Day 63 - Livingston (Guatemala) to Utila (Honduras) in a pea green boat

“The best laid schemes of mice and men/ Go often askew,” wrote Scots poet Robert Burns in 1785 (or “Gang aft agley” for the purist Scots out there). He may not have been talking about traveling, but in this case the wisdom fits perfectly

You see, the good thing about having a plan, is having the option of abandoning it at a moments' notice. Because (as Universal Truth #2 will attest to), the best adventures are usually borne of last-minute decisions.

And so came about the sequence of events that led to us being sat in the middle of the Caribbean Ocean, paying passengers on the 35ft yacht of a rather silent and very strange Frenchman.

Everything big begins small (see the post “Feather, Brick, Truck”). This latest adventure began quite innocuously, in a motel room in the Mexican border town of Chetumal.

The latest plan was to head to the Belizean island of Caye Caulker for some scuba diving. Our original route, via Honduras, had been abandoned due to the distance and time needed to get there. You simply can't do everything in two months now, can you? Instead, we would take the opportunity to take more time soaking up the beauty of Southern Guatemala.

That was until we walked home from dinner and had a conversation that went something like this;

Stewart: Right. Up early tomorrow. Head for the border, then we can get a fast boat direct from Corozal to Caye Caulker. We should be there by lunch.
Rachel: Great. It's a shame we're missing Honduras though. The diving is sooo cheap there.
Stewart: Yeh. I'm gutted to miss out on the Crystal Maiden in San Ignacio too.
Rachel: Me too. Bummer, eh?
Stewart: Maybe we should go there after all?
Rachel: Maybe we should.
Stewart: Settled then! Let's go to Honduras via San Ignacio!

And there you have it. Proof that sometimes the right decision is the one that is easiest to make.

That's not to say it's always the easiest to do though...

Two days after embarking on our spontaneous little detour, a friendly New Yorker called Norm informed us of the fact that Honduras had just undergone a military coup. The borders were closed indefinitely. Still, something told us we should keep going.

In Rio Dulce, three days later, we heard about a travel company that offered a sailboat service direct from Guatemala to the Bay Islands. But first we needed to take a two hour ride up the river to the coast, to a small town called Livingston.

Livingston is only accessible by small boat. The journey involves crossing Guatemala's second largest lake, Lago de Isabel, before traveling through a series of gorges up to 100m tall. According to the Rough Guide to Central America, the town “offers a unique fusion of Guatemalan and Caribbean culture in which marimba mixes with Marley”.

Personally, I didn't see it. If garbage everywhere, stray dogs following you home and “sandflies” that eat you alive are your idea of Caribbean culture, then I stand corrected. Despite enjoying two days at a very lively hostel (Casa de la Iguana) run by an amicable, former stripper called Rusty, we were pretty much ready to high-tail it out of there asap.

The news from Honduras was good. The borders were open and, despite the president still being in exile, we were told that passage was possible. With the intention of by-passing the mainland, the trouble and numerous roadblocks, five of us met with the fabled Capitan Eric to negotiate passage.

We'd met Josh and Te when they checked into our swamp in Rio Dulce. Former partners from the US, they'd decided that breaking up shouldn't stand in the way of the round the world trip they'd planned. Brave people. Elyse, a blond beach chick from Manly, was doing a fine job of spreading the world reputation of Aussie chicks for being bubbly-as-champagne, willing to call-a-spade-a-spade and up for anything.

Which is more than can be said for Le Capitan. Monosyllabic at best, we were truly in the presence of someone accustomed to spending days alone at sea. At first I assumed his lack of conversation was due to the language barrier. However, he proved to be equally uninterested in small talk in both French and Spanish. He seemed to prefer chain-smoking Marlboro Lights, downing rum like water and fasting (we never saw him eat the entire time we were in his company). Still, we had a boat and in two short days we'd be happily tucking into fresh lobster and planning all manner of dive trips.

Alas, sailing the Caribbean wasn't quite the pleasure trip you'd imagine. Eric's boat was more functional than fabulous, and the trade winds and currents in this part of the world travel from East to West. That left us traveling against the tide. And the swell. Poor Rachel, Te and particularly Josh spent most of the first day with their heads over the side, feeding the fish.

Another day sailing against the wind (less Te and Josh who'd decided that another day of seasickness wasn't for them, and taken a bus), watching Le Capitan plough his way through cigarettes and rum, and we'd arrived.

Alas, we'd arrived five hours late, at 1am rather than 7pm. The military-imposed curfew of 11pm meant the streets were deserted. It had been two days since we had showered. We were covered in salt and sun cream. We smelled bad and felt worse. Sleeping on the dock (or, god forbid, another night in Le Capitan's boat) wasn't doing it for us.

In these situations you really do rely on fate, and the kindness of strangers. An hour spent ducking between closed hotels and I was lucky enough to find the only hotelier on the island still awake. Thirty minutes later, showered and clean, we were all sound asleep in our beds.

Don't you love it when a plan comes together?

For all the pictures from Livingston and our journey to paradise, click here