Guatemala to Belize

We spent a further 3 nights in Flores living a comfortable life, catching up on a few chores, enjoying warm showers and the variety of food on offer. We stayed in a small hotel overlooking the lake and we both enjoyed not having much to do. We took our clothes to the laundrette, Gemma apologised to the owner (the combination of human sweat and animal faeces gives off a remarkably pungent aroma). 

We decided eventually to take a tour to the Mayan site of Tikal, given it's proximity and the glowing reviews others had given us. Booking a van to the site was simple enough, there are several "travel agents" on the island (they all seem to double up, some are also internet cafes, others gift shops, one is even a pharmacy). However we decided against the 4.30am tour, we had been warned that you can't actually see the sunrise because of the mist.

Instead we caught the van at 8am and made our way to Tikal. It takes a little over an hour from Flores, the route taking you past several military installations. The small villages with wooden abodes seem a far way from the stone built sanctuary of Flores, but even then it still feels secure. Which makes you wonder why so many security guards here carry guns - and not little ones, the pump action shot-gun seems to be the weapon of choice, inevitably looking shiny, new, well cared for. Actually, I'd rather not know why they carry them - ignorance is bliss.

The bus eventually reached the park entrance gate, the guide tried to take our entrances fee but we refused. One of the many things we have learnt is to pay your entrance fees yourselves, there is no reason for your guide to take it, and by paying yourselves and receiving your own ticket you can be sure that the money is actually going to the right place. That said, Tikal was the most expensive sight we had visited so far, 150 Quetzals (about £12) just for the entrance fee. Compared to Palenque (about £2.50) we were expecting the temples to have bells and whistles on.

In one sense we weren't disappointed. What Dietmar (the German who gave us the free slide-show a week back) had said proved correct. Tikal was by far the most "monumental" site we had seen so far, but Palenque more beautiful. Accompanied by Brandon and Katy, an American couple who kindly shared their map with us, we walked for about 30 minutes to temple 4, which towers 70 metres above the surrounding plaza. Unlike Palenque you cannot climb the stones themselves, instead using a flight of wooden stairs to make your way up.


As you ascend the stairs you become conscious of nearing, and then passing above the tops of the trees, and by the time you reach the end of the stairs and move onto the temple proper the view stretches out for miles in front of you. From here you can make out the tops of the other major temples at Tikal and it gives you a clearer idea of just how big a site Tikal is. That said it took all four of us a few minutes to get our breath back, have a drink of water and a snack before we could reach for our cameras. But the view is well worth the small effort involved.

After sitting atop the temple for twenty minutes we climbed down and began to work our way around the other sites. As we walked we chatted with Brandon and Katy, who seemed to be the American version of us (met it the same way; around the same time; similar jobs; even down to the same favourite tv shows). I impressed Brandon with my knowledge of American football - he was a Green Bay fan, and couldn't believe I owned a Packers shirt.

As we chatted and laughed our way through the forest trails a German tour group decided to stand right next to us, and then shush us in the most rude manner. I was pretty staggered by this, not only had they decided to come over to where we were standing, but they shushed us like naughty children, complete -with fingers over mouths. We weren't even being that loud. Eurosceptics will be pleased to read that I told them to "go fornicate elsewhere".

We moved on to the next temple, and Brandon and I did what all men (boys) do best, we ran straight up it. It wasn't the highest temple, and the sides hadn't been cleared of overgrown plants, but we spotted several erect tails bobbing above the grass. Initially we assumed they belonged to spider monkeys which had come down to the ground, but in fact these tails belonged to a little raccoon-like creature. As our eyes became accustomed to the darkness we realised there were actually about a hundred tails, all heading down the hillside, so we followed them down for some photos. They didn't seemed to mind us at all, and several of them came within 3 feet of us.

After amusing ourselves with the animals, we made our way to the lost world and the grand plaza, just in time for the sun to come out from behind a cloud and threaten to burn us to a crisp. There wasn't much shade to be had, but after climbing past huge carved face on the side of a smaller temple we were able to shelter at the rear and finished off the last of our water whilst we watched some spider monkeys swing through the trees around us.

Back at the entrance we toyed with the idea of going inside the museum, but there was a separate charge (at Palenque it had been included). We peeked through the windows, the results were fairly unimpressive. As a comparison, if you wanted to visit a Mayan site, I would definitely recommend Palenque above Tikal. The latter certainly has the larger temples, but at a cost. The site is crawling with tourists, is expensive, the museum is tiny and not well explained, and Palenque is by far the more photogenic site. Just be careful not to get robbed there.

We returned to Flores and tried to locate a working cash machine. Both ATM's on the island refused to function, so we decided to head to the mainland. Before we set off the heavens opened so we dived into the nearest cafe for lunch, before catching a tuk-tuk across the causeway to Santa Elena. The ride was fun and cheap, and the driver to us to a large shopping mall opposite the airport. We found a cashpoint, withdrew enough to cover our remaining time in Guatemala, and had a look around. Bizarrely we discovered Father Christmas in conversation with a Real Madrid fan, I heard the name "Michael Owen" three times!

The following morning we set off on the 5am bus to Belize. In the morning darkness we boarded and were surprised by how busy the bus was, and how tiny. The seats were clearly designed for midgets, and we rode the 2 hours to the border squashed in, with our knees up by our ears! Just before the border we stopped, and nearly everyone got off, leaving ourselves, two German girls and an Argentine couple. Unfortunately the latter pair hadn't checked the visa requirements, and needed both passport photos and a visa.

We checked out of Guatemala with the German girls in tow, walked across the border and entered Belize. It was pretty amazing to hear English spoken again, when we were welcomed by the border control guards. We had our passports stamped and began the waiting game - the driver had decided to give the couple 30 minutes to complete visa formalities, so we changed a little cash into Belizean Dollars (Dollars - with the Queens head on) and walked to a roadside cafe for a drink. Fortunately they made it, a credit to the US embassy who received a used application from the border, processed it and replied by fax within that short the frame.

The drive to Belize City took a further 2 hours, during which time we began to spread out and then fell asleep. By 11am we reached the port, and the porters, waiting like hawks, grabbed our bags and took them the 12 steps to the baggage handling area. We bought our boat tickets and before long we were on board a small, rusty old vessel which didn't much cut through the waves as smash into them. A few of the passengers looked a bit rough, but hardy old sea dogs that we are, we didn't feel a thing. 

The boat navigated it's way between small Cayes and the occasional mangrove forest as the sun beat down upon those foolish souls who had sat outside. After 45 minutes we turned sharply and the island of Caye Caulker appeared before us, looking magical in the sunlight. We hopped off the boat before it continued on to San Pedro and waited on the beach for our bags. When they arrived we treated ourselves to a golf buggy ride to the hotel - which was vastly overpriced but pretty fun all the same. 

The contrast between Belize and Guatemala is pretty staggering, the culture here is far more Cariibbean, and it is taking some time to get used to not saying "gracias" or "por favore" to people. The island is covered with palm trees and rustic wooden beach shacks, painted in bright - but faded - colours. The people are obviously different too, a mix of black African descendants and the more casual American who has moved abroad. And I could almost believe Bob MArley is still alive from the number of times I've heard his familiar voice fill the air.

We decided to treat ourselves to a nice hotel, so we are staying at the imaginatively named "Da Real Macaw", with cable tv, a fridge and air conditioning - and it is well worth the money. The hammocks outside each room alone are good value (more for the entertainment of watching me get in and out). We're enjoying living the beach life and eating fresh seafood every day, the lobster in particular is excellent, fresh and cheap (compared to home).

From here we will head back to Guatemala, probably to Antigua, but for now we have checked in for an extra night at the beach. Gemma has gone snorkeling today, whilst I will be wasting my life away in a comfy hammock - just as soon as I finish making the insurance claim down at the internet cafe, and try to convince o2 that I did indeed cancel my phone contract in August, and work out how to fix Gemma's camera. 

The work never stops, even in paradise.

Flores and ARCAS

After crossing the river and arriving in a small border town called Bethel we were met by our connecting bus. Not quite a chicken bus, it was nevertheless a few steps down from the Mexican buses. Gemma and I were the last to board, which worked out well as we had the four backrow seats to ourselves, so we were able to snatch a little sleep as the old bus bounced it's way over the unpaved, uneven road. 

We arrived in Flores having managed to fend off the tour operators advances ("why you no book to go to Tikal, you no like ruins?" "I like ruins; I just don't like being ripped off!"). The bus crossed the causeway onto the small island town and as luck would have it we drove straight past our hostel, so we were able to jump off and save ourselves a taxi fare (and a lot of faffing). 

After checking in and throwing our bags down we decided to go for a walk, but in the attached cafe we spotted two friends from the previous hostel, a couple called Dan and Harriet. It's always nice to bump into a few people you know, even if you've only known them 48 hours, so we sat down. Dan read our minds and offered us a beer, and we recounted the previous days adventures down at the police station. 

After a short catch-up the hostel owner, Dietrich, gave a slide show presentation on the Tikal ruins. Gemma really enjoyed the presentation, and it wasn't too bad for me either, but by this point my concentration was severely depleted, in inverse proportion to my appetite! Dietrich explained the different temples, offered advice on the best route to tour the site, and what time to be at each. He also told us that the Palenque ruins are probably the most elegant of Mayan ruins, whilst the Tikal site is the most monumental. 

After another beer Gemma and I went out for dinner. The streets were packed, and we could see party going on up a hill towards the main plaza, but by this point I was too hungry to care, so we carried on to the nearest restaurant and ate our fill. The party was still going on when we retraced our steps, so we climbed the street and stood in the middle of the plaza. The new Christmas tree (sponsored by Gallo, the local lager manufacturer) had just been unveiled and a band stood on a platform to one side of the square belting out evidently popular, but indecipherable tunes. The plaza was packed, it was a little too much after such a long day of travel, so we returned to the hostel and crashed out. 

We spent a further two nights in Flores. In truth, whilst it's quite pretty (in a rundown way) there isn't much to do, which suited us just fine. We didn't go to tikal, figuring that we were coming back this way soon anyhow, so instead we spent our days relaxing, eating and catching up with a few chores - blogging, washing, lying under the fan! 

We had dinner with Dan and Harriet one evening, and afterwards took a few drinks back to their apartment and sat outside on deck chairs, chatting through the night. After two and a half months without a great deal of company, it was really nice to have other people to talk to. And they both had some interesting stories, having already travelled for some months, staying on Organic farms and working for their beds (something apparently known as WWOFING). We said our goodbyes, as they were heading off to another farm in Belize the next day, having written down the details for several good hostels on the route we are travelling.

After 3 nights we packed our bags and left the hostel early one morning. Heading down to the causeway we found the small dock area and waited for our ride to ARCAS. ARCAS is a small conservation organisation which rehabilitates animals so they can go back to the wild, something we found on the internet several months before we set off. Unfortunately the boat didn't show up, so I wandered over to the other side of the causeway to see a small craft loaded with bananas dashing away from us. Damn. The bananas were a pretty big clue eh!

Using our emergency phone we dialed the organisation's assistant director and he sent the boat back for us. Crossing the lake felt fantastic, although we weren't quite sure what we were in for. The sun was shining, the fresh air blew into our faces for the first time in a long while, it felt very adventurous. The boat headed for a small gap in the reeds, and the pilot had to cut the engine and punt with an oar. When we pulled through the reeds into a small expanse of water covered with lilies it looked every inch the tropical destination.

We were met by Ali, one of the volunteer coordinators, given fresh bedsheets and taken to our dorm, up a hillside covered by dense trees. We dumped our bags down and went for a short tour of our immediate environment. Right outside of the volunteer dorm there were three large cages full of birds, Scarlet Macaws and Parrots, and just behind us were two ponds with crocodiles, altogether a very effective intruder alarm system! 

We arrived during morning chores time, so we had an hour to ourselves before we started the 11am shift. The ARCAS site is decided up into several different stages: Quarantine; Post-Quarantine; Pre-Rehab; and Rehab. When an animal is confiscated by CONAP (Consejo Nacional de Áreas Protegidas), an official organization which has been set up to protect the environment and wildlife of Guatemala, they are brought to ARCAS and given a check up by a vet. If they are healthy they can be released straight back into the wild, dependant on certain conditions. However, usually they cannot, especially if they are young (as many of the arrivals are). At this point they will go into quarantine, where they will be monitored for a period of time to assess if they are physically and mentally healthy. In practice this can mean many things, for example with parrots you must observe whether they can mimic human sounds, if they can they can never be released into the wild because they will be shunned by wild parrots. 

Once they have passed quarantine, they head to post-quarantine and then pre-rehab. As the creatures progress through the stages human contact is gradually withdrawn, the cages are moved further away from people. Depending upon the species this could take anywhere from a couple of months to a couple of years. Assuming they pass this stage, they go to Rehab. Rehab is quite a long walk from anywhere in particular, because the animals have to get used to not seeing people at all. The enclosures are huge, and cover an area of unmanaged tropical forest. Very occasionally someone will go and take some pans to bang, to instill the idea that humans are scary and should be avoided. After this, they can be released. 

At any stage, if an animal fails, they can either drop back a level, or else they may end up in the education centre. The education centre was a 10 minute walk along a jungle path, near the lake. Built with funds supplied by Disney (who unfortunately pulled out after 3 years meaning ARCAS had to let their one PR person leave), the centre is a home for those animals who cannot be released back into the wild. For example there were two Ocelots, one blind and the other missing a leg (trapped in a hunters snare), several parrots who could mimic humans, and two Cayman, a non-native species. Here the occasional tour is given, sometimes to tourists from Flores and at other times to local schools, but since the PR person left this is less common. 

Gemma was assigned to one of the teams working in Quarantine, whilst I was sent to Pre-Rehab. My shifts consisted primarily of cleaning two large cages thoroughly and feeding the inhabitants (30 parrots in one cage and 12 scarlet macaws in the other). Byron and Alanna showed me the ropes on the first day, and by the end of the shift I was thoroughly sweaty, the heat and humidity making even the most basic task feel arduous. We would remove 3 large feeding platforms, which are hoisted from the air, take them to the ante-chamber and wash them with a hose, scrub them, spray with a little chlorine, remove any bits of food stuck in the platform, then wash again with the hose. We'd refill the platforms with food (usually chopped banana and corn) and fresh water, then hoist them back into the air. Meanwhile the other person would be sweeping up the debris from the cage to ensure there was no rotten food inside the enclosure.

All the while we had to dodge parrots, making sure we didn't tread on any and especially that we didn't talk to any - which might sound strange, but it is really hard not to say something when a parrot lands on your brush handle as you are sweeping and stares at you with curiosity in his eyes. In the other cage the process was largely the same, with a few exceptions. You really had to look carefully because the Macaws are massive birds, you don't want to be underneath one when they decide to empty their bowels! There were also a couple of other birds in with the Macaws, both about the size of a turkey, a crested Guam and a Faisan.

These shifts were repeated three times as day, at 6.30am, 11am and 2pm. In between we’d find time for breakfast and lunch, and there was a 2 hour window for “chore time”. This could be anything, one day Gemma had to go to the lake to catch some fish for the herons lunch, another day I got to clean out the crocodiles and snapping turtle enclosure, and on a different day we both had to rake leaves around the education centre (because the snakes like to hang out under dead leaves). 

Whilst I was busy working with my feathered friends a little way away from everyone, Gemma stayed down in pre-quarantine with Satcha, where she was taking care of 26 parrots and parakeets, 3 howler monkeys and a toucan (obviously in different cages). I know she was very happy to be assigned to the howler monkeys, and every mealtime I got an update on their mischievous antics - I did think I was going to have to go down to her cage to have a word with the monkeys about encroaching personal space. They graduated from the odd cheeky poke, through stealing brushes and hoses to full blown hair pulling during the time we spent at ARCAS. 

Occasionally due to volunteer illness (there was a lot of it going around) we would be removed from our normal routines to help provide cover. One day Byron and I got to clean out the spider monkeys, and we couldn't quite hide our delight. The spider monkeys are great fun, it seems like their limbs are made of plasticine as they stretch and swing about the cage. They were pretty nervous about us, hiding at the tops of the cage initially. We took it in turns to clean whilst the other would assume guard duty, keeping hold of the high pressure water hose (just in case). But as soon as we brought out their afternoon snack, a large bunch of leaves, they overcame their shyness and tried to snatch them from our hands. 

There were not many volunteers during our brief stay, about 12 in all, at peak times there can be over 50. On the one hand this was good because we got to experience a number of different tasks in a short time (e.g. Gemma got to feed a poorly heron), but equally it meant that good conversation was at a premium. The volunteer coordinators (Ali, Anna and Glen) were really nice, but looking a bit run down, and I really enjoyed working with Byron and Alanna. The accommodation wasn't great, just sufficient for a basic level of hygiene - I still think I can smell the bathroom from here. After 3 shifts and a chore, I would have loved a non-freezing shower, but at least we had water. The one thing that really got me down was the food. Suffice to say that on reaching Flores we went to Burger King and it felt like a flavour explosion in my mouth.

After 4 days of living in the jungle, fending off the mosquitos (largely unsuccessfully), trying not to cry when I saw beans on my plate, smelling of manure and finding parrot shit in the most unlikely and unforeseeable places, we decided to call it a day. It is better to leave with good memories of the animals and the people than come to resent it, and we've both had some amazing experiences in a very short period of time. We called a local boatman, Carlos, who picked us up from a nearby pier and sailed across the lake to Flores.

Gemma Adds:

We finished working at ARCAS a few days earlier than planned but still happy with our contribution. It was really hard work in temperatures above 30 degrees Celsius and both of us suffered from dehydration as well as numerous aches and pains. 

Arriving back in Flores was a delight, not only because it is such a stunning place, but also because we were back to relative comfort, luxury after the poor living conditions of the jungle. Food has never tasted so good (garlic butter on fresh, hot, homemade wholemeal bread and salad) and I had a glass of pretty rubbish cheap red wine - which was lovely! I savored every mouthful.

I have to say that I ache all over and while being with the animals was great, the heat and the low standard of living made the physically difficult work even harder. Food portions were small and served with a black mashed up bean sauce (frijoles) three times a day, but when I was given my breakfast on our final day it really took the biscuit. It was a bread roll. Just a bread roll! That was it. No butter or jam. Just the optional extra bean mush! I could laugh because it was our last day but I don't know how people stay there for several months (and pay for the privilege!)

Simple things could have made it better, like if my wellies didn't have holes in them (I have a mini version of trench foot!) and hot showers for example.

We finished on a high with both of us having our best day there so far. For me, the highlight was when a baby howler monkey called Issy climbed gently onto my shoulder and wrapped her tail around my neck. It broke my heart to have to brush her off but I knew it was the right thing to do if I ever want her to be released back into the wild. And I do want that for them all.

All in all it was a great experience, but I'm glad it is over and that I get to sleep in a proper bed that doesn't smell!

Gemma's Mini-Mexican Blog

As I write about Mexico I have a sour taste in my mouth and I worry that this bitterness may come across in my writing, rather like I'm sucking on a lemon, or should that be one of the many limes that are served with everything here?

It is a tale of stunning scenery, idyllic landscapes, broken promises and cunning crime. Right now, I can feel the tears forming although I know I won't let them flow, not because I'm sad to leave - quite the opposite - more from frustration. It is such a contrast from when we arrived in this beautiful country.

Mexico was the start of my part of the trip and somehow, instinctively, l knew it. The hostel in Mazatlan was my favourite so far and with a beautiful beach just 3 minutes away with beach bars selling delicious tacos and cold Corona, I was in heaven. When I found out that Mazatlan also claimed to be the shrimp capital of the world I knew that when Mother Nature was creating this place she was thinking of me. 

I was sad to leave, even though we had stayed an extra night because it was so lovely. Also, the thought of going to Mexico City daunted me, and I felt certain we were going to be robbed.

I was wrong. Mexico City was great, with beautiful parks and lots of interesting things to do. But it also spralled on for ever, with street after street looking exactly the same - a little bit unloved. Our hostel wasn't that nice though, which can really alter your perception of a place so we were glad to move on. One thing that did surprise me was how amazed people were that we had been to Mazatlan. Apparently it has a dangerous reputation as one of the biggest Cartels operate there. It is funny how I felt so at home there, but was scared of the much safer Mexico City.

From there, a short 6 hour bus ride took us to Oaxaca (pronounced wah-ha-ka, something I still can't say!) a beautiful city in a mountain valley bursting with charm and culture. Sitting in the main square sipping the local hot chocolate was a great way to soak up the atmosphere and catch up on some people watching. One thing we have noticed is how small but yet fully grown the Mexican people are. Darren nearly trod on one as she skirted around his kneecaps! 

But then it all went wrong.

I wish we had never arrived in Palenque. Quite a statement considering how stunning the Mayan ruins are as they sit so aptly in the misty jungle. Exploring them was a real treat. Sheltered by the trees, we hardly saw any other tourists and it felt like we had stumbled across them, like the first people to find them after 700 years of dormancy. It was an experience that will stay with me for a long time and I am very grateful for that.

However, the hostel was a dive, dirty, incompetent, unfriendly and there were constant efforts to extort money from us such as putting us in a cheaper room than we had paid for, charging an extra 10% service charge for food but not writing it on the bill so we would tip again and trying to sell us a tour of the ruins for 240 Pesos when the local buses charged just 10 Pesos each way and went from the end of the road.

On the first night in Palenque two locals stayed in our dorm. We thought this was a bit weird and I felt a sense of unease. They turned out to be the owners son and his friend but they arrived late, well after we had gone to sleep, had no bags and spoke no English so we didn't trust them. However, in the morning they were friendly and happily joked together before they had their showers and left.

So the following afternoon when another bagless local turned up the alarm bells didn't ring as much as they should have. He stayed the night, robbed us while we were sleeping and left early the next morning.

That meant that our last day in Mexico was spent in the Police Station rather than relaxing ahead of a taxing journey to Guatemala the next day. Initially, we were very pleased with the help we got. The police seemed very thorough, and even enlisted the help of a local translator. However, we were fed a line and paid a 400 pesos (£20) investigation tax, or corruption charge as I now like to call it. So by lunchtime we had been robbed twice, but there was more to come.

As it turned out, the translator was more help than we could have hoped for. We had made a small mistake when crossing the border into Mexico and did not have the correct visa documents. We were open and honest about this at the Police Station and said that we had planned to go to the immigration office that day and asked if that was the best thing to do. The translator assured us that we could easily sort it out on the border (he used to work for immigration) and in fact he now organises trips and could arrange transport and speak to immigration on our behalf. The only way to travel this leg of the journey was to pay around 300 Pesos for an organised trip, so knowing this, we felt a lot safer with a guide who was trusted by the police, spoke fluent English and assured is that he would come all the way to the Guatemalan border with us - something we checked and double checked before handing over the higher price of 460 pesos each, which included all costs and breakfast. (Robbery number three).

The next day we were collected from our hostel and began to make our way in a car, not the agreed bus, with no explanation of why. Already, something didn't feel right.

After an hour we stopped for breakfast which was where the translator left us, still two hours from the Mexican border, saying that he had to return to the hotel. He loaded us onto an already full minibus with other tourists (all Spanish speaking) and a Spanish speaking driver.

I am still sat on the bus, desperate to leave Mexico but worried about what lies ahead at the border - no doubt robbery number four as our white skins and lack of language skills will demand a high bribe to be let through. I can almost hear the cha-ching of dollar signs behind their eyes as they watch us approach the border. But I still haven't cried!

The happy ending

When we arrived at the border we were not surprized to be charged US$50 to cross. We moaned a bit and told everyone that we had been robbed. The men at the border patrol must have taken pity on us because when they discovered that we hadn't been stamped into the country they didn't stamp us out either and actually gave us our money back!

15 minutes later we were in a wooden canoe zooming up the river towards Guatemala. It was such a lovely way to travel with the breeze blowing through my hair and the sun beaming down through the clouds. My spirits rose as we got closer to a new country and having an open mind again, only hopefully a little bit wiser!

Palenque: Ruins & Robbery

We arrived in Palenque at 7am, and wearily made our way from the station to the hostel. We followed the instructions to the letter, but ended up about 2km too far down the road. We were hot and sticky, tired and in need of a rest, so we found a taxi instead who drove us back to the bus station to ask his colleagues for directions. We went back again, and this time turned off down a road not mention in the instructions. Frustating. 

We were checked in by a young man who didn't know what he was doing, he tried to put us in the wrong room, and didn't give us our security bracelets. But then, none of the staff knew what they were doing, as we were never challenged as to why we weren't wearing these bracelets. More on that rather crucial point later! 

When we were taken to the room the receptionist couldn't' open the door - whilst we waited a local monkey, a howler monkey I think, climbed into a tree above us and relieved himself on Gemma's bag. As soon as he finished we dived into the dangerzone to retrieve our belongings. Once we had moved them into a safer area the monkey decided to defecate on the same spot! Whilst it was lovely for the monkey to welcome us to his jungle, I did make a mental note to crap on the next monkey I see in London. In hindsight, this might have been a significant omen for what was to come, one we maybe shouldn't have ignored. 

After resting for a while, and deciding that the hostel was a dive, we walked into town. Palenque is a small town, the only large buildings are the hotels in the tourist zone, in the central area nothing is above 3 stories. There are a few shops, with a fairly limited range of stock, so shopping was never going to kill any time. There is a cathedral, but I've seen bigger confessionals to be quite honest, even in the last few weeks! 

We decided that night to head to the ruins the next day, and headed back to the hostel after a delicious and cheap dinner of tacos in a small restaurant frequented by locals. Back in our Spartan dorm two young men appeared. We did notice that they didn't have any bags, which seemed strange, but they had let themselves in so we didn't think too much of it. It turned out this was the owners son and his friend, who had decided to crash in some spare beds rather than return home, but we didn't find this out until later. 

The following day we ignored the receptionists plea to pay 280 pesos for the ruins tour, and walked out to the street. Within minutes we were inside a taxi-van, having paid 10 pesos each for the ride to the ruins. Unfortunately it decided to rain at this point, heavily, so we got out at the site museum and spent an hour admiring the art and artefacts from the Mayan ruins. 

There were a large number of reliefs, stone tablets, and hieroglyphs, and each exhibit was helpfully explained in both Spanish and English. Unlike Monte Alban, they also had pottery, jewellery, death masks and bizarre stone statues looking like a cross between a mask and a mini totem pole which were dedicated to specific Gods. The rain had proved fortuitous, and we headed out of the museum armed with some prior knowledge of the ruins we were about to see.

After passing a small guesthouse we began climbing up a flight of stone stairs into the rainforest. All around us the trees and foliage closed in, the light faded and a mist surrounded us. A few minutes later we reached a fork and took the right turn. As we reached the top of a second flight some small ruins appeared, overgrown with tree roots burying themselves into the stoneworks. We spotted another tourist scurrying off and followed him. He climbed onto another small ruin and began pointing into the bushes. We made our way up, carefully I might add as the stones were covered in moss and slippery, and arrived just in time to see a very small, black, pig-like creature darting through the undergrowth.

Now we were faced with yet another flight of stairs, much higher and steeper than the previous ones. We carefully picked a path up, and arrived short of breath, and bathed in sweat, at the foot of a large pyramid. In fact the whole site of Palenque seemed to open up before us, and it was breathtaking. Surrounded by dense jungle and mist, in incredible humidity, the ruins are just so beautiful. I did the first thing that came to mind and without considering the consequences I ran up the steps of the nearest temple. 

From here the view was even better, more buildings appearing through gaps in the trees. And hardly a single tourist in sight. One of the best features of Palenque is the presence of the temples atop the pyramids, and I was also able to peek inside one which had been briefly home to a Spanish Count when he visited 200 years ago. However, getting down was a different proposition entirely, I suddenly realised how steep and slippery the stones were, my issue with heights kicked in, and had to navigate my way down with the aid of my behind! 

We made our way around, stopping every few seconds as a new panorama opened up before us. The absence of tourists added to the sense that we were discovering the site afresh. We both climbed the palace building, and were rewarded with stone carvings and even a few examples of painted flowers which had somehow survived the years of humidity and rain. As we climbed the outskirts of the palace we noticed the rain clouds charging towards us, coming between a gap in the mountains, and took shelter in one of the palaces rooms, right at the top. Here we had our packed lunch, one of the greatest locations I have ever eaten a ham and cheese sandwich! 

We spent about 4 hours climbing up, over and into the ruins. We were quite surprised just how close you are allowed to get to everything, being allowed inside certain passageways and tunnels of the various buildings. But like all good things, we eventually decided it was time to head back, as by this point we were both in need of a rest and a good shower! We wandered down the other path from the one we had taken, past yet more smaller, later ruins, eventually coming to a beautiful waterfall. We had to cross a small bridge and eventually met the fork we had taken earlier. 

Back at the roadside, after just a few minutes we hailed another taxi-van and 10 pesos later we were back on the path near our hostel. We went to the dorm to freshen up, and met two new room-mates. A third person appeared, letting himself in and brazenly chatting to Phil, one of the Americans, and Gemma. He had a bedsheet and towel, nothing too suspicious so far, and after Gemma and I went off for dinner at the restaurant above the reception he apparently went out to get some beers. We met a couple of friends, and started chatting, not returning to the room until 11pm. 

By this time everyone was asleep, so we carefully maneuvered ourselves into our mosquito nets (necessary because the window netting here is torn). The rain made it difficult to sleep, the intense shower lasting for several hours, but we did eventually drift off. When we awoke we discovered that our wallets had been emptied of cash. The culprit had taken all the notes in Gemma's wallet, and bizarrely her shower gel. Somehow this git had come under my mosquito net to get my shorts (my wallet is attached to them by chain) and removed all my cash too. 

We were fortunate that it was only cash however, as all our bank cards were untouched. We spoke to the two americans, Phil mentioned that the mysterious guy had been sat outside the dorm when he went back that evening,followed him inside and promptly went to bed. Unfortunately he didn't know about the identity bracelet rule either, and as the guy had been in the room earlier had no suspicions. This stranger got up very early in the morning and disappeared, taking our cash with him, 

We walked into town and found the tourist information office. They took us to the police station where we were introduced to the officers. A few minutes later a translator arrived and we began to recount the story. All of this was taken down and entered into an official report (for which we had to pay a further 400 pesos but were refused a receipt, by the police for goodness sakes). But at least the officers took it seriously enough to pay a visit to the hostel later. They seemed confident they would catch the criminal, even though perhaps the evidence was largely circumstantial. Apparently the hostel has some CCTV which may give the police an image to work with. Annoyingly I now have to spend time dealing with an insurance company, and I don't know at this stage whether we will be able to recover any of the cash or the administration cost. 

The following morning we got up at the crack of dawn and waiting outside the hostel for our van to the border. Instead Fernando the guide arrived in a friend's car, and we drove around for 30 minute to find the van. It had apparently gone on ahead of us, so we moved into a different car and raced to catch up. Along the way, driving through and around the edges of the misty rainforest, we were stopped at a military checkpoint. The soldier said to Fernando that he had met Italians, Dutch, Poles and Japanese, but no English, so would we mind saying something to him in English. Putting on our best "plum" accents we gave him a chorus of "hello", "nice to meet you" and "good day old boy". He seemed impressed. 

Eventually we caught up with the van at a small restaurant, where we had a breakfast of eggs and bacon, and we crammed our belongings into the small spaces available. The driver raced to the border, unconcerned about the awful, awful camber of the roads, and banging his head to the beat of some terrible disco-pop music which he thoughtfully shared with us all, loudly. 

We arrived at the border a few hours later and began to panic. You may remember from our first Mexican blog, technically we were at this point illegal immigrants, having sailed through the border without a stamp or tourist card. Initially the guide tried to suggest that we needed to pay US$50 to leave the country. We nearly hit the roof, and loudly proclaimed that we had been robbed and now we were being robbed again. However, with hindsight this was actually the legitimate tourist tax, charged to people who stayed more than a few days. But at the time our protestations seemed to hit a nerve, and the guide agreed that as we had not been stamped in we didn't really need a stamp out, so we walked through immigration as if we had never even been to Mexico! We both felt that we deserved a little bit of luck, and although hardly recompense for the robbery it did at least save us some money. 

From here we caught a small boat down the river. It took about 30 minutes, but it was really fun. The little wooden boat seemed to tip up at the front and the occasional eddy made us wobble, but it never felt unsafe. When we reached the small town of Bethel, we were inside Guatemala. Amazingly the connecting bus was waiting for us (I've read some horror stories on the lonely planet website), and we drove to the immigration office. Here we were greeted by a cheery border official. "Welcome to Guatemala, please, enjoy your stay" he said with a beaming smile. 

After more than 2 weeks in Mexico, we were glad to be adding another stamp to our passports. The last 24 hours across the border had really dampened our enthusiasm for the country. We have had some wonderful experiences, and seen some beautiful places, and on the whole met very nice people. But as if being robbed wash't bad enough, we can't escape the feeling that people look at us and see dollar signs. And to be ripped off by the Mexican police really took the biscuit.