Much ado about nothing

Finally my bags arrived. Really should have not been nervous about this whole situation at all. Should have just trusted the disorganization and looseness of Hungarian administration. Got my bags, stood around with the young lady at customs, waiting for my keys that I left at their care, in case customs wanted to mess around. My dad kept the girl busy by asking idiotic questions about Christmas shifts. Then we walked out. Bless chaos.

Mate de Coca what is your position?

The last time I was arriving from Peru, I entered the EU in Madrid. I had a small bag of coca leaves on me, which I completely forgot about and I panicked. So I figured honesty is the way forward, I marched up to the X-ray lady and asked. She literally laughed at me and said it was no problem. Never felt less rock'n'roll in my life, freaking out about a bag of coca leaves.

So this time around, naturally, I assumed that it was fine. Now that I am sitting at home and trying to figure out EU or national policy regarding the issue, I am finding it more and more difficult.

What happened was the following. My two backpacks remind behind in Amsterdam, as lay-over was 45 minutes, I wasn't really even hoping for them. So after I registered with lost&found I was required to get a paper signed and stamped at customs. When I said I was coming from Peru, the dude asked me if I have coke (no), coca leaves (no) or coca tea in my backpacks. The latter I had and I said it so without thinking. Remember when I thought honesty was the way forward? The guy's eyes rounded and he let out a pitying sigh. In a subject, where he was an apparent authority, he started explaining to me that this is what they make cocaine out of and the natives chew it in order to get out of control and absolutely high. When I tried to rebuke his ridiculous explanations, all I got in exchange were rolling eyes and smirks.

I have to return to the airport to go through some procedures and testing of the coca tea to determine the level of alkaloids. I have been researching my counter-arguments since I got home, but besides the beautiful sounding cultural-anthropological arguments, which, at this moment worth crap, I cannot find anything comprehensive on the legal or policy aspect. The list led by the over 300 pages long Community Register of Food Additives that mentions cocain one line, around page 78, which allows 'decocainized' leaves, but further inquiry will leave you bouncing between three useless documents that quote each other.

Actually, as we speak, M. and I are doing massive Skype date-research in order to find some answers. It seems that in Spain the stuff is legal to bring in the country, if you dare to take a chat website with the name cannabiscafe.net seriously. I am mostly left incredulous by the fact that after a few hours of constant looking, it still seems impossible to find any reliable and comprehensive explanation on a national or international level. I have learned that there is the UN Single Convention from 1961 that prohibits any use of coca related products. This is a fair enough answer for me until I remember that not so long ago (2007) the UN enacted a little something called Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, where some paragraphs practically head-but the aims of the Single Convention.

An article by Joep Oomen highlights briefly some of the cultural, historical, policy and even medical issues surrounding the debate. Nevertheless, he is not providing me with a clear answer on the question of mate de coca. So far I have the following options:

• There is a supranational European consensus on the legality or illegality. If it is legal then Hungarian customs are pulling my leg, which I am hoping for, or if it's the latter then I'm screwed.
• Decocainized tea is legal. Yet to find out if the tea I brought belongs in this category.
• There is no distinction between cocaine/coca leaf/coca tea. I am going to jail.

M. just sent me the most comprehensive document so far on the 'esptupefacientes' not allowed to be brought into Europe.

Hoja de coca Un kilogramo de tintura de hoja de coca que contenga 0,1% de cocaína, o sea  

1 gramo de cocaína, debe considerarse equivalente a 200 gramos de hoja de coca. 

 Un kilogramo de extracto líquido de hoja de coca que contenga 0,5% de cocaína,  

o sea 5 gramos de cocaína, equivale a 1 kilogramo de hoja de coca. 

  

I guess what it really tells me that I do have to go back to the airport and have 'my coke' tested. As ridiculous and pointless as it seems. Bummer. 

I have received my first comment on this blog. Thanks to my sister. Cheers Jules. No pressure or anything, all of you, but if you feel like it, do comment on what you read, at least I won't feel like a psycho just ranting into cyber space.

Lima has been very good to us, we just have been very bad to Lima. We have not done a single thing here, except eating, sleeping, partying and shopping. Bad, bad travelers *slap on hand and liver*

Yesterday, we went to see Avatar in 3-D, which actually was the best ever cinema experience of my life. I am probably never going to the movies again, this cannot be topped. I am not at all a movie-goer, I cannot, for my life, remember the last time I was there. Not in Mexico, not in Spain, definitely not in Poland ... it must have been at least a year ago. Anyhow, Avatar was fantastic, and I urge everybody to go and see it. It's entertaining, it's emotional, it even makes you think a little bit.

I am leaving tomorrow, I am so torn. I am envious of Cam going to Cuzco for at least a month, at the same time I cannot wait to get back to snow covered Hungary, just in time for Christmas and the thought of the upcoming travels makes me shiver with joy. I am like the kid in the candy shop, so I am just letting it go and see where the wind takes me. I have a feeling this might be my last entry for a while, as I have nothing debaucherous or travelous to report. It has been a pleasure to be granted your attention I hope you have had a good time traveling with me. So long now.

It feels like our little raft of tied together backpacks with the two passangers finally reached the calm waters of traveling. We are in Lima, in my dear dear friend's, Amabel's house, sleeping in a real bed, under a real duvet, eating healthy food and sleeping normal hours.

After we collected some minimal motivation to get off our butts, we went to see the Christmas lights in Medellin, and for the first time this year the sight of the colourful fountains and numerous Santa Clauses, the sound of Jingle Bells pouring from the loudspeakers and the smell of Christmas sweets gave me the tingles of The Spirit. This lasted for about a quarter of hour, and as the crowd was shoving us from side to side, we felt it was time to get out. On our walk home we decided that we are still capable of mustering up some minimal social skills and mingle with some of the hostel crowd, so we purchased the smallest bottle of rum and some energy drinks we could find. Smallest it was, because we promised ourselves that we would only have a few drinks, some delightful small talk and then go to rest.

As we stumbled home around 7 in the morning, and decided it would be the best of ideas to have the last beer on the terrace of the hostel, it was rather clear our planned had failed miserably. We met some wonderful people on the way and ended up in a rather dodgy part of town, in a club that, from the outside, looked like somebody's house. The inside was partially open, and had a clear underground feel to it, with the local characters, the graffiti on the wall and the classical oldies that was occassionally and randomly disturbed by some songs by Kylie Minogue and that Lemon Tree song.

We got ourselves together by 1 o'clock and rallied ourselves up for some sightseeing. Went to see Pablo Escobar's grave in the Cemeterio Montesacro. As a cemetery it was one of the oddest I have seen, with no tombstones, but plaques laid down on the ground, so you are literally walking on people's grave. Pablo's resting place was nothing breath-taking, he is buried alongside of some family members. Visiting him, to me, was somehow the end of a long journey, which started with buying a random shirt in Italy from Puta Madre that said 'Pablo Escobar - Cocaine' on it, and I decided to do some reading up on what I was exactly wearing. I read my first book in Spanish about him and the situation in the early 90s in Colombia, Noticia de un secuestro by Márquez. So it was only natural to come and pay my respects.

Next, we wondered into the center of town to check out the sculptures of Botero, with the guidance of El Doctor, a 50 some year old GP, one of the most wonderful characters I encountered on this trip. After admiring the curves of all sorts of creatures, we took the cable car up to Santo Domingo, which is a normal form of transportation for the locals of that area, which admittedly looked very much like slums. Cam, due to her fear of hights, was completely terrified, but of course this could not prevent her from partaking in any sort of activity involving swaying little boxes 50 or so meter above the ground. On the way down I found some rum in my bag from last night so she took a swing from that, to calm herself down.

The sunset from Santo Domingo was beautiful, admiring the second biggest city in Colombia light up its normal and Christmas lights underneath our feet. As this place did not seem like a very common tourist destination, naturally we attracted quite some attention from the locals, which culiminated in noticing that a little boy, standing behind Cam, was pealing off her sunburnt skin with the greatest of attention.

Our bus was scheduled for half 10 that night, so we wondered home, made some wonderful egg-cheese-tomato-olive sandwiches and while we were devouring them on the terrace we spotted Sam, whom we knew from Panama City. He was with the lovely Danish couple, whom we took much liking to as well, yet seemed to be constantly missing them since we got on the boat from Panama. So impulsively we decided to stay for one more night and finally catch up with these great people. The night turned out to be a bloody debauchery, needless to say, but here I will not dwell on its details, it was a shameful step one step too close to the edge.

We arrived to the bus station at 3 in the next afternoon, without having slept a second. I have left Camden, half dead, guarding our numerous bags at the entrance, while I staggered to the appropriate box to try to reschedule our ticket. It went a lot more smoothly than expected, and before we knew it, at half 4, we set out onto our 10 hour journey towards Bogotá. Cam was out soundly, while I kept waking up, because it seemed like we were constantly stopping in the middle of nowhere, picking up and dropping off people, it was just odd that the best quality road between the two main cities was of dirt. Took the taxi straight to the airport, where we attempted to sort out our financial situation while waiting for the flight at half 6. It wasn't the most productive idea ever.

Arriving to Lima, was like a breath of fresh air. Although still not sure, what the time was and where exactly we were, we stumbled into the arms of Sergio, who took us home to finally clean up and try to put on a human appearance again. We just hung out and rested for most of the afternoon, then met up with Ama, and went to see a short exhibition of an artist, whose name I now forgot, but he was a mix of Peruvian political satire and Roy Lichtenstein. Grabbed some bar food and some Maracuya Pisco Sours and dived into a few hours of catching up, that was later joined by Sergio. We were supposed to go to a house party after, but Cam and I were still beyond exhausted, so by midnight we were safely and soundly in bed. As we discussed in the morning, both of us had the weirdest, most random and rapid dreaming ever, as our brains were probably trying to catalogue all our experiences in one night, where we were finally having a normal rest. Because who knows what will happen tomorrow.

The last time I was visiting the Escardos, I brought some pálinka and some paprika. They still have some of the sweet paprika left, so tonight I am whipping up some gulash for 6-7 people. Woooooo Gulyás Leves night!!!

We are sitting in Medellin, in the Black Sheep hostel, exhausted and hardly capable of moving. We left Cartagena at 9 to arrive to Santa Marta at 2 in the afternoon, overdosed on some Chinese food and some policemen kindly escorted us to the collectivo stop towards the bus station. Unfortunately, the collectivo buses were so small that there was no way we could have fit on it with all our bags, so we took a taxi.

Bought our tickets to Medellin for the next evening, and when, referring to the fact of leaving my credit card behind the counter for 20 minutes until the transaction is confirmed, I remarked 'I don't feel comfortable.', a Colombian guy took it a bit to the heart. When I explained that I love his country and what I really meant, he became instantly friendly and supplied us with heaps of advices, including that Parque Tayrona closes at 5 and it costs about 50.000 pesos to get there and also that he is a taxi driver happy to take us there. Not to be taken as a fool, I wondered outside to check this information from other drivers. It was true, and thankfully a Colombian couple overheard the conversation and suggested that we share a taxi. We packed in, stopped at a supermarket to stock up on some fruits and water, as Tayrona is infamously expensive. We had a military check on the way, and almost ran down a pack of lazy big black birds having their siesta on the middle of the road, but despite this, we reached the entrance as they were about to close. We reached the drop off area in, what it seems was 5 minutes, but the next day walking back was about an hour hard trekking. We strapped our bags on a donkey and set out for a 45 minute hard walk through the jungle, struggling to get to Arrecifes beach before the last rays of the sun disappeared.

We rented two hammocks, consumed a part of our fruit supply and soaked ourselves in mosquito repellant. This of course didn't halt the 5 million little buggers to attack and slowly consume us throughout the night. It was the least restful night I've ever spent in a hammock and prayed for the sunrise as my various body parts were itching out of control.

After fruit breakfast, we proceeded down to the beach where a mule was having his last minutes of the night's sleep. Actually, on the photos, he looks like he is dead and partly decomposing. The sunrise was gorgeous and as at Arrecifes already 200 people died since it was opened, we opted for a 20 walk through different beaches and some jungle to La Piscina, where we spent a wonderfully solitary morning. Literally not a soul was around, until about half nine, when people started lingering about. Got back to Arrecifes, had some more fruit, although we had to throw some of it out, because it started to smell like fermented alcohol, and we thought before a 15 hour bus ride we probably shouldn't risk it.

So after the above mentioned 1 hour and 45 minute track we managed to get on a bus to the station and started our freezing cold journey (apparently the more the bus resembles a refrigerator the more luxurious it is). Took the metro from the station dragged all our crap here to the hostel and now here we are sort of unable to move. But we are determined travelers. There is a display of Chrismas lights on the banks of the river and great bar and restaurant areas to discover tonight. Tomorrow we are taking on a more cultural side of the city and at half 10 at night taking a 10 hour bus journey to Bogota. I am aware that this blog entry is not the most entertaining one of all, but I have actually misspelled 'shouldn't' just above. I am not at capacity to write, let alone to entertain. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it.

I´m suffering what would definitely make it into the top 15 of my worst hangovers. When in Colombia... The night´s details are fuzzy, but for sure I know we had a great time. Oh the randomer´s name turned out to be Manuel. He took us around, we ate some local food called ´flutas´in the market. Actually they are not completely local, I´m pretty sure they had something very similar in Mexico too.

I decided to put some more paragraphs in, because if I just keep ranting without at least a momentary stop it will end up looking like my last entry, which is even daunting to look at, let alone read.

It turned out that last night was the night of Candelas, the celebration of the immaculate conception. Am I supposed to capitalise this? Anyhow, wondered around with Manuel, went to the bar where he works occasionally, when his not out on sea being a lieutenant for the Colombian navy. We picked up some stuff from the bar and met Julio the crazy cab driver, who took us to the new part of town, which is basically just a bunch of skyscrapers. We agreed to meet later that night for some pre-gaming in our hostel, given that at that point we still had 4 liters of hard liqueur. Of course this has changed significantly since.

Had to pick up our passports in Media Luna, where the other 80% of our boat was staying, and of course I inquired for my money from Captain Peter. He said he needs to contact his insurance company, and I should give him a call tomorrow. I thought this was a load of bollocks and he is just trying to stall, but today actually we went to meet him and he gave back 50 bucks, which is better than nothing. So all in all, Golden Eagle, great place, just watch out for the latches.

So we beered up on Plaza de la Aduana, lit up our cigars and sneeked rum in plastic cups from the backpack. Stylish as usual. People kept coming and going from and to our table, it seems Manuel knew half of the city. When we started getting some crossed looks from the waiters, we decided to change bar, where we met the lovely Danish couple, and Sam and Andy, who were with us in Panama, but ended up very unfortunately on a different boat, the Fritz (or zie Fritz?). From here we proceeded to the previously mentioned bar, where we were able to freely booze up from our stock. Actually as the night progressed and we were still almost completely alone in the place I started to wonder from what the hell this place makes its money. And then at 3 am the hookers started pouring in. It was rather entertaining.

By accident, today, we stumbled into a lovely seafood place, which, under normal circumstances, would have been the dream restaurant. But with this dreadful hangover, I actually had three bites and had to ask it to be wrapped up to take away, because my stomach was just not having any of the fishiness.

We are staying for one more night here, we are completely enchanted with the rainbow city and its charmingly out-of-control inhabitants. So here follows the Colombian itenerary.

9th leaving for Santa Marta, about 3 hours north of Cartagena. Catching a collectivo or hopefully a boat to Parque Tayrona the biggest national park of Colombia, where we intend to just chill, enjoy the untouched beaches and forests.

10th taking an overnight 15 hour bus ride to Medellín

12th taking an overnight 10 hour bus ride to Bogotá

14th catching early morning flight to Lima

14-22nd enjoying Peruvian style debauchery with Sergio and Amabel woooooooooooo

So of course I didn´t go to sleep on my last (and actually first) night in Panama City, and I didn´t even get to take a shower because I forgot to set my clock an hour ahead. So as I was happily chatting about absolutely nothing with Will, the front desk guy at Mamallena, Camden walks in and tells me that it is indeed 4.30 and not 3.30 in the morning. So we rapidly got our shit together, alongside with the numerous liters of booze and after Cam said loving goodbye to her beau á la Panama, we headed off to our 4 hour journey to the other side of the country. I almost broke my neck as I literally passed out (at this point I haven´t slept for about 50 hours) despite the damn bumpy roads. We packed off the jeep and packed into little shaky boats that took us out on the river to the bay, where we actually managed to re-pack our stuff onto the Golden Eagle. We got our safety lecture from Peter, the Aussie captain, who was about 45-50 and marred by sea, where he apparently have spent his life since he was 8. We washed our dishes with sea water, took showers above the toilet and generally behaved like burly pirates, drinking rum and swaying around. The first two days we stopped at various islands in the Golfo San Blas. On the first there were actually people living, in what I counted were about 4 or 5 huts scattered around the island of about a square kilometer. So we had beer and Peter and his missus, Marlene went and actually caught us 3 lobsters for dinner. We went snorkeling and I found a beautiful shell, which probably equals in size and beauty to all the shells I ever collected. After contemplating if it is ethical to take it (or attempting to take it) home, my tourist side got the best of me. I did put up a lot of arguments against it, like ´it´s like taking a stone from Mayan ruins´or ´it´s like taking somebody´s future real estate´but hey. Being so caring all the time is demanding. So we had lobster dinner, Cam and I slept outside in the two hammocks on the front deck, which was absolutely marvellous, even though the wind was quite strong during the night. The morning view was priceless, the sun, the blue sea and the island from a little distance, it was a moment I want freeze in time and put it in a frame. The next day was largely similar and completely different at the same time. We played in the water, snorkeled, I can´t really remember what happened on which day, it was just a huge rush of joy, the salty taste and a multitude of colours that I can really recall. Oh, but I can definitely remember the feeling of pride when I managed to pry open my first ever coconut and its sweet and warm milk was pouring into my mouth. And mostly everywhere else, it was a bit difficult to control.

I was dreading the open sea part of the program, which was a 35 hour continous sailing, day and night. Thank god, some people on the boat were a bit more prepared so I actually borrowed some pills and drugged myself to sleep. So I was fine most of the time, I just tried to move and talk as little as possible. It was quite an anti-social time for our Golden Eagle, the sound was broken only by people throwing up over the rails and Camden complaining that she doesn´t know what to do, because her iron stomach prevented her from feeling anything and she was happy as a bird but had nobody to share it with. The funny thing that she actually got a bit dizzy, land-sick while taking a shower here in Cartagena, apparently it wasn´t swaying enough. Anyhow, we kept watch throughout the night, and Cam and I got the 6 to 8 shift. All we had to do is watch out for tankers or any sort of boat heading our way. Cam spotted this shadow far far away, and eventually my blind eyes got the message as well and we both stared at it trying to figure out where it was heading. While staring intently I glanced a bit to the right and as the front of the boat was bobbing up and down I spotted a massive tanker heading almost straight at us, much closer than our shadow that we were so vigilant about. I guess the lesson is much the same as many of these stories. We need to pay more attention. At some points dolphins swam around the boat, at some point Peter told us that we were a 100 miles away from any sort of land and the water was around 3 and a half kilometers deep. There was something very overwhelmingly mighty about the power of the sea and our complete insignificance. We all sighed with relief when the skyline of Cartagena appeared on the horizon. Cam and I, we went to play in the front of the boat, which kept tipping into the water, splashing the waves in our faces. It was great fun, as we approached the ´tombstones´of Cartagena. Had we only known that while the water was splashing it was also pouring into the part of the front desk where all our stuff was stored. Our big backpacks that we didn´t use as the ´day-pack´on the boat soaked in salt water and boiled in the tropical sun for 4 days. They smelled like a pack of wet dogs. Let alone the smell, but my external memory drive is ruined, my travel documents, my documents from UNAM, everything. I´m trying to twist the dear Captain´s balls to give me back at least 50 Euros, to cover some of the damage. I will report on the results of the twisting the next time. This episode was a total anti-climax for the trip, but at least in Casa Viena, where we are staying now they were able to wash our stuff. I was well-miffed about this incident, but as we were sipping our excellent Abuelo rum on a bench in Cartagena, we got to talking to this wonderfully crazy half-legged woman, who ended up drinking with us for a bit and telling us her life in a total confusion of Spanglish. She was from Medellin, and was raped by her father when she was 8. She has been a prostitute ever since, mothered 4 children and lost her leg in a domestic accident. Life has a way of showing that we should bow our head in shame and think of the millions worse off, when we encounter a minor bump on our road.

We ended up at a wonderful live concert of salsa, merengue and congas, where we stayed for a few beers, shook it up a bit, chatted to randomers and then headed home to wake up to a 37 degree day in Cartagena. Today we walked around the city for a bit in this unbearable heat and now we are trying to figure out the best, safest and cheapest way to get to Medellin.

Actually one of these randomers just walked in the hostel, called my name and said let´s have a coffee. And I can´t remember his name for shit.

It feels great to be reunited with Cam, event though she is actually off for the night with her hostel-boyfriend. The boat that we are taking tomorrow, the Golden Eagle (the most cheesy or grandiose name, you decide), is apparently one of the best boats that is around for this trip. I am spending tonight just chatting and playing endless domino with three Spanish guys. The jeep is picking us up in 4 hours, at 5 in the morning. Now I'm actually just simply scared to go to sleep, because I'm so exhausted I'm afraid I will never wake up. We bought about 8 liters of rum and vodka and many packs of cigarettes to hold out for 5 days. Unfortunately one of the bottles of rum already broke, but I brought a bottle of mezcal from Oaxaca and two havanas to have a fully intercultural experience, drinking Mexican liqueur smoking Cuban cigars while we are crossing Golfo San Blas.

I`m sitting at the post office at the airport in Guatemala City at the only existing computer for which they charge me an outrageous 8 quetzales/15 min rate. Anyhow, I felt that it is my duty, as I haven`t been on the radar for a while to provide an update on my ludicrous adventures. So let`s do the mundane chronological order. Yoxchilàn was about 40 minutes boat ride literally on the Mexican-Guatemalan border, one side of trees was the former, the other, the latter. Both Yoxchilan and Bonampak were lovely and interesting, but nothing extraordinary to report. I parted from my small group to head towards the ecological reserve with a small indigenous guy who picked me up. He was telling me on the way how he loves to swim in the smaller rivers, but not in the big ones because there are crocodiles. He asked me if I would like to see one of these rivers, and I said why not. As we were making our way through the jungle on a barely visible small trail, he told me that this was actually the local shaman`s territory and pointed out the ceremonial grounds and sacred trees that were marked by colourful ribbons tied around them. We got to a tiny clearing, where the river gave a small turn and formed a little bay, not bigger than maybe two bathtubs. So my new friend began telling me about this cleansing ritual that he and his people perform against all sorts of pain and fatigue. It involves getting completely naked, getting in the water, praying and rubbing clay on your body in a particular way. Of course I was completely torn between trying to decide if this was for real or it might just be the most elaborate plan on part of a man to get me out of my clothes. We got rid of my skirt, because he said red was too strong of a colour and it disrupts the ceremony. I put my foot down at the bra and underwear. Nevertheless he got butt naked. Smallest penis ever, by the way. I know I wasn`t supposed to look, but I couldn`t help to sneak a peak. Anyhow, we prayed in the local mayan language and asked permission from nature to be able to perform this ceremony, then for about 20 minutes he rubbed this clay all over me and it was incredible. Eventhough the water was quite cold after a while I stopped shivering and actually felt as if something bad was leaving from me. As we dried off the sun was already quickly sinking and on our way towards the road he stopped and held me back. The shaman was coming and we weren`t supposed to be around. We hid in the now almost completely dark jungle for what it seemed like eternity and then decided to take a detour which involved passing through the totally creepy garden of the shaman, and an abandoned shack which for all I know could have easily been a set of a horror movie. When we finally got to the car we found some of his family waiting for him to give them a ride. As he introduced me, for a moment I wondered that maybe I just taken place in some marriage ritual and I didn`t even know it. The place where I slept was simple with a few hammocks and the mosquito net around the bed. I slept like an angel, instead of bothering me or scaring me, I enjoyed the crazy concert of the insects like never before with the smooth noise of the river as the background noise.

The next morning I crossed to Guatemala and left behind this marvellous country, which held surprises for me until the very last minute. Flores was about a good 4 hours of bumpy ride away. When I tried to find a bank on the island it turned out they only exchange dollars, so I had to cross to Santa Elena, following the instructions of a lovely gentleman, who even gave me 5 quitzales for the tuc-tuc ride. I spent the afternoon having some food and beers, which rapidly turned into more beers and then a joint Israeli-Portugese-Hungarian venture to the liquor store where we managed to accumulate about three bottles of good guatemalan rum. Of course we were eventually asked to leave the hostel, and managed to find the only bar open in Flores where we danced salsa and for the sake of good measure had some tequila too. Went to bed around 1 and the next morning caught the 7 o`clock bus to Tikal. On the bus we met a guide who offered us a tour, first for a 100 then for 80 a head. As I was still hesitant, he took me aside and told me I can pay 50 as long as I don`t tell the others. He was a very good, knowledgeable and clearly interested in what he was doing and despite my sizable hangover I fully enjoyed the 4 and a half hour tour and 10 km walk-through of the biggest Mayan site of the world. The Russian-Israeli-New Yorker couple I met here were also staying in Flores, so as we got back we decided to take the boat-taxi to the other side of the lake to San Miguel, cross the little peninsula where we had the most well-deserved and satisfying swim at the deserted beach in the beautiful water. As the sun was setting we walked to the Mirador to marvel at the sight of the island of Flores, Santa Elena and the surrounding flora and fauna and of course the large and completely full moon. Despite this long day I managed to get caught up in some drinking action again with these lovely boys that I met in Los Amigos. This night I didn`t even get to sleep in my hammock, I dosed off on the bench around 5 and at 6 I got my things and headed off to the airport. On the tuc-tuc I bade a last goodbye to the beautiful Petèn Itza and swore that I will return here to relax and to definitely do the 5 day hike to El Mirador. Hopefully San Juan travel will be out of business by the time of my return.