Tikal, November 12, 2006

I awoke refreshed after a good night’s sleep. The lantern that had been placed outside my front door at 11pm had awakened me only briefly. The fumes had wafted into my open window. I just moved it several yards away and was able to fall right back to sleep. The only sounds were the hooting of an owl and some other night creatures. They were soothing. I had not even needed to go to sleep with earphones, listening to my “comfort” tape. I had brought just one cassette—beautiful acapella hymns. Listening to the wonderful words of promise and hope always calmed me in difficult times.

I’d bought some packaged cookies from the comedore yesterday for this morning’s breakfast, along with some bottled water. I’d eaten fresh greens and peeled fruit and dairy products, but I only drank bottled or purified water. At the hotel in El Remate I had washed out my eyes in the morning with tap water, not imagining that I shouldn’t. The smell of sulfur should have warned me against it. My eyes burned for hours—not good for a birdwatcher.

In great spirit I read my Bible, packed my gear, and prepared for a long day of birding. I paid my fee at the guard’s hut at dawn and headed east down the old airstrip and jungle path beyond. Birds and butterflies were everywhere. I checked out a swampy pond far down the jungle path that was supposed to hold crocodiles, but I didn’t see any. I did see my first Keel-billed Toucan. I also saw dozens of tiny frogs. The larger ones were a half-inch, but the smaller ones were only a quarter-inch. I caught one in my hand, but it quickly escaped. I was alone all morning; not one other person did I see.

When I finished exploring and turned back westward, I saw a large animal on the path about 200 yards ahead, walking toward me. I lifted my binoculars and saw a large catlike animal with a long, thick tail curled toward the ground (like a cat holds its tail). The head was small in proportion to the body and was black. All the rest of the body, including the tail, was a tawny brown. It looked to be about twice the size of the fox I’d seen at Tikal. The animal saw me and paused but then continued toward me to within 100 yards, when it turned to its left and casually walked into the jungle. What a thrill!

When I returned to the hotel area I questioned guards, guides, and others as to the identification of the animal. Some said it might have been a jaguar, some said a young panther, and others suggested names unfamiliar to me. There were no guidebooks with wildlife photos in the Visitor’s Center or elsewhere. I would have to wait to discover the identity of this strange animal.

The sun was getting intense near noon, and there was no shade on the airstrip or in front of the hotels. It would be a good time to check into the Jaguar Inn, eat lunch, and then go get my bags and check out of the Jungle Lodge. The same desk clerk, who spoke no English, was at the Jaguar Inn. I got out my credit card but, alas, no electricity. It was the time of day that the generators were again turned off at Tikal. I didn’t want to pay with quetzals because I needed them to pay the entrance fees and food bills at the comedores. There was no ATM machine at Tikal. I didn’t see why the desk clerk couldn’t just write down my credit card number and process it when the electricity came back on, running a daily tab until I decided to check out—as we had discussed two days earlier. That wouldn’t do, he said. I must pay for one night up front. But, I said, I would be staying more than one night, maybe as long as a week. But, he said, they had a group coming the next night and were full. But, I said, how could that be? He had told me, as had the copy of the email reservation I had showed him, that I could reserve just one day and then stay as long as I wanted. But, he said, a group was arriving. I wanted to talk to the manager, I said. The manager was gone for the weekend, he said. This just was not fair (“No es justo”), I said. I had had reservations long before the arriving group.

In the meantime, someone called my name. Having lunch at one of the tables in the restaurant was a couple I had met at the Guatemala City airport, waiting for my flight to Flores. They were from Pennsylvania, as was the other couple I’d met in El Remate, and were also involved in some volunteer work. They were to be picked up by a couple from Poptun, and they were now having lunch with them. We chatted a few minutes and then I returned to the fray.

Perhaps seeing that I was a friend of four of his paying customers influenced the desk clerk, or maybe he was just tired of the debate. However, he was always polite and finally said he would talk to the manager when he returned to see what could be done. I had to be satisfied with that. In the meantime, I asked to see my room. The first one they showed me was quite grubby, and I asked for a better one. I would have to wait until they cleaned one, he said. Fine, I said. But then I was taken to another room they must have remembered having. It was quite nice, so I returned to the office to pay for it, hopefully with traveler’s checks. But, he said, he had no electricity and couldn’t open the money drawer. He would have to hold my passport as security until I paid. I was reluctant to part with this important document. In the end, however, I had no choice if I wanted to stay there.

I returned to the Jungle Lodge to get my things and check out. I left my Spanish phrase book in the room, for whomever, as I’d left my sweater in the El Remate hotel. I’d planned, before I left on the trip, to leave things along the way as I found I could do without them. My load would be lightened, and others might benefit thereby. When I’d packed the rest of my things, including my still-wet bathing suit in a plastic bag, I made my way slowly and with great effort down the beautiful stone path.

Once I was in my room at the Jaguar Inn with my luggage (which they had carried from the lobby for me!) I relaxed and was able to admire my surroundings. I was on the second floor overlooking the hotel yard, with a narrow porch and chairs outside a large picture window. Flowering tropical shrubs and trees were everywhere. The room was clean and bright, with two double beds and a nightstand between, and one single bed near the door. There was a private bathroom with a large shower, and a separate area with a sink and long counter. Candles and matches were provided, as well as soap, plenty of towels, and bottled water. Of course there was no dresser or washcloth, but I no longer expected either. For $35 a night I was quite pleased, if only I didn’t have to worry about being put out the next day.

After optimistically unpacking, I returned to the hotel restaurant (in one large room with the lobby) and ordered lunch. I no longer had my Spanish phrasebook, which would have explained the menu. Recognizing “pasta con salsa de pesto” (pasta with pesto sauce), I thought I’d give it a try, although I’d never eaten pasta with pesto. They served up a huge portion, with bread and butter. At the next table were the only other two guests, two young men who were speaking English. We began talking and I soon joined them, rather than talking across tables. One was eating delicious-looking chicken cordon bleu (now why didn’t I order that?), and the other was eating nothing. Our background music was a tape of two songs from the Eagles’ Hotel California album, which repeated over and over. Our conversation turned to drugs (suitable for the music)—the benefits (according to them) and evils (according to me). I couldn’t eat much of my lunch, so I offered it to the one with no food. He was extremely grateful. He was a Texan who had just finished his master’s degree and had agreed to teach biology for a year in Guatemala City. The pay was quite low, and his budget was tight. He was sleeping in a hammock in the yard of the Jaguar Inn. The other fellow finished his lunch and got ready to catch a bus to other parts of Guatemala. I excused myself to go take a short nap.

That afternoon I birded among the jungle ruins. I took the path that led to the Temple of Inscriptions (Temple VI), the most remote of the ruins and the most deserted. I saw no one else, not on the way, nor after I arrived at the site (but I did see my third fox). It was a long way and only about an hour before dusk once I finally arrived. I had my headlamp with me, but I didn’t want to be in the jungle alone after dark. Before I had to leave, though, I heard a hawk-like cry and searched the sky. As I had hoped, I spotted an Orange-breasted Falcon, circling and calling not far overhead. As I watched, it flew to the top of a dead tree near the temple and perched there for some time. I felt grateful to have seen this rare species.

Shortly after watching the falcon, I made my way toward the Great Plaza, following the signs from Temple IV. The map showed that the Great Plaza was much closer than the entrance, and I was hoping to meet other tourists at the more popular site and join up with them for the walk back. I wasn’t disappointed. Five or six of us walked together to the entrance as dusk fell. Then I made my way to the same comedore and ordered a hamburger, fries, and an ice-cold Pepsi. The bun was huge, but when I took a bite I tasted only bread and lettuce. Lifting the top, I saw the smallest hamburger I’d ever seen—about two inches or less in diameter. I thought maybe the kitchen had made a mistake and asked the waiter about it, but he said they were all that size. I wasn’t that hungry, anyway.

After dinner I walked over to the Tikal Inn to see if they had a vacancy and to look at their rooms, just in case I wasn’t allowed to stay at the Jaguar Inn another night. Their $35 room was much like the one at the Jungle Lodge, except there was a private bath.

Back in my room I again needed to wash out some clothes. I hung them to dry on a line I stretched across the shower. Then I got out the small sewing kit I’d brought and mended the nylon back of my birding chair. Next, I took out my guidebook, Mexican Birds. I’d thought about removing all of the color plates in the middle of the book and having them bound separately before I came, so that they would be lighter to carry, but I never got around to it. Besides, the book had been a gift from my son and I was reluctant to tear it apart. However, some of the pages were coming loose anyway, so I took out my little pocketknife and removed all of the color plates. I soon realized that loose pages would not work well when I wanted to identify a particular bird. I considered sewing the edges, but I’d used all my thread on the chair. Then I remembered reading somewhere that dental floss was super strong and was used by travelers in place of thread. I had plenty of dental floss. I bound the pages at the top, bottom, and middle with it, wishing I’d brought a thimble. It took over an hour, but it did the job.

Soon after I finished my chores, the lights and fan went out for the night. I lit some candles while I showered. Some of the hotel workers had set up a table in the yard below and were playing cards and checkers by candlelight. Their talking and laughing floated up through my open window. I reluctantly closed the window, shutting out the slight breeze that I had been enjoying, and listened to my “comfort” tape a while.