Day one of three.  We’ve been chicken-busing and swamp-boating and have ended up in San Salvador.  Exhausted.  The following post was arrival day at the beach in Guatemala. The one we had been to 34 years ago! Day two was A Day At The Beach and day three was a Day On The Buses.  But I haven’t written two and three yet.  I will tomorrow.

Monterrico Sunset

We are in Monterrico, a little beach town on Guatemala’s Pacific coast.  It is just like every other seedy, dusty, hot-as-blazes little garbage-strewn dump along the coast from Tijuana to, well, here.  First impressions aren’t good.

But they never are.  It’s 30+C in the shade and there is very little of that. The promise of an onshore breeze has yet to be realized.  I feel like a plump little chicken on a rotisserie.  And yes!  I look like one, too.

The Author at Work

We pass on the Argentinians’ choice of hotel.  It’s inland and we are coming for the beach.  Another couple of gringos on the same bus opted for the first beach-side hotel the driver stopped at but the grinning, single old-codger, the seasoned-by-extensive-travel-looking tourist stayed on, so we did too.  We three got out at El Delfin.  Had to.  End of the line.

Old, seasoned (and Spanish speaking) tourist took one look around Delfin’s scant offerings and headed off to look for something else.  Not a good sign.  But we looked at lucky room #13 and decided that it was not likely to get any better than that and the room had the added advantage of not requiring any hiking in the blistering noon-day sun.

At US$10 per night each, we’d see if it was a bargain.

El Delfin

Our room is part of the south wing of el Delfin consisting of two other such rooms all under the same palm-leaf-and-bamboo palapa-style roof.  Each room is about 200 square feet. The charming concrete-block room walls go up about 7 feet and then the big ‘thatched cover’ sits on the perimeter walls. The roof is a veritable housing project for small wild, darting-in-the-night-type creatures.

But we have a mosquito net.

Mosquito/Things that go bump in the night Net

All rooms share air-space with one another not unlike washroom cubicles.  There is a loose collection of bamboo stalks keeping guests from clambering over for unwanted visits but one can hear any invitations being made.  Worse, one could hear the results of any invitations accepted.  Privacy is not being seen.  Everyone can be heard.

Sally leans over to me.  Her lips are barely moving.  I lean in closer. “I feel as if I should whisper.” She says.

“Why?”

“So no one can hear!” 

“I can’t hear and I am sitting next you!  Anyway, the guys next door speak some eastern European language and everyone else is speaking Spanish.  I think we are safe to swap even top secret information.  Got any?  I’m all out, myself.” 

Delfin’s is not so bad and, to be fair, it is very much like the places we stayed at during our ‘VW van’ travels in the 70’s.  It really is déjà vu for us.  We actually know what we got ourselves into.

Mind you, I did forget for a bit………

Fresh Pescado

But the beers with lime are cold and cheap.  The small pool is cooling.  The ocean crashes on the black sand beach in a relaxing rhythm.  And lunch was a huge whole fish with a good salad and even better fries.  Sal and I could only eat half of what we were served.  But we are obviously settling in.

Shawn and John (from the bus ride in) came over to report that their choice of hotels is not working out.  They’ll move over the next day.  Seems their hotel is under jack-hammer renovations and they checked in during lunch break.  The heavy equipment going all day and into the night, the Latin music cranked up to be heard over the machines and the pounding of the surf combines to make the place somewhat unlivable.  We call ’em wimps and give thanks for the quiet of el Delfin, roof denizens notwithstanding.

More tomorrow