Slick Shoes
DAY 8: I’ve titled this entry “Slick Shoes,” figuring that many of you readers out there of my generation will understand that it is a reference to the movie The Goonies, the immortal Spielburg/Columbus movie of the 80s where a bunch of Oregonian kids hike through watery underground passageways in search of the lost treasure of pirate One-Eyed Willy. Slick shoes are of course, shoes that squirt out an oil slick via a mechanism in the heel, so that chasing bad guys can slip and fall, providing an easier getaway. In the movie, they are invented by the Asian character named Data—and it’s already been established by a Frenchman on this trip (in Caye Caulker) that I “look like [him.]”
The watery underground passageway of this tale is the Cueva K’anba (K’anba Cave) of the Grutas de Lanquin (Lanquin Grutas) cave network, encompassing three kilometers of underground tunnels and caves. It was only about a five-minute walk there from the Las Marias lodge, on the same side of the Cahabon River. We walked there after breakfast—both ours and the one of the pet howler monkey, sadly tied to a rope.
By “we,” I mean our own international group of “Goonies”: Welshman Matt, Polish girls Aga and Joanna, Berkeleyan Tilu, Bay Area Camilla, and me, Data. Leading us was our guide Rojo, a happy Guatemalan man who spoke no English.
“Tu es el diablo Rojo,” I told him, noticing the candles strapped to his head like devil horns.
Most of the group was wearing flip flops, footwear unsuitable for the ups and downs of the rocky cave we were about to explore. Fortunately the cave guides provided beat up old sneakers and shoes to protect people’s feet, some with holes in their soles, with little-to-no traction—slick shoes if you will. I was not wearing their slick shoes, for Rojo said my enclosed rafting sandals were adequate.
Regardless of me not wearing the provided slippery footwear, the comparison of me to Data of the Goonies would continue; I was the token Asian guy after all, with gadgets strapped to my head and to my body (something pretty common with me, even back at home). Plus, the candles that Rojo provided weren’t ordinary candles; they sparkled up like dynamite fuses when he lit them, and I hoped they didn’t create any backfiring boody traps. ("That’s what I said, boody traps!")
Like in Goonies, our entry into the underground passageway was littered with bats; just walking into the cave a few feet where it was dark already, squeaking bats flew all around our heads. From the bat zone, the water got deeper and deeper, and we had to hold our candles over our heads—and for a while, hold them while swimming with one hand in a section too deep to walk.
Exploring the cave involved more than one-handed swimming; it involved crawling, ducking, climbing ladders, and, if you wanted to follow Rojo’s lead at one area, jumping into deep pools. Mostly we walked around, illuminating our way with our sparkling candles (picture above), mindful of the hanging stalagtites near our heads. Some of the limestone formations resembled other things, if you had the imagination of our guide.
“[It’s a cow’s head.]”
“[It’s an elephant’s trunk.]”
“[It’s the feathers of a rooster.]”
The limestone formations provided the backdrop for some photos, and I became the designated photographer (just like Data) with my waterproof camera strapped to my neck: Camilla and Tilu, Aga and Joanna, and Matt. At one area near an underground waterfall, the group posed in Goonies fashion, before wading around a big stalagtite, walking through a waterfall, and finding the hidden cave behind. Unfortunately, there was no treasure.
THERE WAS LIGHT at the end of the tunnel, literally, where the underground river fed out to a cascading waterfall that spilled out to the Cahabon River. After a quick group photo, Rojo led us upstream a bit for our ride back to the lodge—via inner tube. “Look how strong the current is,” Matt noticed with concern.
“We’ll end up in the Pacific,” I joked.
“How are we going to stop?” he wondered. Camilla translated the query to Rojo, who told us that we were going to build a train with the inner tubes, held together with our legs. It was actually pretty efficient, and necessary so that no one would be carried away by the rapids or crash into rocks. It was a fun experience—especially for Tilu—as we floated, spun around in different directions, and stroked in unison like crew members to get safely back to camp. Once there, we chilled out and swam in an eddy, swinging and jumping in with a rope swing tied to a tree.
THE SKY HAD CLEARED UP significantly since the downpour of the previous day, providing for the perfect afternoon to enjoy the outdoor waterfalls and pools of Semuc Champey in all its glory. Leaving the lodge’s four-month old Rottweiler puppy to nap, we hiked the fifteen minutes to the park entrance, on the other side of the Cahabon River. As we crossed the bridge, a pick-up truck full of senior citizens with American accents drove by, all of them smiling and high on life—or perhaps just a bit inebriated; I noticed at least one of them, an old woman, drinking white wine from right out of the bottle, like a forty-ounce of beer.
“TOO-REEEES-MO!!!” she exclaimed to us in a very American accent.
Perhaps she was trying out her Spanish on Camilla and me on the assumption that we were locals with our coffee-colored skin tone—which almost fooled the park rangers if I hadn’t written “U.S.A.” in the registry book. One confused park ranger was about to give us change for the local’s entrance fee instead of the tourists’ one, until the other ranger told him our written truth.
“[You look Guatemalan, but...]”
The afternoon at Semuc Champey was a relaxed one. With the power of gravity, the River Cahabon flowed slowly at times, and fast at others, in areas that formed impressive whitewater rapids. They might have been good for rafting outfitters if not for the water falling into a chasm and underground into the cave system.
What didn’t go down the hole flowed into beautiful green and blue pools, calm and serene, like out of a postcard image of paradise. We spent the afternoon there, swimming and relaxing amongst the other tourists there: the backpackers from El Retiro, the American senior citizens of “tooreeesmo,” and Guatemalan families as well; tooreeesmo isn’t just for foreigners after all.
Before our bodies got all pruny from swimming, Camilla and I, and the rest of the “Goonies” packed up for a short hike up the cliff-side wall, on a treacherous, but designated trail of switchbacks. We were rewarded upon arrival of the mirador on top, with a view of the pools below. “Okay, group photo!” Aga declared in celebration. And with that, we ended our Goonies-esque adventure, hiked back down, and ultimately back to the lodge.
At the end of the day, it wasn’t exactly the adventure from the Goonies movie—there were no pirates, chasing bad guys, or Cyndi Lauper songs after all—although I must admit that when hiking the riverbank of the Semuc Champey pools, I slipped on a rock and landed my ass in the mud. I guess my makeshift Data had slick shoes after all.
Next entry: Karma
Previous entry: Pondering of Pig's Milk
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Comments for "Slick Shoes"
YO B - you need to link the pictures!
Posted by markyt on 12/03 at 11:06 AM
HERE’S ANOTHER FOR THE WHMMR… I’m still about three days behind, but am trying to play catch up today…
Fifty Dollah bill!
Posted by on 12/03 at 11:07 AM
Loving the return of the blog Eric, it’s the first one I’ve managed to follow day by day. Looks a bit cold to be swimming in photos but I’m guessing the clouds are deceptive. Keep up the good work!
Posted by on 12/03 at 01:06 PM
Erik- was just thinking of you this weekend and was trying to contact you. I saw you IM me this morning but was in a meeting. What is your REAL DEAL email address so I can get in touch w/ you easier?
BTW the Holiday party is 12/13, seriously considering not even going since you are global tripping this year.... HOPE you are SAFE, WELL and HAPPY!!! - AudreyPosted by AUDREY ALOI FROM DIGITAS AMERICA on 12/03 at 02:48 PM
I like those pools - glad you knew beforehand that there would be swimming in the caves… that would’ve sucked.
Posted by on 12/03 at 06:42 PM
i love the “perfection” t-shirt… another shoutout to the 80s
Posted by on 12/06 at 10:27 AM
That Sounds interesting, i agree with you. Please keep at your good work, I would come back often.
Posted by Ann on 01/12 at 09:51 PM
Next entry:
Karma
Previous entry:
Pondering of Pig's Milk
This blog entry about the events of Wednesday, November 28, 2007 was originally posted on December 03, 2007 on the travel blog, "The Global Trip: The Central American Eviction Tour* (*with jaunt to Colombia)." It is a trip blog chronicling a six-week journey through Central America, with a jaunt to Bogota, Colombia.
FUN FACT:
At the Las Marias lodge, Camilla was still freaked out about bugs. “Oh my God, is that a bot fly?!” she cried, seeing a weird-looking insect land on her body. She swatted it away, only to have the same bug land on my leg. I shoo’d it away as soon as I saw it.
“Oh man, is that a bot fly?!” I seconded.
Jim answered, “It’s supposed to look three times bigger than a house fly, and metallic gr...”
“GREEN!” I completed his sentence. “That was it! That’s what I saw! It was a bot fly! It was on my leg!”
I hoped I shoo’d it off my leg in time, before any possible endodermal impregnation—I guess I’d find out in a several weeks, if it did.
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