Biotopo del Quetzal to Antigua, November 19, 2006

Magnificent scenery on the Monja Blanca bus ride between Biotopo del Quetzal and Antigua
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Getting up at dawn on my last day at the Hospedaje Ranchito del Quetzal, I had quite a few hours to go birding before having to catch the 10am bus. After my morning prayers and Bible reading I headed to the restaurant for breakfast. Although it was still cold, the morning was clear. Birds were everywhere, and I had a thoroughly enjoyable morning.

Several vanloads of tourists were in the parking area hoping to get a look at the Quetzal. I helped them spot it and loaned some of them my binoculars and birding guide. One of the groups was from Canada, I think. The other was from the U.S., and was led by an American who had moved to Guatemala and was living in Coban. I was glad that the Senora was getting so much business. When I asked her later if everyone had bought breakfast there, however, she told me no one had. One person left their brown paper bag on one of the restaurant tables, bearing a banana, boiled egg, and some cookies.

View from my second story room at Hotel Posada San Pedro II into the courtyard and toward the front desk and gate
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Yesterday I had asked the Senora to prepare my bill, including my usual breakfast. Last night she had presented me with a bill for 360 quetzals (about $50) for three night’s lodging and all of my food and drink. That couldn’t be right, I protested. The lodging alone was to have been 100 quetzals a night, plus the food. No, she assured me, the lodging was only 50 quetzals a night. Later in the evening I gave her 700 quetzals. I thought it was a little strange that she didn’t thank me, but this morning after breakfast she brought me change. No, I explained, I had meant for her to keep all of what I had paid her. Now she thanked me. I also told her I would leave a lot of my belongings behind for her or anyone else who could use them. She thanked me and said she was sure she could use whatever I chose to leave behind. I wished I had brought my extra pair of binoculars so that I could have left them as well. The rules for travel to Guatemala, however, forbade bringing into the country more than one pair of binoculars.

Cathedral of San Jose, in Antigua's Parque Central
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About 9:30am my three traveling mates and I made our way down the hillside to the bus stop—the same bus stop I had been dropped at when I arrived. The bus was on time. We hopped on and found our seats, two on one side of the aisle and two on the other. It was nice to have someone to talk to on the journey, especially in English (with the wife). The scenery along the way continued to be magnificent. When we pulled into the bus station in Guatemala City, they hired a taxi to take them the rest of the way to their rented place. Their driver agreed to drop me at another bus station along the way, for a portion of the fare, where I could catch a bus to Antigua. Everything was happening faster than the pace I was used to, but I soon found myself on another chicken bus, alone, heading toward Antigua.

An open air butcher shop in Antigua
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It took almost an hour just to get through the traffic of Guatemala City on the chicken bus, stopping frequently for passengers. There was a helper, as on my first chicken bus ride, who leaned out the open door all along the way, soliciting customers. Once we finally got out of the city we made good time (generating a pleasant breeze through the open window). The bus’s engine and the driver’s music were unbearably loud, as usual, but I inserted my trusty earplugs.

In Antigua, the bus pulled into a large parking area beside rows and rows of vendors. This was the open market. I’d read that one could easily walk from one end of Antigua to another, so I struck out on foot to find a hotel, wheeling my suitcase behind me. The streets were all cobblestone and the open market area was dirt and stone. I wasn’t in any hurry, though. I was enjoying the sights and sounds of the market, making mental notes of what I might like to buy later.

Palace of the Captains General, in Antigua's Parque Central
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From my guidebook I had chosen the Hotel Posada San Pedro II, simply because it had a bathtub. To soak in a hot bubble bath is a joy even at home, but especially after a long day of hiking in a strange land. This was the first hotel that listed a bathtub. When I finally found the red stone building, after a very long walk, I rang the bell outside the huge metal doors to get someone’s attention. The smiling clerk checked me in and showed me to a room near the front desk. It was quite nice, if dark (as usual), and had two double beds and a private bathroom. With tub! I had no sooner set my things down, however, than a huge cockroach scurried across the bathroom floor. I immediately summoned the clerk, who assured me it must have come in from a crack under the door of an adjoining room, which he sealed off. I immediately ran a hot tub and soaked away some of the discomfort of my journey.

Antigua's Parque Central
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When I stepped out of the tub I spotted another cockroach. As soon as I was dressed I told the clerk I wanted another room—maybe one on a second floor. Besides, I’d discovered that the accepted way for guests to summon the clerk to the always-locked front gate was to jangle a huge padlocked chain. My room being so near the front gate was certain to be a problem, especially since I went to bed earlier than most guests.

The clerk aimed to please and allowed me to change rooms without a problem, even though I’d already had a bath in the first room. The second room was at the end of the open courtyard and upstairs. I really liked the second room. Two shuttered windows overlooked the courtyard, giving me a view of the front desk and locked gate. Both the windows and shutters could be opened and closed. In addition to the two beds there was a beautiful desk, with a locking drawer, and a wardrobe. A step led up into a private bathroom with a large shower. It was the nicest room I’d had on my trip. It cost $35.

La Compania de Jesus, one of Antigua's major ruins
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I walked back to the open market in search of some food. It was a hectic and crowded place, and noisy. I didn’t see any other tourists there. I bought a huge ear of corn that had been roasted in its husk. It was served with salt and lime. Delicious! Next I saw a stand that had some beautiful-looking food. There must have been five different layers on a tostada base. (I’d learned to love tostadas, if not tortillas.) Each layer was quite colorful—One a dark red, one white, one green, etc. My food vocabulary was still awful, so I didn’t bother to try and find out what the food was. Whatever it was, it was cheap (as was the corn). I took a careful bite, but the dark red layer dripped onto my clean shirt. Great. The food looked a lot better than it tasted. I handed the whole affair to a beggar nearby who was delighted to have it. I’d made the decision earlier in my trip to never ignore a beggar. I at least gave them some coins. If my supply of quetzals was sufficient I gave them more. I also gave some of the vendors more than their quoted price, especially if they touched my heart. Everyone thanked me and seemed grateful.

As I made my way through the market stalls filled with food, clothes, shoes, electronics, souvenirs, and everything else imaginable, I heard someone crying loudly. A disheveled woman was wailing, holding together a torn blouse. Blood—a lot of blood—was covering her head and arms. I looked on in disbelief. She saw me looking and approached, open hand outstretched. I pulled out several bills and gave them to her. She reached out to touch me with her bloody hand, but I recoiled instinctively and she moved away. No one else had paid attention to the woman. Maybe she was a professional beggar who had rubbed animal blood on herself. I don’t know. Regardless, anyone who would go to such lengths was obviously desperate. I didn’t regret my donation.

Leaving the open market, I walked to the Parque Central, the plaza in the center of town, about a city block square. The whole east side of the plaza was taken up with the huge white Cathedral of San Jose. The south side was filled with the Palace of the Captains General, a long building with 27 arches, where the regular police and tourist police were both stationed. On the north side was the city hall. Climbing to the second floor, I had a good view of the three volcanoes south of Antigua. On the west side of the plaza were coffee shops and cafes. A treed park with a fountain and benches filled most of the center of the plaza. I sat there to rest and watch birds.

On the way from the open market to the plaza I had passed La Compania de Jesus, one of the town’s major ruins. Most of the cathedrals and churches in Antigua had lots of structural damage from the frequent earthquakes. Some had been restored in part, and some had been left in ruins. Tourists might have been more willing to pay to see the ruins. I also passed a tiny butcher shop with an open front. I had to take a photo of the place, so foreign to me, with carcasses of skinned animals hanging from the ceiling in the open air.

Antigua made me tired. The walking surfaces were hard—mostly cobblestone. There were few trees, except in the plaza. I wondered if birding might not be better outside of town, on the green mountains. Looking to the north of Antigua, far up the hill, I saw a huge cross. I’d read there was a park up there. I’d also read that tourists should not go there alone. I would think about it more when I got back to my room. I was exhausted and quite ready to call it a day.