Laguna Lachuá National Park -- and la gringa tonta

Last week I ventured northwest 4 hours to an out-of-the-way tourist destination called Laguna Lachua National Park. It is named after the Qéqchi words meaning "smelly water" because it has a sulphurous smell. Before going, I checked with the local tourist offices to see if there was a group going, but there wasn´t, so I went by myself via public transportation. I was a little nervous about it, but by Friday night I knew which bus to take, where to catch it, and how much it would cost to get there.

I left at 6 am Saturday morning. The bus ride was interesting--I got to ride up front with the driver and take advantage of all the amazing Alta Verapaz scenery--rolling mountains covered with mist and evergreen trees. The bus conductor was really nice and, when it started to rain, stopped and covered my backpack with a piece of plastic since I had forgotten my rain cover.

The bus, however, was not so nice. Once we hit open road, the driver was really punching it, and the bus was wobbling like a washing machine with an uneven load. Every 45 minutes or so we would pull into a gas station or bicycle repair shop and add air to the front left tire. Then, the sliding door in back stopped working and no one could get out of the bus; some of the passengers climbed out of the windows at a couple of stops. The bus driver finally stopped and borrowed some tools, dismantled the entire door, and then put it back together so it would function properly.

Upon arrival at the park, I paid for my entrance (Guatemalans, 15 Q, Extranjeros, 40 Q) and my overnight stay. You have to pack in your food and water--it´s kind of like a ski hut trip but in a rainforest. I received a receipt for my payment and the friendly park guy, Ramiro, told me that I would have to show it to the other friendly park guy when I got to the lodge. "So don´t lose it," he told me.

I hiked the 4 kilometers (photos coming soon!) by myself--it was lovely and secluded and I felt a little bit like Indiana Jones or something, except that the trail was immacutlately maintained and there are signs along the way identifying trees and other wildlife.

Upon arrival, I met Carlos, (the other friendly park guy) a sort of John Wayne of Alta Verapaz--old, weathered, full of stories and jokes, tough in appearance but a bit of a softie. As I had been warned, he asked me for my receipt, which, even after emptying my pockets and several parts of my backpack, I could not locate. (Here is where the gringa tonta part begins.) So, we went to call the front to verify that I had paid. I followed him out to the dock of the incredibly beautiful, pristine lake, and he said, OK, here´s where you have a signal for your phone (in Spanish, of course) and I said, Oh, I don´t have my phone--I left it back at the lodge (or something like that in a much more basic, 6-year-old way of speaking). Carlos looked at me briefly like I was retarded, and then laughed kindly and told me to sit down and rest. So we enjoyed the view for a while and then went back to the lodge.

Eventually he gave me a room, and as soon as I unpacked I found my receipt tucked in with a roll of T.P. --must have somehow stuck it in there when I stopped to use the latrien en route.

I enjoyed a dinner of salad and beans and tortillas that I had brought with me from Carchá, and then before bed I thought that I should put my food in a safe place, but I didn´t want to take it up to my room, which was spotless and pest-free. Once again, I asked my friend Carlos if I should put my food in a particular place. I thought that he told me no, so I stuffed it in the corner of the kitchen and went to bed.

As any good backpacker knows, (and I should have known), that was not the smartest decision. In the morning I found my breakfast spread about--orange half-eaten and a pit and a bit of peel, licked absolutely spotless, from what once was an avocado. Luckily, I had put my yogurt and tortillas in the fridge, so they were spared. Carlos, still kind and patient, questioned my judgement a bit and then explained that a tacuasin had eaten my breakfast. "What´s a tacuasin?" I asked. A giant guatemalan rat, he said, indicating through hand motions that it is about a foot and a half long. "Well, he really loves avocados," I replied. Carlos laughed and offered to share his pan dulce and tomatoes with me for breakfast.

I hiked out after a nice swim in the lake (heard it has healing properties for the ugly wound on my leg that is still festering a bit). I waited for 2 hours for the bus back--apparently bus service on Sundays is more limited. By the time I left, I had promised to meet Ramiro (the first friendly park service guy) in Coban for English lessons (I keep trying to tell people that just because I can speak it does not mean I can teach it) and I had met a gaggle of local boys who somehow knew I was the silly gringa who lost her receipt and let a tacuasin eat her breakfast. News travels fast in that part of the country, apparently.

I arrived home in Carchá after dark on Sunday, tired from a long ride in a bus packed full. I did not see or speak to one English-speaking person the entire weekend--everyone that I met at the park was Guatemalan (and one guy from Costa Rica). You got it-- now I am boldly going where no gringa has gone before! (Ok, that might be a stretch, but I managed a full expedition without major injury and only minor mishaps, so I think I am making progress!)