The 3 hour trip passed quickly. We off the bus in Rio Dulce, a town named River running through it. But it was the only one step on the road to final destination: Livingtson on the edge of the Caribbean Sea. We reached the edge of the river to take the public lancha (departures less frequent but much less expensive than private lanchas!) And 13.30, we are slender. We were told that the raid an hour and a half to Livingston was worth it. The first thing that struck us was the high concentration of upscale homes in front of which were moored luxury yachts. All U.S. flag. In fact, this part of the river is a place of residence privileged of our neighbors to the south. Many of them are a foot to the ground in front of which they can moor their boats. Thus, in a few hours, they can join one of the dream destinations nearby: Belize, Honduras, coral reef, white sand beaches ... many names that make you dream and end are just a few hours of the Sea. The price of houses and lands not to be here only a fraction of what they cost in the most prestigious locations (eg Caribbean), this should enable their owners to invest in a boat that will give them the opportunity discover the region from the sea ..
Further, the river widened to become a vast lake. After having deposited a few people up and having skirted the islands invaded by birds (mainly and pelicans), the river has again narrowed to become dizzy walled gorges. Around us stretched the jungle. In the sky and water, hundreds of pelicans were busy sinning. The scene was truly magical. For a moment we thought we were going down the Nam Ou River in Laos!
Then the river widened to open sea, we sailed along the coast a few minutes and Livingston appeared. Forward port, clouds of seagulls had stormed the small fishing boats au mouillage. Des pélicans candides trônaient fièrement sur les pieux d'un ponton aujourd'hui disparu. Sur le quai, les traits des habitants nous annonçaient que nous venions de changer de culture. Ici, les origines viennent de la Caraïbe. Ces déportés de Saint-Vincent se nomment les Garifunas. La peau est noire et le reggae résonne fort. L'âme de Bob le bienveillant n'est jamais bien loin. Le rythme est différent lui aussi. Aucune route ne mène a Livingston. On y vient par l'eau. C'est tout. Dans les rues, quelques autos, mais surtout des motos. La vie semble aller au ralenti. Un petit goût de bout du monde.
Apres avoir été manger un morceau (pour ne pas être de mauvaise humeur!), we went to a room. This was the last 2 days of our trip. After that, it would return trip. The view over the sea, if possible, was then a deep wish. Few institutions have this opportunity. We therefore ask the question the only guesthouse directly overlooking the water. They remained of a place. The room normally worth 300 quetzales. We proposed the 200. We had a 150. Cold shower, of course, but overlooking the Sea
Late afternoon, relaxing time to contemplate the night fall, a synonym for departure for the fishing fleet. A myriad of small boats took to sea, in single file. With a beer and some chips, the kit was perfect to write a little.
The night we were eating at Mama Bugga'''', a restaurant overlooking the harbor and whose characteristic is to help local youngsters by teaching them work in restaurants, like the restaurant'' Friends''in Phnom Penh. On the menu tonight, mixed ceviche, grilled fish for me''and''concha for Sylvie. Concha''''? What's that? That question was posed by reading the menu. A sort of''seafood''told us our young waiter. So we ordered. Now it appears that the concha''''is a big shell that we sell in toues destinations tourist seaside Beautiful and large shell-shaped pink snail with a serrated edge. However, we did not know is that his flesh is relatively ... rubbery. If not very rubbery. But it was a culinary experience. And linguistics. For now, we are what a concha''''!
The next day, woke up early. The sea was oil and a big flight of pelicans circling in front of our room. We had lunch at the guesthouse. The view from their dining room is absolutely beautiful. Later, we set out to discover more Livingston. We wandered on a small street near the port. A strong smell in the air. On our right appeared a large area completely covered with concrete fish drying in the sun. Men were busy in filling large canvas bags. Farther to the left, the same scene. Everywhere, fish open and spread out to dry. Wings skate. Skipjack. Mackerel. And many other species as''flattened''prevents us from recognizing! The pontoons had become driers in the open air. Everywhere, men and returned the fish sorted according to their degree of drying. Impressive array. And impressive smell! The fish were caught during the winter and were put in barrels of brine (salt water). In spring, the springs to dry them and send them to a wholesaler in Guatemala City that would undertake to sell them worldwide. A true pride fish here. A puffy-eyed fish (he returned later and had slept little, certainly, but had had to take something to help him sleep!) Invited me to sit by his side to chat about everything and nothing . I took the opportunity to ask him to take his picture. But he asked me to give him a copy. We went to see what we could do ...
stomachs crying famine, we stopped in a comedor''''for''the''almuerzo. At the end of the meal, I went with the camera's memory card to print some photos and give them to players. So I went back to see the fisherman who had fallen asleep again puffy eyes in his hammock. So deeply that even another fisherman managed to pull him from his torpor. What a deep sleep, is not it? However, I handed the photos to other fishermen who were present. Those who returned the fish and returned them yet. Within seconds, they all ran, looking at the pictures with great astonishment and pride. Their eyes were sending emotions that could be translated in any way, such as bright the old gentleman in the red shirt and white cap who shook my hand hard thanking me for doing so. I asked myself the question how many of them have a photo of themselves at home. May be-one. Maybe none. Certainly tonight, 6 of them would have a picture of them to show their family and friends. It was the principal.
We crossed the village and went to walk further west along the beach''.'' You should know that despite all the romanticism and all the imagination that may apply to the Caribbean Sea, all along that the odds are not an earthly paradise of white sand lined with coconut trees. At Livingston, the coconut trees. But what is sand bench could use some work (there is one but 30 minutes of lancha!). Here it would be''more coconuts, toilet paper and plastic bottles.'' Indeed, Guatemala is very underdeveloped in terms of waste collection. Or not developed at all. And Livingston, as at the end of the world, obviously not immune to the rule. Therefore, the waste usually end up ... where they were produced. They are thrown into the street in front of the house. Behind the house, in the River. At the roadside. Suffice to say that all this is found quickly in the sea What n'offre donc guère de possibilités pour des baignades exotiques. Seule la maladie que vous pourriez attraper demeurera exotique!
Nous avons donc longé cette plage un peu triste pour nous enfoncer dans le quartier noir de Livingston. Plusieurs bars s'y succèdent. Des bars plutôt glauques ou on vient surtout pour se saouler. Tiens, 2 occidentaux nous dépassent accompagnés par un ''rasta''. Une visite guidée? Ici? Étrange...
Nous continuons a marcher et tout a coup, un bruit étrange attire notre attention. Sur notre gauche, une rue plutôt abrupte. Plus haut, des enfants ''manigancent'' quelque chose. Soudain, l'un d’entre eux semble s'élancer dans la pente and noise is heard again. What was our surprise we find that children who was gliding down the street perched on plastic crates for bottles of Coca-Cola and Pepsi. They sat on it and slid on the hot concrete of the street. We spent some time observing them and immortalize this great time on our memory cards.
We continued our journey on the beach. Here, the two were now leaning against Western on a boat and stared at us curiously. Seconds later, they returned. The''Rasta''called them. They came close. He showed them something they felt and exchanged un regard complaisant. Ils devaient être venus si loin dans ce trou perdu pour acheter des épices... des herbes de Provence peut-être... Triste réalité que ce tourisme de la dope. Rien de bon pour les touristes, mais surtout rien de bon pour ces locaux qui se cantonnent dans ce microcosme malsain. Ce n'est pas avec ce genre de comportements qu'on va rendre le tourisme utile. Voilà pourquoi il nous est difficile de montrer une quelconque pitié ou peine pour celles et ceux qui croupissent dans des geôles étrangères pour possession ou consommation de stupéfiants et qui crient au scandale quand leur gouvernement ne les aide pas a sortir de la. Sauf cas particuliers, il fallait y penser avant. Avant de s'en aller sur cette plage pour buy a few grams of resin.
Then we came back in again through the black neighborhood. One woman refused to sell me an orange. A man accepted with a big smile and a polite little note. A good lesson about the fact that you should never build an experienced individual to generalize the behavior of a culture or society.
Before returning to our room, we stopped in a small bar street to buy a beer, just to take a drink in front of the Sea in Livingston last evening. Sylvie began chatting with the 3 children who did their homework. When they show pictures with the camera. A film them and show them the result. I finally had my beer on site. We took pictures of 3 children with parents. Then we went to develop photos in order to recover. Like the fishermen, it was very interesting to see the reactions of everyone by being immortalized on paper as well.
Then we were feasting on specialties of the place: Sylvia,''a''tapado, a kind of local fish soup flavored with coconut. Absolutely divine. For my part, it was a fried prawns with garlic and coriander. Not bad either!
The next morning we had time to relax a little. Our lancha not leave until 11:00. I went to get coffees and some pastries we have eaten with sea one last time. Before the next. But here, we would work ...
At 10:30, we put our bags on the back and have joined the small port. Tickets in hand, we had a few more minutes to enjoy this little corner of paradise lost. At 11:00, we were in the slender lancha and we slowly but surely to return to Montreal. Our first stop was Puerto Barrios, 30 minutes lancha, or we take a bus early the next morning.
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