Michael Shapiro is the author of 'A Sense of Place: Great Travel Writers Talk About Their Craft, Lives and Inspiration' He can be reached throughwww.michaelshapiro.com. Shapiro is a contributor to National Geographic Traveler, Islands magazine and the Washington Post travel section.
When I first arrived in Guatemala several years ago, I was unaware of the fledgling whitewater scene. After studying Spanish for a month in Antigua (a colonial town about 40 kilometers west of Guatemala City), I met a couple of guys wearing tank tops and Tevas on a bus ride to the capital. Assuming they were whitewater guides, I struck up a conversation, asking if they were on their way to Costa Rica. They were, and had just finished working for a Guatemalan company, Maya Expeditions.
Through Maya Expeditions, I first experienced Guatemalan whitewater on the Rio Cahabon. Located in northeastern Guatemala, the river drains the lush Alta Verapaz ("heights of true peace"), a region choked with 20-foot ferns, lurking iguanas, and the last few pairs of the disappearing quetzal, a robin-sized, iridescent green bird with tail feathers up to three feet long
While the Cahabon offers some exhilarating Class III and IV (intermediate to challenging) rapids, it's much more than an adventure - it's a pathway into Guatemala's jungle. Along the way one can enjoy natural hot springs, seemingly unending caves and the sublime sensation of sampling the symphonic sounds of the night. Boating in Guatemala offers rare opportunities to meet indigenous people where they live, to share a meal with them or to forge a silent bond while assembling a tent. As veteran Maya Expeditions guide Ken Johnson says, "Rivers are just a way to get somewhere, to get to a really remote area."
In 1994, just before Easter, I returned for another visit while on assignment for Paddler magazine. As we drove inland and reached the jungle, I was struck by the thick sound of thousands of insects screaming in the underbrush. Over a deeply rutted dirt road, Ken and I drove into camp, meeting the other guides to prepare dinner for the guests. After two flats disabled their bus, the 22 guests walked and then hitched a ride on a truck to reach camp.
 | | Our camp, with boats launched |
The group, mostly well-to-do Guatemalans plus a few Germans and North Americans, took the bus breakdown in stride. "We're used to it," said Guatemalan Alejandro Font, a 26-year-old sound and video engineer. "I like getting in trouble and finding a way out." Another guest noted that Guatemala is not ruled by the clock. Her aunt, she said, once ordered a pizza that arrived the following day.
Our late March trip was near the end of the dry season and the water was low. Instead of the typical put-in point, we had to drive another few kilometers downriver. Before the drive, our first full day in the jungle started at the caves at Lanquin. To indigenous Guatemalans, the caves are sacred, an entry into the underworld and its spirits. On a natural altar, visitors had burned candles and left empty bottles of modern spirits.
After the morning cave tour, the group began a Class V overland adventure to arrive at the put-in. The patched tyres sprung two more leaks, and even with the on-board air compressor, we were stranded. A passing trucker told us the road below was partly washed out and closed to larger vehicles. So he offered to turn around and take us partway in his empty cattle truck. In the open-air truck bed, we bounced around, miraculously evading our flying ammo boxes, then found a smaller truck that took us the remainder of the way.
"Guatemala's taught me a lot," said Tammy Ridenour, a seasoned river guide from the U.S. who founded Maya Expeditions. "You try your best to make things perfectly smooth, but it's just ridiculous." Espousing a philosophy that works on the water, she added, "Things happen. The best you can do is be calm and think, 'What can I do?'"
By the time we reached our starting point, a rustic cluster of indigenous people's homes, it was late afternoon and too late to hit the water. The families kindly offered the beach below as a camping spot, and we started cooking dinner and putting up tents. Like many "misadventures," this one offered unexpected benefits. The delay gave us the chance to camp among locals, to share food and lukewarm cerveza around a fire. Yet communication was limited - most indigenous Guatemalans don't speak much Spanish. These descendants of the Maya speak Kekchi, one of twenty-odd regional tribal tongues in the country. Even without much conversation, we enjoyed playing with the kids and sharing beef burritos.
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| Kekchi children we met along the river |
We woke before sunrise to the sounds of cocks crowing. After a breakfast of cereal, yogurt, pineapple upside-down cake and coffee, we rigged the boats and began the on-water stage of our adventure. Under serenely sunny skies and 80-degree temperatures, we floated the initial Class II (easy) rapids. I joined Ken in the oar boat with 80-year-old Texan Billie Wilson who was nonchalant about the jostling, open-air truck rides. He seemed unconcerned about the whitewater to come. "I'm too old to be worried about anything," he said in a heavy Texas drawl. "If tomorrow comes, it's alright. If it doesn't, ain't nothin' I can do about it. People worry too much about things they can't do nothin' about."
The first few kilometers on the crystalline, azure waters took us through lush, tropical forest. Along the way, dozens of pairs of eyes watched us. Whitewater boaters are a curiosity to the indigenous people who live along the banks of the Cahabon. They use cayukos, boats made of carved logs, to catch fish for their daily sustenance. Charging through rapids atop Hypalon balloons probably appeared otherworldly to them. Still, they were eager to engage us. During a 1990 trip, a group of boys came to our camp one evening, eager to help us set up tents. In the morning, they returned and we shared scrambled eggs, using banana leaves for plates.
The guide team of three Guatemalans and two North Americans navigated the Class II and III rapids with style and confidence, until we reached the biggest challenge of the day, "Wrap Rock."
 | | In the middle of the rapids |
The aptly named Class III rapid has a series of standing waves that lures unsuspecting guides against a midriver island. Lead boatman Roberto Rodas shimmied past the right side of the rock, perhaps lulling Ariel Lopez, the next guide, into a false sense of security. Wrap Rock enveloped its prey, and before Ariel could yell "high side," he and his paddle crew were up against the wall. We broke out the ropes. It was an hour later, when a mix of Spanish and English instructions finally got the rope in the right place, before Ariel's boat was finally dislodged.
The wrap made a full day even longer, but once again showed that a mishap can offer unexpected pleasures. We were on the water just as the sun set behind us, a rare treat for West Coast guides who typically spend the end of a long day squinting into the sun.
We pulled into camp in the dimming twilight, and for the first time on the trip, mosquitoes were a problem. A screened area owned by a local family became our impromptu kitchen as Ken and the others created late-night lasagnes. Indigenous kids watched through the screen as we used more equipment to cook for one night than their families had for their everyday use.
The next morning, while I was preparing breakfast, a barefooted 12-year-old boy named Hector asked if he could help. Hector, whose first language is his indigenous tongue, spoke some Spanish and we got to talking. I asked about his family. With his eyes cast downward, he told me his parents were dead. His mother died five years ago in a (military) "attack." When asked how his father died, he replied simply, "Saber" (who knows).
Hector joined us for breakfast, and we gave him a few quetzales (the Guatemalan currency, named after the national bird) for his work. He appreciated the money and accepted it with a sense of resignation far beyond his years. As we left, he timidly asked me to bring him some socks when I came back.
Later I spoke to Christian Lavarreda, a teenage Guatemalan guest on the trip, who considered the environmental destruction being wrought in his country. "This is the last place in the world we have. Money for the old people is more important than anything," he said. "If they kill this life, they kill themselves."
Overcast and cool, the last day on the river took us through a narrow gorge and the Cahabon's most challenging rapids, culminating with Sacacorcha (Corkscrew) and Saca Caca, which was named by guests on a 1992 trip. Because rafting is a new sport in Guatemala, people still have the opportunity to name rapids.
 | | In the middle of the rapids |
At higher river levels, Sacacorcha is a mean rapid; not technically difficult, just a steep drop with a nasty hole that will flip or dump any boat that doesn't hit it straight and with a lot of momentum. At lower levels, it's less imposing and can be skirted from the right. The crew moved downstream with safety gear, but none of the boats had major problems.
Saca Caca was another story. It's the kind of rapid that gets uglier as the river drops. The lead boat, guided by Roberto, caught the last wave sideways, dumping the guide and half his crew. The unruffled Guatemalan continued to call commands - "adelante, adelante, derecho" - as he bobbed in the water, about 20 feet behind the boat.
Berto's boat wasn't the only one to dump paddlers. Others had swimmers but they were all pulled back into their boats. Soon we reached Paraiso, a paradise of natural hot springs enclosed within a canopy of dense foliage. As we crossed the beach we walked under a 20-foot waterfall that descended from the hot springs, one of the best (and certainly one of the warmest) showers in the country.
 | | Soaking in the hot springs |
We flipped two kayaks for lunch tables. The paddlers then retired to the warm pools above, about 50 meters from the river. Other guests jumped off rocks above the waterfall. "We run safe trips, but we can do stuff (like jump off rocks) that we can't do in the U.S.," said Ken Johnson, the head guide. "Here (in Guatemala), there's a sense of individual responsibility. I like that."
After a couple of hours of soaking and relaxing, we paddled the mostly flat water to take-out, rolled the boats, and, with trepidation, got on another bus. Above the driver were the words "Dios nos guia" (God guides us), giving us renewed hope that we could make an overland trip without incident. God was with us. We arrived an hour later in El Estor, a picturesque village on the shores of Lake Izabal, Guatemala's largest lake. The town was once a trading outpost for United Fruit Company. In Spanish, "the store" became "El Estor," and the name stuck.
Although a popular guidebook calls El Estor a "drab and dusty place," we arrived during Semana Santa (Easter Holy Week) festivities and found it lively and vibrant. Marimbas, the national instrument, were played inside many of the buildings, and a huge outdoor bingo game was organized in the central plaza. Players used corn kernels to mark their hand-numbered paper bingo cards.
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| A satisfied guest perched atop a waterproof ammo box |
Our group gathered for a celebratory dinner at Hugo's restaurant, a partially enclosed room with split bamboo walls. When we paid our tabs, the waiters trusted us to tell them the number of beers we'd consumed. Later, on the shores of Lake Izabal, a young couple sat on a lakeside bench and watched as the swiftly moving clouds parted, revealing a full moon.
If You're Going...
To contact Maya Expeditions, e-mail mayaexp@guate.net
For more information about tourism in Guatemala, contact the Guatemala Tourist Commission, 299 Alhambra Circle, Coral Gables, FL 33134. Phone: 800-742-4529.
Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Alejandro Font, who joined the river trip described above and enlivened our group with his buoyant spirit and infectious enthusiasm. Font, a Guatemalan national, was kidnapped, tortured and killed in Guatemala City in the mid-1990s. He was 27.
While Guatemala is a beautiful country with warm and welcoming people, its government has too often garnered international notoriety for human rights violations, including political murders and mass annihilations of peasant villages. Guatemala's 36-year-old civil war, which finally came to a close in 1996, claimed an estimated 100,000 lives in a country of 8 million people, mostly innocent campesinos caught in the crossfire between government and guerilla armies.
Font's death does not appear politically motivated. It was strictly for money, which his family would have delivered if they'd had it. The ransom demand was exorbinant - Font's family turned over all they had while attempting to raise more. By the time the family handed over the partial ransom, Font had been dead 10 hours, according to a report from Guatemala City. |
