As of my previous entry, Graham and I had ridden in the back of two trucks. By the time yesterday was to a close, we’d brought that number up to seven. Maybe seven itself is in most contexts not that impressive of a number, but on these kinds of roads, in these kinds of trucks, and for these distances… well, I’m proud of myself, OK? Two separate times running out of gas is pretty good too. And we were able to achieve more than our goal for the day, thanks to the charity of a tall skinny man in an orange shirt with 2 toddlers, a wife, and a fast red truck. The primary goal was to make it to a small town at the bottom of a huge valley named Lanquín, which we achieve with efficacy. Plus a chance to discover that a little old lady with a lazy eye in a little old shack on the side of this long long dirt road we have come to know so well makes very hot disk-shaped things that taste almost exactly like those microwave burritos only very deliciously so, and only cost 1 Quetzal.

Once in the town of Lanquín we discovered – and I hereby disclaim that this may not be representative of the entire population of Lanquín – the people trying for the tourist moneys have not caught on to the idea that if you’re nice you get more of it in the end. Instead, they think they can get away with being assholes and trying at every instant to rip us off. Sadly, to a certain extent they can: people do and will keep coming to the amazing site of Semuc Champey, which is only accessible via Lanquín. The name Semuc Champay in Q`uechqa means (sp.?) “water hidden under rocks,” and is an apt name for what is essentially a long natural bridge, so long, in fact, that one doesn’t realize there is a raging river underneath it when one first comes upon it from the trail. What one does see is a series of beautiful stepped pools with crystal water splashing in a hundred little water falls down the steps, and then one jumps in for a swim because it’s simply irresistible. Only after is one ready to walk/swim/climb/slip to each end of the bridge and look down below at the huge river being squeezed at one end into the tunnel underneath and gushing out at the other to meet all the water from the pools as it makes the final 10 meter plunge.

Afterwards Graham and I, along with a Swedish girl and a Dutch couple we made friends with, were all milling about at the exit wondering if we’d ever find a ride back to Lanquín (a very hilly 10km away). The only vehicle in the parking lot was a little red truck. We eyed it with fingers crossed. The finger crossing gods were apt that afternoon – not only would our new skinny friend in an orange shirt with 2 toddlers, a wife, and a fast red truck take us back to Lanquín, but he was going all the way to Cobán! the town we had planned on waking up early and bussing to the next day. Not only did we get a free ride, but we didn’t have to see the a-holes in Lanquín ever again. And as if that was not way more than I deserved already, our skinny friend in the orange shirt was also a very insane friend in a fast red truck and he drove very redly and very very fastly.