After a slightly-more-difficult than supposed trip (I managed to convince some friends, Josh, Duncan and Rachel, to do it my way and skip the expensive shuttle in favour of the cheap-as-chips chicken bus), which involved our bags being chucked atop one bus then returning to find it full (that really means full here), being told to get another and change at the mysterious `crossroads`, having to cross a muddy river with all of our backpacks aboard a flimsy wooden raft then sweltering in a minibus with blacked out windows, we eventually reached Flores.
We were soon refreshed by giant, bowl-like glasses of fresh, sour limonada and fruity licuados in the peaceful ambient garden of our hostel, cooling our boiling blood and dispelling any hint of dehydration from the dusty drive. So I set off to explore the little island. As the most convenient town for the ancient Mayan ruins of Tikal, Flores is beginning to flourish as a tourist centre. It is beautiful in itself, sitting astride a small mound of earth linked to the land by one bridge, and so surrounded on all sides by a glistening, calm lake. But at present, it is a very odd combination of high class hotels and restaurants designed for the rich American tourists looking a little lost on its streets, which are currently being regenerated in the style of expensive Mediterranean resorts without quite being finished yet. Rusty spades and wheelbarrows lie abandoned on the half-paved streets, and the one section of promenade that is actually finished is conversely still lined by old shacks and rubbish dumps, yet to be converted into the swanky hotels! I liked Flores for this, for its backwards, unfinished charm, a hint of prosperity yet still hanging on to its poor roots.
We were up ridiculously early for the bus to Tikal (http://www.tikalpark.com/), in order to combat the already rising heat at 5.30am and to try to avoid the promised hordes spilling out of tour buses. Whilst it was still swelteringly hot, we did achieve the second of our aims, finding ourselves the sole people at some of the crumbling, mystical temples.
I would have been impressed by the magical setting alone: small paths weave themselves through dense tropical jungle, branches (replete with ´stay away from me` coloured spiders and bugs) hanging across at face height and the screeching and squawking of hidden animals surrounding your ears. Though they weren`t always hidden, on the walk we spied spider monkies acrobatically leaping aboves our heads, exotically plumed toucans and woodpeckers flapping from tree to tree in the maze of foliage, and a startled (both us and it) snake on the canopy floor. Then suddenly, magestically soaring right out of the heights of the canopy above, rose forboding temples, still standing with solidarity 1500 years after they were built with bare hands. The sheer vastness of the structures is incredible, let alone the hints at their once highly decorated plaques and freizes and the magical quality of the imagined rituals, prayers and colourful dances, fires blazing and drums runbling into the echoing forest.
You can climb many of the temples, up steep rickety wooden ladders that are certainly not as strong or stable as the edifices we were ascending - a `don`t look down`job for sure. The views afforded at the top take your breath away more than the climb itself, gazing out over impenetrable, a neverending carpet rainforest to the hazy horizon in the distance, the view broken only by the tops of distant temples, blending in as if they were a natural part of the forest and not a manmade structure. Modern architects could learn a lot from the ancient Mayan designers.
Returning to Tikal, mesmerised, we cooled off with an early evening swim in the lake, which was as warm as a bathtub and expelled delighted sighs and smiles from oour expoler-weary feet. The skies blackened, a tumultuous roar of thunder and huge drops of rain falling about our submerged bodies, but we stayed it out and the threatened thunderstorm thinned to become the most beautiful awe-inspirng sunset I have seen, flames of gold and ochre lapping the lakes`edge, splitting through the eery yellow-grey clouds with laser-like accuracy, lighting up our floating faces.
We had a perfect end to a wonderful few days travelling together eating freshly charcoal-grilled pinchos (kebabs of meat, peppers, chillis and pineapple) and enjoying creamy pina coladas at the lakeside.
You cannot get a better day than one filled with exploration and relaxation, to keep both sides of your brain happy. Even the rain cannot dampen that.
`Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.` Langston Hughes
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