After two weeks in colonial towns, I was ready to get off the mountain and back to the jungle. I craved water, heat and humidity, something I heard the eastern region of Rio Dulce (literally “sweet river”) had in spades.
A hop from the Caribbean coast, with cheap marinas and some of the best hurricane coverage in the sea, Rio Dulce has long been popular among cruisers. The river, in fact, has been used as a “hurricane hole” for hundreds of years. Spanish galleons, carrying booty from the Mayan world, took shelter here during storm season, and it became an important passageway to the interior. But with such good loot within arm’s reach, it also became popular with pirates--so much so that the crown had to build an armed fortress, Castillo de San Felipe, to protect its plunder.
For modern-day land-lubbers, the highway settlement of Rio Dulce (aka Fronteras) has never been much more than a layover to more exciting sites to the north — namely, the ruins at Tikal and the reefs and cayes in Belize. When Krista first passed through here in the 90s, the road north was unpaved and very slow-going—a bumpy, uncomfortable two-day trek. This was simply a place to supply-up before hitting the wilderness.
Today, Fronteras is a congested mess of a place, but just off the highway, on the river, it’s a completely different world: Resorts, guest houses, and primitive cabins dot the quiet riverbanks, catering both to passersby and those looking to hangout and explore the region.
We fell somewhere in between, staying three nights at Hacienda Tijax (pronounced tea-hawsh), a beautiful “eco resort” on an old cattle ranch that’s been converted to a teak and rubber farm. Cabins are connected by a series of boardwalks over the swampy earth, and extend to the docks at the small marina, where we scored a river view. The resort, though rustic, has a good restaurant and a nice, yet very cold swimming pool.
On our first night, Levi befriended our yachty neighbors, mostly long-term cruisers who’d checked into Tijax and never really checked out. They were celebrating a fellow cruiser’s birthday, and Levi, hearing music, joined them and so we eventually followed. He “jammed” with the guys, playing harmonica and mandolin. It was a lucky introduction to water-bound expats who've temporary made this place their home.
Fronteras sits on the river between two lakes: Lago Izabel to the west and El Golfete to the east. Izabel, the country’s largest lake, is beautiful and almost completely untouristed. The north shore is mostly cattle and agriculture, with one large town (El Estor) and a few small settlements. An extensive nature reserve, accessible by lancha (boat), sits on the western shore.
Cruisers said there’s a regatta to the lake once a year, but because of security concerns — the area is still known for pirates — they wouldn’t do it alone. It’s far too remote.
We took a day-trip to the hot-spring waterfalls at Finca El Paraiso (Paradise Farm), about 45 minutes from the highway, en route to El Estor. These beautiful falls are, quite literally, Jacuzzi-tub hot, dropping almost 40 feet into a cool-water river, where you can find the temperature that meets your fancy. We went around noon, mid week, and it started getting busy by the time we left a couple hours later.
We visited the castillo on the way back. It’s been destroyed several times — once by marauding pirates — but was reconstructed with good fidelity in 1955. Levi loved exploring the maze-like dark passageways. Definitely worth a visit.
If there’s one “must do”, though, it’s exploring the river, and the best way to do it is to take a lancha to Livingston, where the Rio meets the Caribbean Sea. The river here is wild and beautiful, passing through a numerous small Maya settlements, most quite traditional, and the occasional thatched-roof resort.
The moment you arrive Livingston, however, you know you’re not in "Kansas" anymore. Only accessible by boat, this English-speaking (and historically Gurifuna) town has almost nothing to do with the country in which it happens to reside. Guatemala's Afro-Caribbean population is tiny, and almost all of them live here.
Traveler descriptions of the town are decidedly mixed. Some like the town for its vibrant yet laid-back culture, and rough-around-the-edges feel. Others think it’s too shabby, even a little dodgey, and consider it only a way-point to nicer locations in Belize or up the river.
There’s no denying Livingston isn’t a beautiful place. The beaches in town aren’t very nice, and you shouldn’t expect the clear blue waters for which the Caribbean is famed. What you will find, however, is good food and fascinating culture. Topado, a traditional seafood stew in coconut broth with plantains, is quite special and shouldn't be missed.
The main street, leading up from the dock on the river, is the tourist zone with restaurants, a couple hotels, and a number of shops selling mostly tourist junk. Interestingly, this part of town is also mostly Mayan and Ladino (mixed Mayan and European), and not Garifuna. Largely ignored by the government, Livingston was considered a safe haven during the war, and as refugees flocked from the interior, it fundamentally changed the town’s makeup.
As you walk over the hill to the Caribbean side, however, it’s mostly Garifuna. Brightly painted clapboard houses and a few restaurants and bars reach down to the waters edge, leaving a narrow strip of beach. Off-shore, kids played in the water and men in dug-out boats cast their fishing nets. It's an odd division for such a small, isolated place, and one, we were told, that holds an uneasy balance.
We took the lancha back to Rio Dulce late afternoon, just in time for the rain. It was a wet and very windy trip up the river, especially across the lower lake of El Golfete. Everyone huddled under strips of black plastic tarp in a fruitless attempt to stay warm and dry. So much for my hopes of tropical heat and river-swimming bliss.
Still, in this beautiful land of pirates, nearly lost people, and edge-of-the world places, it felt like our real adventure had just begun. And for that, the moment was perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.
