The great underground cave adventure

Today may mark one of the best day of our lives (that is only after possibly one of the worst days in traveling history.)

To quickly recap the worst day:

We arrived in Lanquin after a "direct" 14 hour trip from Xela, which actually meant a trip back to Antigua (4 hours) and then from Antigua to Coban and finally to Lanquin (10 hours). (You will understand the frustration if you consult a map). The journey entailed our driver almost driving into a landslide, far too many over-takings on a blind-rise, heavy rain, dangerous Guatemalan night-time driving (strongly not recommended in the guide-book) and all the while in very cramped conditions (Jono has bruises all the way down his shins as a result). Luckily it was not all so bad: upon our arrival at Zephyr Lodge in Lanquin, we felt like a 21st century David Livingstone. We had "discovered" Utopia itself – in our case a beautiful lodge in the mountains with a crystal clear infinity pool (not quite Vic Falls), impeccable rooms and a super restaurant and lively, packed bar. Check out the pics…

 

And now to touch on the best day:

A bumpy 11km ride on the back of a bakkie from Lanquin to the beginning of the greatest day ever. It started with an almost unbearable hike up a seemingly vertical cliff for 30 minutes in what felt like a sauna to the view-point (el mirador). Surrounded by mountains covered in tropical vegetation, the eighteen turquoise pools of Semuc Champey below seemed to snake their way through the valley. Drenched in sweat including sweaty knee-caps and ears (who knew that parts of one's anatomy also sweat?), we observed the splendour that seemed weirdly unnatural and quite honestly photo-shopped. After catching our breath, we made our way down to the absolutely crystal-clear, jungle-book-like pools of sheer beauty. We crossed over a naturally formed bridge with water gushing below us – we found out that this in the local language is what is referred to as “Semuc Champey”. We did bum-sliding down slippery rocks from one pool to another marvelling at how each pool seemed to be more beautiful than the last.

Some lunch was devoured, while our guide kindly did an improvisation job using pieces of string on what was left of my 15-year-old Nike yoga-like shoes that I adamantly believed were the best shoes for our spelunking expedition that came next.

Think Indiana Jones meets spelunking in a pitch dark cave network and you would have my fiancé Jono Emmett. The others all swam with one hand aloft, holding candles to light the way - the ever-ingenious Jono and Jo had head torches, of course! Our modern day light sources meant we were up front, leading the pack with Jono shouting back instructions of "mind the rock to your left" and "watch out, the water gets deeper here". The thrill of being such intrepid explorers has made us vow to host a 3-part Indiana Jones movie night when we get back to NY. We reached our destination - a pool of water with a diameter of less than two meters that was ideal - according to our guide - for incredible cave jumps off a tiny precarious ledge. That is the exact spot where the adventurer in us seemed to dissolve once more into City Slickers and instead we allowed the teenage boys in the group to prove their manliness. Shivering from the cold, we emerged from the cave - alive!

Yet, this day was not over! The only words, appropriate at this stage seemed to be those by Henry David Thoreau: "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life." We still had time for one last Guatemalan "Carpe Diem" moment in the form of a giant king-swing over the river. This required one to swing out and then jump landing in the cool water five metres below. Jono was astonished that I enthusiastically volunteered to go second out of the whole group. Perhaps I was nuts or perhaps my sub-conscious knew that this was going to be one of those few times in life that you do something well and wanted to impress. With an elegant swing and a supposedly perfectly-timed jump with a graceful pin-drop water entry - I was (in my mind anyway) King-Swing Champion of the World! And Jono was rather shocked, bemused and I believe impressed along with the others in our group. He said that someone even remarked, "And the judges decision is final, ten out of ten!" What ensued were some rather awful, hard-hitting lands, belly flops, face-flops and without a doubt bruises to follow. Jono's grand swing got off to a good start but soon went much awry - too much English on the cue ball and he corkscrewed out of the lake on his jump, belly-flopping in spectacular fashion (A few days later, huge bruises would bloom on his back and left thigh from his dramatic splashdown). Nothing was as morbidly entertaining as watching a nervous girl who eventually was persuaded to swing by her friends, and then FORGOT to jump! Instead, she came swinging back towards the silent, horrified crowd with full force luckily only scraping her legs slightly along the ground. Of course, somebody had recorded it and flabbergasted and in shock, she and everyone else watched the mortifying moment.

At this stage my shoes were only a mere memory of their former selves as the one sole had tried desperately to hold onto its seams - their purpose on earth had been served. Their final resting place would be a big black bin back at the Lodge.