Guatemala, like most of Central America has been stuck in a post colonial, feudal hangover for hundreds of years. After Cortez conquered Mexico, he sent a demon named Pedro de Alverado to pacify the Mayans and find gold. De Alverado enslaved the local people with gusto and brought the priesthood along to convert them. The evangelism succeeded when they pointed out to the Mayans that The Devil, the Mayan god of death and de Alverado himself might all be different aspects of the same concept. These days the people with the most Spanish blood still own the coffee plantations and the Mayans live in stick huts in the countryside among the ruins of their ancient culture.

The most recent war only ended 10 years ago. It was leftist guerrillas vs the incumbent fascists and their American Central Intelligence friends. Like all conflicts, the little people, mostly Mayans, were in the crossfire. Unlike, for instance, Cambodia, Guatemala’s protracted conflicts were wars of factions and death squads. There were frequent massacres but not organized genocide. Guatemalan culture is horribly scarred with violence but not extinguished.

After the wars, the country is flooded with weapons. In wealthy egalitarian places like Switzerland that’s a fine thing. However, if you’ve ever lived near Oakland you may understand what its like to live near abundant firepower, cultural poverty and extreme wealth divides. The official homicide rate over the whole of Guatemala is at least twice as bad as majorly fucked up cities in the United States. I’m sure most rural killings are not recorded. With few police in the country, local justice is often a mob, a rope and a tree. Everyone walking in the country carries a machete and its not uncommon for people to ride shotgun in a truck.

Half of Columbia’s cocaine makes a stop in Guatemala en route to its favorite customer and the police and military are some of the larger gangs that help it along its way. This work has the cops a little distracted from policing and there aren’t really that many of them to begin with so deterring crime in Guatemala is largely a do it yourself endeavor. Any business that that could conceivably be knocked over has a guy or two standing outside it with a pistol and shotgun, an enormous overhead to doing business. Automatic weapons seem reserved for the Police and Soldiers. At least in public.

Despite the claims of sensational media, violence most places is usually between people that have pre-existing personal or group relationships with each other. As a visitor, just talk to locals and keep your eye out for vulnerable situations like anywhere else.

I love border crossings. I’m always fascinated that culture can change so abruptly within a few feet and it always reminds me that in the 21st century we’re all still huddling in armed camps. These transition zones also are often an opportunity to see a country at its worst. Borders grow their own special ecology of lowlife. Traders, thieves, tourists, touts, soldiers and smugglers are all mixed up sitting at the same stools eating road food, talking about the weather and affirming cliches to each other in improvised interlingua.

From laid back Caribbean culture we passed into a place full of cowboy hats, bright woven colors and  guns. The gears of my brain’s Spanish machinery were seized from years of neglect. My mind was in full exhaustive learning mode every time someone spoke, jumping and grabbing at half comprehended phrases like an eager but retarded puppy. There’s no African blood in Guatemala,  the people are Mayan and Mestizo. The Mestizos live in the cities but the Mayan majority lives in the country. Mayan Women all wear the colorful woven skirt of their village and a blouse with a translucent shawl. Due to working along side the Mestizos for generations, Mayan men now dress like cowboys.

A lot of the country’s money comes from Coffee plantations but there’s not much of a coffee culture in Guatemala, its just an export.

Some pictures of Flores, Guatemala.

One early morning after a two hour boat ride to the middle of nowhere we came to The Blue Hole. The Blue Hole is an ancient underground sea cave who’s roof has collapsed leaving a great dimple in the continental shelf. Our open water PADI certification is for 60ft but the blue hole dive is to 130ft, the human pressure limit of SCUBA gear.

After getting off the boat we dumped all the air out of our buoyancy gear and fell down through the water for a long time. Surrounded by sleepy seven foot reef sharks the sunlight slowly faded away. We swam through colossal stalactites covered with barnacles as the effects 130ft of water piled onto our heads took hold. At that pressure, nitrogen in the bloodstream is forced into nerve membranes and causes a general disruption of function.  Mandy reported some minor visual hallucinations and my own coordination and general sense of focus were very impaired. Other than being an enormous cave at a silly depth, there isn’t much life at the Blue Hole. Its a novelty dive. That pressure isn’t good for you, we felt dazed for at least two days.

We needed a lot of time to work the bubbles out of our blood after the hole. So we chilled out on Half Moon Caye, fed a barracuda from the dock and watched red footed boobies nest in the trees before our final dives. We took some photos on Half Moon Caye.

The Aquarium was reef on one side overlooking an apparently infinite abyss on the other. Green and hawksbill turtles swam slowly through  packed rainbows of fish.  Framing the streaming highways of life were magnificent coral. Improbable constructions of neon Red, Green, Purple and Orange stack and fanned out and up. The reef structures host all manner of tiny creatures doing little tiny urban creature things on a smaller and more sedate scale than the whirling abundance immediately outside.

The first thing we did was to motor out to the cayes and plop ourselves in the Caribbean proper. The cayes are just sand that piled on top of reefs and is now sort of held in place by colonial coconut and banana trees. Reggae takes over from the city’s American Hip-Hop.

We based ourselves on Caye Caulker, the much less developed of the two major diving cayes. Frigatebirds kite overhead, people truck around the sandy paths on golf carts and bicycle. Stray dogs and cats roam with crabs and the occasional iguana.

Our first night on Caulker we went for a sail with some Dutch and Serbians, circumnavigating the island first by sunset and later by moonlight. Sailing is fantastic, it magnified my envy of Jason’s sail from Panama to New York. I might be content to stare at moonlight on the ocean from a creaking sailboat for the rest of my natural life.

Some photos of the cayes.

As fun as rum, hammocks, reggae and sailing were, we really came to Belize for the second biggest barrier reef in the world and its critters. After re-acquainting ourselves with the finer points of staying alive without atmosphere via YouTube, we got under the sea.

Visibility was eighty feet at least. You can swim at 60ft through protected coral canyons through most of the barrier reef, where large fish hang out. Curious three foot groupers come over and hover in front of you. Packs of six foot nurse sharks and four to five foot stingrays covered with remoras who have gotten entirely too used to being handled come over for belly rubs, cuddles and they’ll give you little rides. We also saw free swimming six or seven foot green moray eel.

There’s a break in the reef off Ambergris Caye that’s been designated the Hol Chan Marine Reserve. That was more like the bustling fish cities we saw in Thailand. Great schools of many types of fish mingling and checking things out, commuting to work and going about their business. Some in balls, some in traffic lanes, others with more individualized group behavior. Big silver scaly mackerel hovered like waiting buses as the others swirled around them. Huge french angelfish and rainbow parrot fish wandered about doe eyed and oblivious to their own beauty.

Foolishly, we didn’t equip our cameras for underwater photography. Don’t make that mistake.