Visa run to Livingston
Author: Shirlz
My 90-day visitor’s visa for Guatemala was about to expire, so early yesterday morning I found myself in a lancha speeding the twenty miles downriver to the immigration office in Livingston.
The river is beautiful in the morning. Many fishermen were out, paddling their tiny dugout cayucos and setting out nets. As we roared past I felt guilty about the wake we caused but the fishermen must be used to coping with the passing traffic and seemed unperturbed. Now and then a cormorant had to make a startled splashy scramble to get out of our way.
It was a treat to have another chance to admire the beautiful jungle-clad canyon as the river narrowed a few kilometres before the town. And then of course the view of the open sea again and an overwhelming appreciation of the airy freedom of it after having been surrounded for what seems like too long by the steaming jungle.
Just after eight I was at the Immigration office and about 10 minutes later my next 90 days had been officially sanctioned. I was a little nonplussed, as the collectivo lancha which was to take me back up river was only scheduled to leave at 2:30.
I left the office to find the main street filled with a procession of schoolchildren with banners showing patriotic slogans. There was a group of dancing girls and a band of drummers, one or two trumpets. They managed to make a lot of noise. With nothing else to do I stood on a shady street corner and watched them shuffle past.
After that bit of excitement I took a side street at random and eventually found myself at a riverside beach near to the Port Captains office. A sign pointed to Siete Altares which is a series of small waterfalls a few miles up the coast.
It was a lovely day and it’s possible to walk all the way along a narrow beach. At first there were plenty of beach bars and discotheques – all closed at this time of the morning, but soon I was strolling along the almost deserted beach fringed with palm trees and mangroves.
Many of the people here are descended from slaves and have a distinct language and culture. I had become used to the comparatively small Maya people and must confess to a slight nervousness when I noticed a very tall Garifuna striding along the beach some distance behind me. The gap was narrowing. He had a big stick which he was twirling about. I kept walking and as he approached I could hear that he was singing as he strode along, barefoot, on the wet sand. He smiled as he passed. A friendly Man Friday with iPod and earbuds.
Busy little sandpipers skittered along ahead of me and pelicans were resting in the water bobbing with the waves.
After about an hour I reached the Quehuache River which has a narrow suspension bridge across it. Pedestrians only. It looked solid enough but I could feel it swaying slightly as I crossed. It would have been a beautiful spot to anchor off apart from the fact that it’s almost always a lee shore. A sign assured me that I was still heading towards the waterfalls.
Eventually the beach ends at a steep headland and there is a path going inland. There is a small jetty where a lancha had just arrived with a load of American backpackers. I watched them struggle to make the gap from boat to jetty in the bouncy surf.
The waterfalls are on private Garifuna land and there was an entrance fee of Q20 collected by a man in traditional clothing. I got in just ahead of the boat party and followed the path to the first beautiful waterfall. I regretted not bringing my bikini or towel as the water looked very cool and inviting. As I was sitting on a rock with my feet in the water wondering if a quick skinny-dip might be permissible, the backpackers arrived en masse invading my quiet space. Well they looked like they needed to cool off more desperately than me. So I was happy to watch them enjoying the pool.
A further 10 minute walk up the smooth rocks of the river takes you past more pools and cascades, I suppose there must be seven of them, and finally there is a really big pool with a real waterfall.
But time was running on and I realised that I needed to start back to Livingston to catch the collectivo. It’s a two hour walk back along the beach. The afternoon breeze had started and long skeins of pelicans were soaring effortlessly along the coastline where the fringing trees forced the air to rise. I envied their graceful ability. A solitary white heron was also soaring the tree line ridge-lift, its enormous wingspan translucent in the bright sunlight. Memories of my gliding days flooded back.
A short while later I joined a group of newly arrived holiday makers being taken upriver in the fast collectivo launch. It is a bouncy ride in the afternoon with the wind blowing against the stream and spray flew up on either side. I hung on for dear life wishing I had brought a cushion. We stopped to drop people off at their various riverside hotels and soon I was back on Speedwell.
September 1st, 2014 at 07:16
Looks like you are having a good time 🙂
Pete