Río Dulce – Day 1: Rivers, Rain, and Reflective Writing
RÍO DULCE
Day 1: Rivers, Rain & Reflective Writing
October 07, 2022
Back in Flores, I finally had some time to rest a bit. I spent my day roaming around the city and then caught a bus to Río Dulce, or, as it’s otherwise known, Fronteras. After five days of trekking in the middle of the jungle, a five hour bus ride felt like luxury – five hours of reading and listening to music – pure bliss.
The second I was dropped off at the city centre, I saw a guy with a giant banner with my name written on it. It was one of the staff members from the lodge I’d be staying in, who’d been sent to pick me up on his cayuco – a small, motor-powered canoe. The town of Río Dulce is located at the border between Lake Izabal (the largest lake in Guatemala) and the Río Dulce River, which eventually joins the Caribbean Sea. Most people living around the area cross the waters on their cayucos to reach the commercial centre, where tons of markets can be found.
Waiting on the boat was Angela – a South African-born lady in her seventies who would be my hostess. She had the warmest demeanour – kinda like the stereotypical grandma with that old, kind voice that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. I took an immediate liking to her. She told me she had retired with her husband and is now travelling all across Central America on their yacht, much like hundreds of other visitors here in Río Dulce. Being hurricane season, most of these travellers seek refuge in Lake Izabal until the rainy season’s over, with some taking up a job in the meantime to ensure some cash flow. As the season lasts from June to November, most resorts and lodges around the lake have marinas where yachters can stay.
While we talked, I couldn’t help but admire the gorgeous views that accompanied us during the ride. The riverbank, covered in trees and mangroves that seem to blend into the green water, is dotted with shacks, houses, and hundreds of moored yachts. Then, a huge bridge comes into view, acting as the border between the lake and the river.
My Tarzan Lodge
A short boat ride later, and we were at the lodge. As soon as I stepped in, I couldn’t help but feel like I had walked into a scene from Tarzan. It was simply decorated – all wooden and low-lit – with a double bed, a desk, and a wooden blind that opened and closed by rope.
By then, I had been in some fancy hotels and lodges alike, but somehow, I felt immediately at home here. I could see myself easily spending a week there – writing and reading. It actually reminded me of Rory’s “I sat and forever am at work here” that she wrote in the creepy BnB’s guestbook. Once I settled in, I stepped out to find Angela. She could tell from my face how much I loved the place, and when I voiced my Tarzan observation, quite surprisingly, she told me that The New Adventures of Tarzan was actually filmed in Río Dulce and nearby Livingston. Talk about a coincidence!
As much as I wanted to spend more time there, I only had a couple of days in Río Dulce, so I had to make the most of my time.
City Centre
My walk to the city centre was one that left me wonderstruck. From the lodge continues a long wooden walkway that meanders over the mangroves and the crystalline water beneath it. It ends at a farm where all kinds of fruit trees grow – the same ones used by the lodge’s cook to prepare food.
This then leads to the main road – one that was covered in mud – AGAIN. I was still traumatised by my adventures in El Mirador, and somehow, two days later, I found myself back in the same bloody situation – only this time, I had flip-flops on. And just in case you’ve never experienced this before, flip-flops tend to get stuck in the mud and, when you pull, the flip part detaches from the flop part – or whatever terms one may use to describe their anatomy. I just couldn’t seem to catch a break footwear-wise. It took me around half an hour to do a ten-minute walk, but finally, despite all adversities, I made it to the city centre.
This, to me, was eerily reminiscent of the Thamel neighbourhood in Kathmandu, Nepal. It was a long, long road with markets all over – some in kiosks, some in stalls, and others in shops. Mismatched buildings of all colours and sizes, with knots of telephone lines cluttering the sky. Thousands of people walking around. Red tuk-tuks filtering through the multitude of cars and buses. Pure, beautiful chaos. From souvenirs to electronics, from fruit to vegetables, from kitchenware to tapestries, from fried chicken to candle shops – anything and everything could be found in one road.
Oh, and an honorary mention to that one guy selling single antibiotic pill leaflets. As doctors, we’re always doing our best to practise antibiotic stewardship and tell our patients they’re only to be used when indicated. Here, in this one random market – one that probably mirrors millions more around the world – antibiotics are sold without much consideration – multi-drug resistant bacteria be damned. Though infuriating, it is also understandable – once again making me realise how deficient the public health system in such places could be.
Let the Creative Juices Flow
Once I’d done my fair share of walking and exploring, I made my way back, wading through ankle-deep mud yet again, all resigned. Halfway there, it also started raining. That’s when I figured I must’ve done something really bad in my previous life… Back at my lodge, all drenched and covered in mud, I took what must have been the longest shower of my trip and then had the entire afternoon to myself.
It was just me, myself and I in my Tarzan lodge, with no more plans for the day. Sure, I could’ve gone to some waterfalls nearby, but it was still raining, and I had already set my eyes on that wooden desk. I’d be spending the rest of my day sitting there and, come hell or high water, nothing would move my behind from that chair. I spent hours on end writing – about the places I had been to, the people I had met, the feelings I felt – anything and everything that popped into my head. I was still resolute in wanting to jot down every single detail. I wanted to remember it all. But during my travels, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find time and write. By then, I had started writing a few sentences here and there on my phone while on the go, but I barely had time to sit down and flesh them out.
But finally – finally – I had some time. Funnily enough, the last time I’d had enough time to sit with my thoughts and my journal, it was also at a lodge – the one in Seine Bight! I think it’s safe to say: lodges and cabañas are my safe haven in this world.