Manic mosquitos. Trippy turtles. A psychotic yogini and a violent storm. Wet Birkenstocks. Deadly waves slamming down on black sand. And of course, Pancho, the Pelican, who can still fuel nightmares if I’m not careful.
Ah yes, memories…of a mere 24 hours in Monterrico, Guatemala. Do they light the corner of my mind? Most certainly.
Wondering what the hell happened there, are you? Well, let’s pretend we’re at a hostel or in a bar having a drink and sharing travel tales. Tag–I’m it.
Reluctant but Intrigued
When my travel companion, Krista, suggested that we go to Monterrico, I wasn’t super excited about it. Because we were in the mountains of Guatemala (Xela, aka, Quetzaltenango–I think–you know, the place that sounds like a pretzel doing the tango), getting there would be tricky. At least 2 to 3 chicken buses. And a boat.
And from what I read in the Lonely Planet, Monterrico wasn’t the kind of place where I’d be going for a swim. The water sounded a bit intense–and a bit uninviting–unless you’re a surfer with a death wish, that is.
“The odd-angled wave-print signals that there are rip tides; deaths have occurred at this beach, so swim with care. Strong swimmers, however, can probably handle and enjoy the waves.”–Lonely Planet
But because I was intrigued by the black sand and the scary waves and wanted to check out the turtles–and because travel with a friend requires give and take– I said yes.
We arrived in town just as kids were getting out of school–and there were lots of them. The buildings were colorful and tropical and that was good because in some cases, it hid the scruffiness of the rooms, many of which we instantly rejected due to cruddy looking beds.
The Decision to Splurge
We struggled to find just the right place to stay and in the end, decided to splurge on a very large and very clean room with in incredible view of the ocean, which had its own balcony. My one and only concern, of course, was mosquitos and so I asked the manager what we could do to protect ourselves.
“No te preocupas,” he said. Don’t worry. (He didn’t say, “Be happy,” but I think he wanted to.) And he promptly brought us several mosquito repellant coils. We both let out a sigh of relief and then made a plan to have seafood for dinner. Plus an alcoholic beverage. It seemed like we were settling in and that everything was going to be….just fine.
Of course, that’s when everything sort of went haywire.
Just as we arrived at the restaurant and ordered arroz con camarón (rice and shrimp), a violent thunder/lightening storm hit. The tarp roof of the restaurant was sort of lame and thus, did very little to keep us dry. In fact, within a few minutes, everything was wet, including the plates, the napkins and my precious Birkenstocks. And I wasn’t happy, but I chose to laugh….just because.
Sitting there, with wet shoes and nothing to do, it was only natural that we’d watch the lightening striking in the not-so-distant distance. It was beautiful and dramatic as it revealed the beach to us, making night look like day. Of course, there was one thing that just didn’t add up…
A psychotic yogini was tempting the Lightening Gods.
A woman, for some reason, was practicing yoga on the beach. In the middle of the thunder and lightening. Was she crazy? Or was she simply ‘in the moment’? Whatever the case, I think she was making a serious mistake. See–she was doing the Sun Salutation. And there was no sun. Perhaps she should have been doing the Lightning Leg Lift?
Anyway and fortunately, the lights soon came back on and miraculously, we had a good meal. But just as we walked back to the room, the rain hit again. Even harder this time.
Mosquito Madness
Now back at the room, all I wanted to do was sleep. Same with Krista. We made our preparations and climbed into our beds, placing the mosquito coils nearby to keep the annoying insects away.
How’d that work out for us? Not too well.
Like the Luftwaffe of the insect world, they were well-trained in how to do their work. Although they had no bombs to drop–just bites to deliver–they knew how to target us just so. They attacked over and over again, sometimes ambushing us.
We knew it was time for the big guns, so we pulled out our spray repellant and fought back. It was us, with our flack guns versus them, with their bomb-bites. We sprayed our sleep clothes and the sheets/pillows and rubbed it in our hair. And eventually, we prevailed.
Or maybe we simply got high from the fumes and fell into a stuporous sort of sleep. Whatever the case, the bites no longer mattered.
Deadly Waves
The next morning, we were up early. And strangely enough, we felt OK. Almost happy. One reason was the scene outside the window, which was gorgeous and surreal. The black sand, the shades of blue and grey in the water, the light blue sky…it was picture perfect and inviting.
And it was also feeling quite warm and it was only 7 a.m.
Knowing our window of tolerable weather was small, we began our stroll right away. We walked along the already-hot sand, eyeballing the water and listening to the deafening waves. We put our feet in and that was it. It was obvious (on that day, anyway) that anything beyond your ankle meant that you were asking for it.
It, meaning death.
We were only out there for an hour or so before it was a bit too hot. The black sand, as you can imagine, really attracts and retains the heat of the sun.
So we moved on to one of the local turtle reserves. There would be shade there, we figured, and we could keep cool.
Trippy Turtles
We saw many turtles at the turtle farm. Small ones, big ones, medium-sized ones, etc. Many hung out together and others kept to themselves. Most stayed in the water. Some seemed to be in couples, like these two.
As much as I enjoyed meeting the turtles–those that were not, um, busy– I was eager to move on. And as unique as Monterrico was, I was ready to move on.
While some people fall in love with the town, others do not. I fell into the latter category. I figured I’d snap a few more photos of the sights and then get the heck out.
Pancho, the Pelican
Pancho, of course, had another plan in mind.
There he was, this very docile looking pelican, hanging out on the side of the road. He was beautfiul and photo worthy. So I assessed the situation first (he seemed ‘fine’–whatever that means) and got out my camera. I was about 15 feet away, not too close, and doing well.
But I got greedy. And that’s where I made my mistake.
My camera only zooms to 128 mm, so I decided to move a little closer. And when I did, something totally unexpected happened.
Pancho gave me a dirty look.
For a moment, I questioned my own sanity. Was this pelican angry that I was taking his photo? Did he even understand what was happening? Or was it just that I, a human, was simply too close?
Like a fool, I continued to snap away, even as he began to stare at me, not from just the corner of his eye, but head on. And then….
He began to chase me. To pursue me. That’s right. Pancho, the Pelican, was Pissed. He started to come after me. And I, a silly tourist, began to scream.
“Help me, Krista….Help!”
“What do you want me to do?” she responded. Seemed she was also trying to escape. It was every man (or tourist) for himself. Anything went.
This continued for several minutes–and yes, I took video of it despite fear of being pecked to death–and finally, a miracle occurred.
The Miracle of Monterrico
The owner of this pelican came out of his house, which was down the street, and began to yell. (That’s why I was able to use his name before this moment.)
“Pancho, Panchito…ven acá….Tranquílo!” Come here, Pancho….little Pancho….be calm.
And sure enough, Panchito, the Pelican, left me alone and life was good again. I thanked his owner, grabbed my backpack and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here, Krista.”
Laughing with and at each other, we caught the first bus out and didn’t look back.
Travel Tips (aka, moral of the story)
If you visit Monterrico:
1. Pack good repellant and waterproof shoes/flip flops
2. Wake up early to check out the beach before it’s too hot
3. Don’t swim in the ocean unless you’re a surfer with a death wish
4. Visit the turtle farms….they’re fun and worth it
5. Don’t photograph pelicans with a short lens and don’t underestimate how fast they can waddle
6. Enjoy yourself…it’s quirky there, but worth it (I think)
How About You?
Have you been to a place like Monterrico, where in a mere 24 hours you encountered madness, mischief, bizarreness or just plan old quirkiness? If so, where was it and what happened?
Have you ever been pursued by a pelican? Or has another animal that seemed OK with your photo-taking turned on you? If so, please share. I’d like to know that I’m not the only one. 