Guatemala Motorcycle Adventure Travelogue Part 3

Be sure to start at the home page regarding our Guatemala motorcycle adventure.

Hotels where we stayed.

Here is our route.

Here's part 1 of my travelogue

Here's part 2 of my travelogue

Guatemala Travelogue part 3

On the road from Lanquin to Salama, Guatemala, we were getting a bit wet - it was raining a little and also the mountain mists were very thick that day.

We pulled into a delightful roadside cafe, El Benicion. I LOVED this place. We had a snack, Stefan had hot chocolate and I had coffee. It was a father and son, I think, staffing the place, and the son was practicing piano keyboarding on the counter along with the music playing. It was just so cozy and sweet. And the bathrooms have a wonderful view of the rushing creek in the back (clean, flush toilets - just like everywhere we went in Guatemala). I so wish I could tell you exactly where it is! I found a place called this online, and the photos are definitely the same place, but the pin on the map is NOT correct, and there's no other info available. It's a simple little restaurant that was on the left side of 5/CA-14. It was outside of whatever the nearest town was. It was 5 and CA-14 separate and 5 turns off the pavement and becomes a dirt road. I don't remember if it was before Pasmolón or after it.

Stefan went out for a smoke while I did some social media updating as I sat in the cozy restaurant, and I looked out and he was talking to someone who was obviously North American. I walked out and it was a guy who was touring on a rented KTM - he saw Stefan out smoking as he was riding by, saw our bikes parked and though, hmmm, I think they are fellow travelers, so he turned around and came back to talk. His name is Merlin and he was going to do a quick tour of the area that day and then start heading back to Antigua, where he had rented his bike and had to return it the next day.

I love talking to other motorcycle travelers on a trip, and it's so rare we get to do it, because it's so rare we stop in the same place. And in Guatemala, I hadn't seen anyone that I was absolutely sure was touring, like us. Not once! 

We continued on the road, headed for Salamá. Stefan's GPS said that to take the 5 to Salama, we needed to make a turn. But it was having us turn off pavement and onto dirt and head up into the hills. Feeling adventurous, and with the rain and mist gone, and since it was about 16 kilometers and we had lots of daylight left, off we went! The road was uphill but never bad in those first three miles except for one gnarly sharp left turn. We stopped to have a look at the view and Stefan had a look at the road on Google Maps. And we both reluctantly, sadly, agreed that, because we just weren't sure if the road wouldn't get WAY worse, because he saw some pretty crazy switchbacks on the map, and because of the lack of traffic (which means it wasn't as main a road as we thought), we would turn around. I felt defeated. It didn't help that, right at that moment, just as we had turned around, here came Merlin. He had gone down the wrong fork at one point and had figured out he wasn't going in the right direction, had backtracked and was meeting us on his way down. And smoke was pouring out of his KTM! Yet he wasn't worried about that at all. We talked for a bit and then he headed down while we went up, back the way we came. I balked coming to the fork where Merlin had gone the wrong way - it's a lot easier going down than up! But then I remembered I was on a 250, not a much heavier 650, and I went up zip zip zip up no prob.

We came back to tarmac and headed the long way round on CA-14, through Purulha, where we stopped for gas and so I could sulk. It wasn't that I hadn't been nervous on that road - I had been. But I also really wanted to be all Itchy Boots and do a dirt road!

We pushed on and just before we turned off onto the 17 for Salamá, who do we see coming up the road? Merlin! So we knew he'd made it to Salamá, despite his smoking KTM. But then I sulked more... he did it... I didn't... and of course it got even worse when, later, he and Stefan texted and he said the road didn't get any harder than what we had experienced, which meant I totally could have done it. Sigh.

We pulled into Salamá, which was bigger than I was expecting. As always, it took a while, but we found our hotel that we had already booked, Hotel Verapaz. I think we were the only guests that evening. We parked our bikes outside of reception and checked in. It was too cool to swim, which was a shame, because the small pool did look fine. Our rooms were run down but clean. It's not the greatest hotel we have ever stayed in, by far, but there are very few options in Salamá. They had secure parking and it was in what I supposed would be a quiet part of town at night (it was).

We unloaded our stuff, changed out of our bike pants and headed downtown to see a bit and have supper. We almost immediately got a scare: a group of young men on motorcycles passed us, some looked right at us, and they stopped on the next block, which we were heading towards. They pulled over and looked like they were waiting for us. We had already intended to turn immediately left, to walk to downtown, so we did, at a quicker pace. And that feeling of uncertainty never left us the entire time we were in Salama: we saw a few of these groups of young men on motorcycles, as well as a first for this trip: a group of well armed military men in the back of a truck, circling the main square, something we had seen a lot in Flores and on our way to and from the Belize border in Guatemala last year. We were obvious tourists in every town we were in Guatemala, but Salamá, it felt like we had targets on our back. Lonely Planet Guatemala describes Salamá as "an unspoilt little hill town with an ornate church and a sleepy air." Did we go to a different Salamá?! We were not impressed and, most of the time outside our hotel, uncomfortable. We found out later that there are Roman-inspired aqueducts nearby, but we never saw them. I also noticed that we were seeing far, far less Mayan people here than we had on this trip so far.

The church is pretty - and looks just like the churches in every main square of every town we'd been in for the last five days.

We ate at a mediocre chain pizza place near the town square and quickly walked back to the hotel, wanting to get back before it was pitch black.

There was a highlight here: finding, right around the corner from our hotel, the local office of Habitat for Humanity! Hábitat para la Humanidad. Oficina Baja Verapaz. It was closed, as it was Sunday. I vowed to revisit after breakfast the next day and give them the Women's Build t-shirt I had brought and intended to wear at the end of our trip.

We bought beer at a tienda and went back to the hotel. We sat out on a little table and chairs next to the parking lot and started looking for the next night's hotel. It wasn't easy - again, TripAdvisor and Booking.com had nothing for the area where we were going. That meant we had to zoom in using Google Maps and see what hotels appeared and make a judgement just based on photos that might be posted, then contact them by WhatsApp to ask for prices and a reservation. We picked a place and I wrote, and then an hour later, I wrote again, but they weren't responding. I asked the very reserved young man working the desk overnight to call for us. He did - and there was no answer. We decided the hotel must be closed. Stefan did a lot more searching and found a place. The reception guy called for us (so sweet of him - I know it was outside his comfort zone), he asked if they had a room, what the rates were, if they had private, protected parking, and on and on. We were SO grateful. The place didn't need a credit card or anything, just our names and about when we would be arriving.

As we sat there under a tree next to the hotel parking lot, I looked around and decided the Hotel Verapaz in Salamá might have been nicer once upon a time. I wondered if there had been a change in ownership. I wondered if the COVID lockdowns had stopped the improvements next to the pool and they'd never been resumed. And I wondered what sport was played in the sports field right next to the hotel parking lot. It was a nice night. I love just sitting outside and drinking Gallo and listening to the sounds of the city. We really don't need anything fancy - just somewhere clean, safe, comfortable, and quiet enough where we can sleep. 

Stefan walked out for more beer and encountered his first and only transgendered Guatemalan... not much to say except there she was, at the tienda, drunk and trying to talk to him in very bad English. We finished most of the beer, enjoyed the night, and at last, it was time for bed. I was feeling a little wonky again, which would mean more bathroom visits in the night. Our room was pitch black, so we had our headlamps next to the bed. The first time I got up, I put on my headlamp and as the light hit the floor, I watched two giant cockroaches run across the floor. I froze. And then a very sensible voice came into my head and said, What in the hell did you expect in a JUNGLE country, girl? The reality is that I was in Guatemala and that this didn't happen earlier, given the flora, is extraordinary. I got over it. But I did turn the light on in the bathroom and waited to see what might dance across the floor. Stefan told me that he did encounter a very large cockroach in the bathroom and "took care of it." I don't want to know more. But, again, we're in Guatemala, and I bet even the nicest hotels have this issue.

On the upside: there was no wolf spider in the room. I did a check of EVERY hotel room, looking all over the ceiling and in every corner and in the shower and behind the toilet. I cannot emphasize enough how much I did NOT want to see a wolf spider.

We woke up the next day and I was oh so excited because I actually knew where we would be having breakfast: Irene's. It was a few doors down from Habitat, just around the corner. They had a sign out that said they served breakfast and lunch, and oh how I was counting on that breakfast. I did not want to wander around the city getting more and more hangry. Irene's did NOT disappoint! It was fantastic. It's very cute and, just like everywhere, the staff was wonderful. Guess what I had! Yes, pancakes! I left them a glowing review on TripAdvisor and they wrote such a sweet reply.

We wanted to get off early because we were going to Pachalum, and if the hotel we had reserved would let us dump our stuff there when we arrived, we were going to squeeze in a visit to nearby Mayan ruins.

We decided to try the RN-5 again, this time from Salamá to Rabinal, and then some road I'm not sure even has a number, to Panchalum. I admit to being nervous because of the uneasy feeling we had had in Salamá regarding safety. I had never worried about bandits on the road at any point on this trip - the one road where I knew there was a warning about such, at Lake Atitlan, we didn't go. But now, I was worried.

As we headed out of town, a rider coming at us made the "slow down" sign. I wondered what it could be. It was... COWS! A lot of cows. It was not our first navigation through cows on a road, and I doubt it will be our last (remember, we DO live in Oregon). The road started to go uphill, and then REALLY go uphill. It was the usual steep inclines and sharp turns, but we weren't in jungle anymore - this was like high desert. There were pine trees. The land was dry. We stopped at the top of the pass because there was a rare mirador - a vista point. There was a big sign welcoming us to the area of Rabinal, still with its Christmas graphics wrapper on the letters, and a nice view of Rabinel far below. Still no bandits, and the young guys who were also at that mirador were too busy on their phones to pay us any mind. I decided I could relax.

We continued on the road, la la la, and then... the road wasn't paved anymore. And we were going uphill, sometimes sharply uphill, on dirt and trip-ending, sharp embedded rocks. But we were also passing beautiful homes and there was a fair amount of motorcycle traffic going up and down, so we went right on - I figured it couldn't be impossible for me if there were that many people on it. It wasn't a lot of traffic, but enough that I knew this was a main road and, by Goddess, I'm going to do it! Spoiler alert: I did it! And most of my inspiration came from seeing all these Guatemalan women all around riding the same road on 150s like it was no thing at all, often with groceries and children. By the time we reached pavement again, I was both grateful and feeling about as bad ass as I ever have. Which didn't last long because then there was dirt and gravel again. And then pavement. And then dirt and gravel again. Rinse, repeat. There was even a chicken bus coming towards us on the crazy steep dirt and rocks at one point!

On part with pavement, we came to a Texaco station in El Chol. It was the nicest gas station shop I have EVER been in - there are lobbies of hotels I have had stayed in that aren't this nice. I sat inside, enjoying the air conditioning, drinking a soda and eating Pringles potato chips and reflecting on my life choices. The only annoying thing: the music. Almost every gas station we went to in Guatemala had BLARING music. SO LOUD. Stefan couldn't hear me even via our helmet coms.

I can't believe I haven't really talked about the gas stations in Guatemala until now. Everywhere we'd been so far, they had been PLENTIFUL. We could be in remote jungle, wondering if anyone lived in the area, and come around a corner and there's a brand new Texaco station. Or Shell station. Or Don Arturo station. With staff so happy to help, a decent convenience store and clean bathrooms.  

We were in yet another super hilly area, and I knew Panchalum would be tricky and it would very likely not be an easy turn into our hotel, no matter where it was. I was right, Panchalum is on a hill, and the town itself is hilly, but we got lucky and had almost a straight shot right into the hotel garage at street level under the hotel. I went up and the owner was preparing a meal in the kitchen - lovely lady, SO accommodating. The answer to everything was "yes!" and "of course!" Our room was already ready, so we dumped all of our stuff. The desire to change out of our motorcycle pants and into our light weight hiking pants was oh so strong. OH so strong. It was a scorcher out there. But we didn't. Our fear of an accident was too strong. I suggested we take a change of clothes, but we decided against that too - great to change, but horrible to change back. And we knew we couldn't really be there that long anyway.

I want to note that Tamarindo's Hotel and Restaurant in Pachalum was one of my favorite places that we stayed in all of Guatemala. The photos don't do it justice: it's a picturesque little site with adorable little rooms and a decent restaurant and a super friendly helpful staff (I know, I know, I keep saying that about people in Guatemala, but that's how they are!). Good plumbing, good shower, comfy beds. And the surrounding village is very nice and worth walking around, with all new streets and sidewalks (but the sidewalks are still those super steep, narrow sidewalks). I wouldn't have minded staying here two nights if it had been a bit cooler, and then spent a long day at Mixco Viejo (Jilotepeque Viejo), the Mayan ruins nearby, instead of a hot and somewhat quick afternoon. 

Going out of town to see the Mayan ruins of Mixco Viejo, San Martin Jilotepeque, we went through the two sharpest, steepest hairpin turns that I have ever been in in my life. I NEVER could have done them on my KLR - I'm just not a nimble enough rider on a 650, not like I was on the 250. But even then, holy moly, how was I going to do those crazy turns? Getting down was going to be bad enough - how would I EVER get back up?!? I decided I would worry about that later - like, right as I was about to ride them. 

We didn't see the ruins above us as we took the twisty road to the site that day, but if you go and are coming from Pachalum, look out for them - I saw them the second day, since we rode that way to our next destination. The Mixco Viejo (Jilotepeque Viejo) ruins are spectacular and SO under-rated! This late Mayan site, once the capital of the Chajoma Kaqchikel kingdom, is not even in Lonely Planet Guatemala. It's incredible, high above the beautiful surrounding landscape. The views from the site are spectacular but so are the ruins - the site has the remains of over 120 major structures, including temples, palaces, and ball courts. There is SO much to see! The structures are very different than other Mayan sites, so much so that you may wonder if the site has been restored correctly - but everything I've seen says it has been. The peak population in the early 16th century may have been around 10,000 people. The city had a secret entrance - a cave leading up from a nearby river - but I don't know if we could have visited it. It was almost spotlessly clean when we were there - very little trash at all. Don't miss the stone map of the site - it's across from where you pay inside the park.

It was so, so hot when we were there, we didn't get to see nearly as much as we wanted to - we just couldn't walk far, on those steep hills, in motorcycle pants. Get to the site right at the opening time, during the coolest time of the day. Take water, wear a hat, and wear comfy shoes and maybe some extra food and water for the very poorly-treated starving dogs that might be there. Don't go on a weekend - like many places, its treated by locals as a park, not a historic site, and screaming kids and loud music can really kill the mood if you want to tour the site from a more reflective point of view (we weren't there on a weekend so we didn't have any of that). The site was remarkably trash-free.  

We reluctantly left the site earlier than we wanted, completely spent from the intense heat of our short visit. It would have been great to have that pool from the night before that we didn't use... we got back to the hotel, peeled off our disgusting biker clothes, and took MUCH needed showers. We went out for a little walk in the town - all the beautiful veggies in the markets made me want to COOK!

Back at the hotel, we decided to have an early supper and headed to the restaurant which down the hall on our floor. There were some locals there too. We ate our simple suppers, played on social media ("Look where we were today!!") and wondered what to do next for the rest of the trip.

As I noted earlier, back before we came to Guatemala, I had said i didn't think two nights and one full day in Antigua would be enough for me, and that we should probably stay our last two nights there, but after our first two days in Antigua, I had changed my mind: one last night in Antigua would be enough. As long as, the day before we left Guatemala, we had plenty of time to return the motorcycles and do a little handy craft shopping, I would be fine with just one night. But that left us with a gap - what would we do for the next two days, starting tomorrow? Stefan came up with a plan: let's take our longest ride yet and go all the way to the Pacific Coast. It would mean doing our best to bypass Guatemala City, it would be a long ride, almost 200 kilometers, and it would be hot, and there might be some traffic jams, but it was possible. I was in! So we booked a hotel in Monterrico, found out how early we could get breakfast the next day, and our plan was set.

I realized in the morning that the window of our room to the outside was RIGHT on the street, at street level, and it could have meant a very noisy night. But the city - the people, the traffic - really quieted down after dark. There was a lot of dog barking in the early morning - that made it hard to stay asleep once the sun rose. But it had been a lovely night.

Breakfast was good, and the other owner of the hotel, the man, talked with us a bit, in a mixture of Spanish and English. He'd lived in New Jersey for a while, and his English was still quite good. It was nice to have an extended conversation with a local.

We headed out of town back down that ABSOLUTELY INSANE SERIES OF SWITCHBACKS, and onward, eventually South, towards Guatemala City and then the Pacific Coast.

I don't know what city this was, but traffic was unbelievable. And this wasn't the first time this happened to us. You never know when a street in a town might be closed down for a market or event. Sometimes, there are street police there to guide you on detours, sometimes there are signs, and sometimes, you just have to follow the truck in front of you and hope he knows what he is doing. I just could not believe chicken buses navigated these narrow roads and crowds, but they did! 

I was noticing less and less Mayans on the streets of the towns we went through. I knew Guatemala was segregated and that people who considered themselves Spanish dominated leadership positions and public-facing jobs in big cities, while in those same cities, Mayans who had immigrated from the countryside were the maids, cooks and cleaners. I know the Mayans have sufferred horribly under a series of murderous regimes, some funded by my country. I vowed that, when I got back to the USA, I would find an NGO to support that helped Mayan people in Guatemala. I think I found it.

Navigating around Guatemala City was relatively easy, and we took the same road to Antigua we'd taken on our first day (but is there more than one?). But somehow, we ended up going right through Antigua instead of bypassing it as we intended, even driving right by the place where we rented motorcycles! There are trackers on our motorcycles and the owner of the bikes can check in to see where we are and all we could think was that he saw that and thought, "What the hell?"

We finally got out of Antigua and on the right track, heading down through the biggish city of Escuintla on the 14. In the distance, we could see what I learned later was El Cerro Mirandilla, also known as Tres Picachos, a series of rock formations that reminded me of scenes in the movie Picnic at Hanging Rock, and later I learned that these formations in Guatemala are considered mystical, and that a supernatural being in the form of an animal surrounds the hill to protect it. It would have been a scene worth taking a photo of, but the smog was bad that day (it was bad most days in this area).

And then on the oh so very straight and boring CA-9 to the coast. I have done enough of these straight-boring-highway-just-get-to-where-we-want roads that I know where to go to in my head mentally so that I don't get overly annoyed, but what a crap ride. After experiencing the amazing beauty of the Guatemalan mountains and jungles, and the fun, twisty, challenging roads, this was such a CRAP RIDE. And there weren't tiendas every few kilometers anymore - in fact, when we were desperate for a break, there was nothing but Restaurante y Turicentro El Ranchón, which looked like a nice oasis on an endless highway, and it did have the best agua fresca ever, but the nachos were horrible and even I can do better! But I was grateful for the rest.

We were passing long lines of trucks parked on the side of the road, like what you encounter when you come to a border in Central America. But we weren't approaching a border, so what was up? We figured it out later - yes, we WERE approaching a border: the Port of San Jose and Puerto Quetzal. Port cities, where all the traffic comes from other countries, is a border.

We pushed on - it felt fun and funny to pass big trucks on my little 250 - but then we started getting to the place on our speedometer where we need to start looking for a gas station and there were NO gas stations. It threw us for a loop because, again, back in the amazing beauty of the Guatemalan mountains and jungles and remote villages, there was ALWAYS a beautiful, clean, friendly gas station, some popping up in places that seemed impossible for them to exist. Not here. I finally saw a gas station on the opposite side of the highway, and we got over onto the left shoulder and rode through an unofficial sandy, rocky pathway through the land separating the lanes of highway going in the opposite directions, then backtracked to the station. Stefan checked his phone and GPS and announced that, somehow, we'd missed the turnoff for the road that would take us to the coast and bypass the port cities. So now we were on the correct side of the road to go back and find that missed turn.

We headed back and came to a pedestrian sky walk that I'd commented on before, the first time we rode under it, because it was freaking in the middle of NO WHERE. We turned right, onto a wide dirt rode. Stefan kind of balked this time - hey, that's my job! But I said I was absolutely up for the road. 13 kilometers, flat terrain all around - it's another adventure! Let's do it! Well, it all turned out okay in the end, but that road was NOT easy. First off, there was not much traffic at all - maybe two motorcycles and a couple of trucks - and I suddenly wondered if people were going to jump out of the sugar cane or whatever being grown, with machetes, and rob us (they didn't). There were a lot of turnoffs and I wasn't sure we were on the road we were supposed to be on. There were NO houses, no structures of any kind. And it felt like we were trespassing on someone's farmland.

And then the sand showed up. And neither Stefan or I have any experience riding on sand. Many curse words were expressed, which could be shared freely with each other per our helmet communication system. At one point, we were riding along a river/farmland sewage lagoon and I was afraid we were on the wrong side of the river/farmland sewage lagoon and there would be no way to get back over. Turns out we were, indeed, on the wrong side, but a small bridge showed up, with the gate open, and over we went. Then I saw, in the far distance, something green - a big green garage door maybe? I knew we were approaching a town. The mounds of garbage on the outskirts confirmed it. And then we were on pavement, passing a police officer standing by his truck, playing on his phone, who looked up and smiled and then back down at his phone - I guess he was supposed to be monitoring people coming in on that road.

We were in Iztapa, just a few meters from the coast. We stopped at a tienda to hydrate and talk about what was next. It was SO much hotter than anything we'd experienced in the country so far.

We needed to go left - east - to get to Monterrico. The map showed a coastal road, and I thought it would be an easy straight shot and a quick 27 kilometers. But it wasn't at all: there were a lot of confusing turns onto one-way streets, some of which took us in the wrong direction, there was a lot of traffic, so we couldn't go fast, and it was HOT. Time goes slower when it's hot. We both were overheating. We stopped at two tiendas on what should have been an easy, quick ride, for sodas and ice cream - anything to cool off. I knew the day would be the longest ride, and I thought I had mentally prepared for it, and even when we turned earlier onto the dirt road to Iztapa, even when it had turned to sand, I was still thinking, hey, it's an ADVENTURE! But now, I was done. I just wanted to cry. I was overheated and needed to pee and these 27 kilometers seemed to be taking FOREVER.

After much confusion and me being even more snappy than usual, we turned onto the road for Monterrico which, of course, became sand before our hotel. I barely made the sharp right turn into the covered parking area - I almost, at last, dropped the bike - but somehow, I stayed up and managed to park.

I was overheating. I couldn't have gone a quarter mile more, I swear. I was in such a foul mood. We unloaded the bikes and walked onto the main grounds of Hotel Pez de Oro (Hotel Goldfish), a little pool surrounded by bungalows, with the sea roaring not too far away, and almost immediately, my foul mood melted away. I knew immediately it was a GEM of a hotel. A woman came out of the restaurant bungalow and showed us immediately to our room, on the second floor of a building, with a wee bit of beach view. I didn't care about not having a grand view of the beach - our room was adorable, the place was adorable, and it looked like there weren't many guests. Our room was very clean and I loved it, even if there was no air conditioning and the roof was made of leaves and I was afraid that, at long last, I was going to see a wolf spider. It felt SO exotic. Stefan's sudden decision to go to the coast was SO right on! And this place is very affordable - if you don't think so, check out the prices of other hotels in Monterrico. No air conditioning though and, strangely, it's hotter at night than in the daytime. We had mosquito netting on our bed but never used it. Excellent plumbing in the bathroom!

When we're somewhere scenic and warm, it's time to whip out my UNICEF dress! But first I put on my bathing suit underneath. We swam in the little pool first, wishing the water was far colder. We could hear the ocean nearby - oh how it ROARED. Eventually we headed there. Hotel Pez de Oro really is RIGHT on the beach, and the beach, made of dark gray sand, is beautiful. But the waves were INTENSE - I never got into the ocean passed my knees, and it's quite an undertow when the waves go out. Apparently this is a great place for surfing, and I get it.

We swam in the little pool again and figured out the hotel wasn't at all full. I'm not sure it was even half full. We went for supper in the hotel restaurant, watching the beautiful sunset. And I had the best meal I had on the entire trip, an absolutely outstanding meal of fresh shrimp, lemon-infused rice and grilled veggies. Simple, delicious. We drank them out of cold Gallo beer though. And I eavesdropped on an older woman, older than me, who, in her day, must have been very beautiful, and I think still thought of herself as incredibly alluring - she was talking to another guest, a guy 30 years younger, and trying to sound like a teenager. I had a million questions that will go unanswered. I just kept drinking my beer, listening and thinking. Like some other places, this place has Internet only in the restaurant, but as I said before, I really like that, especially since I don't allow cell phone or computer use in our bedroom at home.

I should note that, often, how much I like a hotel can come down to the behavior of the other guests and how loud the music is in the hotel restaurant, or how much bass is in the music. I have had kind things to say about everywhere we have stayed, and a couple of these places are in guidebooks, meaning they can be full of young people ready to party. We lucked out and never had that experience on this trip. We take earplugs, but they do nothing to stop me from feeling bass in music. I feel the vibration in my soul and I hate it when I'm trying to watch TV or sleep.

Stefan mentioned a few times that he was open to staying at an auto hotel, but I flatly refused. I will never, ever stay in one of those again if I can at all help it. Once (in Ensenada, on the first, horrible night of our Baja trip in 2020), was enough. 

The next day, I spent some time on our front porch, looking out at the pelicans surrounding some early-mornng fisherman. I also marveled at the clothes washing station below our room. I'd watched a woman washing clothes other, scrubbing them in soapy water against the ribbed cement of the basin. I thought about my great grandmothers and their mothers washing clothes that way. Very hard work.

We went for a morning swim in the pool and then had a delicious breakfast and one last view of the ocean. It was a brief but totally worthwhile visit. The staff had been just as friendly as everywhere else, but Stefan was ticked off that they tried to charge for something twice - I think it was just a mistake, and they did work it out. I was really proud of Stefan, who did so much communicating on his own, and who understands way more Spanish than I give him credit for.

We loaded up the bikes and took some last photos with them - here's Stefan and here's sassy me.

I loved that damn Yamaha so much...

I was dreading riding back out on that sand to get to the road, and had resigned myself to falling. And then didn't fall. Hurrah! We got out of town easily, this time NOT taking the sandy shortcut through the farm fields, but instead, going into the port city and getting on the highway at the start / end. We were back on oh-so-straight and boring CA-9, this time coming from the coast. The road heading this way was not in as good a shape as the road going South, and Stefan thinks its because the trucks going this way are loaded down with imports. We once again observed just how little there is on this road in terms of tiendas, restaurants and gas stations until Escuintla. We saw thick, weather-altering smoke from a massive fire to our right as we headed north, and though we needed a stop, we didn't, because we didn't want to breath any more of that horrible smoke than we were already.

We stopped for ice cream and convenience store air conditioning just as Escuintla started, then we headed North, on 14. And traffic slowed. And then it stopped. While we were waiting in the long line, the opposing traffic slowly inched by, and I got to wave at some motorcycle travelers obviously headed to Ushuaia, the Southern tip of South America - they were on larger bikes than us and fully loaded down. But as we just stood there, I realized we were going to have to do what all the other motorcyclists were doing: we were going to have to lane split and ride on the shoulder. Otherwise, we would stand there, baking in the sun for hours.

I've never done this before. And I don't like it. We usually waited for other bikers to start, and then we would follow - I wanted them to show me when to get back over into the line because of an obstacle on the shoulder or a big hole in the shoulder. That worked for a while. But at some point, yup, I was the lead biker, breaking the law. It was thrilling and terrifying. Most drivers are fine with bikers doing this in Guatemala, but a few started inching over to stop us. I have no idea why. There were a number of things that were slowing or stopping traffic: a place where only one side of the road could go at once, lots of overloaded trucks slowly hauling cement blocks (cement is a BIG industry in Guatemala), a truck that had overheated and was blocking the road, and just the sheer crazy volume of traffic. I was thrilled when we finally were in Antigua at last.

We found our hotel and it turned out they had private parking in the back. We unloaded the bikes and changed out of our biker gear and hung up our still wet bathing suits and clothes, hoping they would dry before morning (I think they would have mold on them if we had to take them all the way back to Oregon that way). Then we road in street clothes (NOT ATGATT) and our helmets to the motorcycle rental place to return the bikes. It always feels so naughty to ride in street clothes! It is naughty...

The sexist owner was on vacation, so we dealt with his far more amiable associate, a former photojournalist who had TOTALLY heard of Western University Kentucky's photojournalism program (it's so nice to meet someone who is impressed with my alma mater). Before we pulled the bikes into the garage, we asked for him to take some photos, and we got this one, which I love oh-so-much.

Another group, all men (of course) was also returning bikes, and now the garage was absolutely packed with motorcycles - it was hard to move. I retrieved my suitcase from the office and after MUCH waiting, a tuk tuk came and took us back to our hotel.

The motorcycle riding part of the adventure was over.

We went back to the hotel and then went out for one last walk through town. We walked to Old Town Outfitters to return the walking stick. I couldn't take it on the plane, and I wasn't after a refund - I just wanted them to have it to sell to someone else in need. And they were SO GRATEFUL for it! 

But while walking around Antigua this one last time, I noticed something disturbing. It was a gut punch: all the dogs were gone. All. Of. Them. I said something to Stefan and, at first, I don't think he believed me. But they were all gone. There had been a purge. I guess they do it early in the morning, when there are no tourists on the street. Don't go looking for information about it online unless you are a very strong person emotionally.

Please, please go to the first page of this travelogue and consider making a donation to any, even all, of the nonprofits trying to spay and neuter dogs in Guatemala and promote responsible pet ownership. Please?

We had gotten a really good last minute deal via Booking for Casa Mia in Antigua, a picturesque, boutique hotel. It had absolutely the most comfortable bed in all of our trip. It also had a nice place to sit out back, drink beer and look at the stars, which we did after walking around downtown a bit that night and having dinner. There is a bar on their small patio too, but it was closed when we were there, which was fine - just go to a tienda for your beer.

Our trip was ending. It was our last night. I didn't want it to end - but I was very, very anxious to get back to Lucy the dog and make sure she was fine (the dog sitter had sent me texts assuring me she was, but... I was still worried).

I try not to dwell on what we miss on a trip. I would have loved to see Fuentes Georginas, the thermal hot springs near Xela. We would have really loved to have gone over the boarder into Honduras to see the Copan Mayan ruins. I still wished we could have had one day to visit the museum in Guatemala City where the things taken from Mayan sites are on display. And there were other Mayan ruins we missed, of course, But we just did not have time for everything - we never do, And it's kind of nice to always have a reason to go back somewhere. 

I wanted to stay up late on that last night, I really did. It was such a fine night, the moon was beautiful, and we had the patio to ourselves. I wanted to savor that last night as long as possible. But I was exhausted.

I talked to the front desk guy about booking a car to the airport. He told me we would have to go three hours earlier than I wanted to, because of traffic. I was so confused - I didn't recall traffic being bad when we came from Guatemala City to Antigua either time. I didn't recall seeing a traffic jam coming into the city as we were leaving it. But I later realized we had never seen it in the morning. And if we had, we would have gone FOUR HOURS EARLIER.

We were ready for the car oh-so-early the next day. We took cookies and water as breakfast - would we eat it in the car or at the airport. I still couldn't believe we were going to be in the car for three hours, but just to be safe, I didn't have any coffee and didn't hydrate like usual - because if traffic really was going to be bad, there would be no where to pee. For the first 45 minutes of the drive, it was slow, but we kept moving. But then it got slower. And slower. And we stopped. Dead stop. It was horrendous. I have never been in that bad of a traffic jam in my life. And the crazy thing was, once we finally got to the turnoff for the airport, there was NO ONE ON THE ROAD AT ALL. We had made it to the airport exactly two hours before our flight, as I had wanted. But the check in line was so, SO slow - there were many, many passengers with problems - and by the time we got checked in and had gone through security and immigration and visited the rest rooms, our flight started to board. And, again, in case you missed it the first time: we can't check in online for international flights because of Stefan's green card: he always has to check in at the counter.

Last photo in Guatemala.

Shout out to Guatemala immigration - the staff member who checked us out of the country was SO STOKED we'd toured his country by motorcycle (the helmets are always a giveaway).

But the adventure wasn't over: we sat in the plane at the gate or on the runway for an hour. And we had a one-hour layover in Los Angeles. We would NEVER make it. Stefan asked an attendant if everyone that was on the flight to Portland could get off the plane first, and she said no, that the airline "doesn't do that anymore" - and then, just before we landed, the head steward came on and asked that everyone remain seated except the people who were going to Portland or San Francisco, because of our tight connection. Somehow, the plane had made up time in the air and we now had 45 minutes to get through customs and security and run who knows how far to get to our flight. Everyone on the plane was accommodating except for two very obnoxious guys from China who I know weren't on either flight and dawdled in the aisle as we were trying to get off - I finally yelled, "Come on, move, we've got a connection!" and one of them mocked me by repeating what I said in a high pitched voice. That I didn't deck him with my helmet is astounding.

We finally got off that plane and we ran. Stefan had to grab my rolling bag because I was having trouble running and dragging it. Ya'll, I am OLD. I do not run anymore. I am so afraid of falling. I was glad I was in my hiking boots - they were gripping the floor very well and we were running as fast as I could go, which is NOT very fast. Finding out we had to go through security AGAIN had me on the verge of tears. Thank goodness this time Stefan had taken out all of the padding from our pants and there was no line at security and security staff didn't pull a power play - they seemed genuinely sympathetic to us trying to make our flight.

We were among the last three people to get on the flight to Portland. One other person eventually made it, and then the doors closed. I'm so sorry for those who didn't make it, because I'm pretty sure they had to stay overnight in Los Angeles.

I had watched Marc Maron's latest comedy special on the Alaska Airlines app on the first plane ride and it is OUTSTANDING. On this flight, I finished watching Trainwreck, which I enjoyed, and just kept internally celebrating internally we'd made our flight.

But the adventure STILL wasn't over: we arrived in Portland, and saw that the Max train was not running. I was so angry. I had checked the web site the night before to make sure it was running. I had looked at the Trimet red line web page and some other page, I forget which. NO warnings. And I had googled max train not running from Portland airport and the links that came up were all from October. But here we were: the Max train had stopped running while we were in Guatemala and wouldn't run again until some time in March, I learned later. There was a free bus, but instead of going straight to where train service resumed, it stopped at EVERY train stop. That means the bus had to meander all through various streets for several minutes in between train stops. And after almost an hour, when we FINALLY made it to a stop with a train sitting there, there was no info on what was happening - was this train running? Where was it going? There were a group of TriMet people in a group far from the bus stop, on the other side of the tracks, talking and laughing. I had to yell, "Hello, TriMet people? Hello, someone? Hello? Hello?" An annoyed woman broke from the group and meandered over. I asked my questions, and she sniffed, "Yes, of course this train is running. It's going to Hillsboro." And I said, "And where does it say that ANYWHERE!" She walked away.

We rode as far as Pioneer Courthouse Square and I was DONE. This was ridiculous. It would be 90 more minutes on the train and then a bus, and then walking three blocks dragging my suitcase, before we were home. After much sniping back and forth, we got a Lyft with a delightful driver all the way to Forest Grove - $65, but it was worth it.

Lucy was both thrilled and really mad.

I was so, so happy to be home.

It took extra long to finish this travelogue because I was home for only seven days and then went to Washington DC for work. Sorry for the delay... if anyone cares...

Here are all of my photos from this adventure.

Also see photos from coyotetrips.


Back to my January 2024 Guatemala Motorcycle Adventure main page.