checked in my faith in budget travel is once again restored. To call this place a hostel is to call the Penthouse at the MGM Grand a hotel room. It has a pool large enough to host a full volleyball match and still allow room for swimming on the other end. It has a full service bar as well as a restaurant. It has multiple levels, at least 12 hammocks, a separate jacuzzi pool, plenty of open space, and the beds are even comfortable. And the climate means that the rooms are a near perfect 70F/21C every night. We sleep well that night and the next day is spent doing absolutely nothing again and it is lovely again. We swim in the pool and read by the pool and switch to the other pool and drink beer around the pool. And then disaster strikes in the form of a creepy old man.

Long have I feared the day when I become the creepy old man in the hostel. My natural youthful looks and charming personality have no doubt bought me extra time,⁸ but eventually the white hairs and squishy physique will betray me. There is already the haunting presence of the hostel age limit, a specter that is in reality quite rare but who’s mere existence creates greater awareness of the weight of time. And here was that specter in the flesh. He announces his presence by approaching a group of exclusively female Brazilians who are hanging out by the pool and trying to start about 5 different conversations with them that they show no interest in, then trying to join them in the pool which causes them to get out and leave. He then circles the pool attempting to start conversation with each woman he catches alone. It’s probably unnecessary to point out that his only means of communication seem to be criticism and argument or commenting on anatomy. After he finally strikes out across the board and leaves the pool area I head up to grab another beer and stop by the room to discover the true depths of our misfortune as I see him arranging his stuff on the bed across from me. I tell Megan the bad news and we contemplate trying to move rooms before deciding it might create more conflict than we wish. We are stuck with creepy old guy.

The rest of the night passes without incident for us although we hear many different guests of all types comment about how much they dislike creepy old guy as he prowls the hostel looking for someone, anyone, who will tolerate his rusty cheese grater of a personality. We eventually strike up conversation with his opposing force, and my aspirational travel end goal, fun and respectful travel veteran. This beloved character hangs about the hostel, also in a good mood, also willing to have a conversation, never forcing a conversation, just generally sparking good vibes and good times. And even he tells us how much he hates creepy old guy.

The next day we are quite hungover, but we have only one day left in Greengo’s and one true day left of backpacking Guatemala. Also creepy old guy has been kicked out of the hostel. One can only guess why. Vowing not to waste this gift of time and peace of mind we pull ourselves together by 3 in the afternoon and make our way to Semuc Champey. Semuc is a collection of beautiful emerald pools naturally cut into the limestone river bed that creates a series of small waterfalls and perfect swimming holes. Well almost perfect. After making the very hilly 20 minute walk to the actual pools we jump in and discover the water is quite cold. In addition while the water is beautiful, it is truly only appreciated from outside; when inside one mostly notices the very rocky riverbed, aforementioned cold, and the hundred other people also swimming. We can only hope the green color is natural. We swim in the water for about half an hour, but as our respective hangovers have left neither of us in a mood for the hikes and other nature activities in the park, we decide to retire from the cold water and return to Greengo’s where we can swim in some not so cold water. We relax for another evening, eating and drinking and playing trivial pursuit, before we make our way to bed.

The following morning we load into the Greengo’s truck and then transfer to a shuttle that drops us off in Guatemala City, followed by an uber trip to our final hostel in Guatemala. The next morning we board a plane. Next stop Bolivia, first time in South America, first time South of the Equator, first time visiting a place where the mere act of breathing is a labor.

1I don’t know if I will ever fly first class. It looks amazing, I know it would be amazing, but I just can’t justify the price. Maybe it’s because I go on long trips where saving money means traveling longer. I suppose if I only had one week regardless of how much money I spent it would make sense to spend more on the flight. I suppose it would allow me to feel more rested when I arrive. But it’s just so much extra, I can never justify it mentally. Plus present me will always put future me in uncomfortable positions to save money. That 15 hour bus ride is future me’s problem.

2Honestly this attempted anonymous naming system may break down because approximately 80% of the people we meet are from the Netherlands. I do not think there is a Dutch person between the ages of 18 and 40 in the Netherlands, they are all traveling Latin America,

3Some may think this is sarcastic but honestly these types of places are often my favorite part of travel. They are so different than what I am used to and provide way more fond memories. Plus they always have the best people staying at them and working them.

4I still recommend people slow down on these things. I get it, no one is more keenly aware of how much Earth there is and how little time we have to see it. But I will always maintain that a week in Paris is a much better, more rewarding, and more enlightening experience that 3 days in Paris, 2 in Brussels, 2 in Amsterdam.

5People from the US should travel more if only to see what a raw deal they have. I would personally change a lot about the US, but the very limited vacation time would be as good a place as any to start.

6Extremely splitting hairs here is at is like April 28^th at this point.

7You’re not going to believe this but they are from the Netherlands.

8Megan also helps a lot. She is neither old nor creepy and thus I can feed on her hipness for hostel cred.