Claudia and Mark's flight left early in the morning from Guatemala City. They were in Flores, the capital of the department of the PetΓ©n, before nine. Flores is actually a small island in the middle of lake Peten Itza, connected to the mainland by a narrow causeway. It consists mainly of tourist hotels and restaurants. The hotels all face out onto the lake. The level of the lake is rising, and many of the hotels are now literally in the water. The effect is incongruous -- a motley wall of modern hotels dropping straight into the lake.
Claudia and Mark checked into their hotel, the Hotel Peten. The Hotel Peten was just as modest as their hotel in Guatemala City. They had their own bathroom, but not much else. Their room had a view out over the lake. They could see the dusty sprawl of the rest of the town (actually called Santa Elena), across the water on the mainland. It was very hot.
From the moment the flight attendant opened the door of the plane, Claudia and Mark had felt the heat. Within a few minutes, their clothes were damp with sweat. It was so hot they found it difficult to breathe. Their hotel did not have air conditioning, but the overhead fan provided some relief.
On the phone from Guatemala City, they had arranged to go directly to Tikal from the hotel. Pushing against the enervating heat, Claudia and Mark hurried downstairs to catch the bus. It was a small, modern bus, but without air conditioning. From their hotel, the bus drove slowly around the island, picking up other tourists from their hotels. By the time they were making their way across the causeway to the mainland, the bus was full.
Claudia and Mark were too hot to make the effort to try to participate in any of the conversations going on around them. The other tourists were evidently better acclimatized to the heat; there were several lively conversations going on. It would have been difficult for Claudia and Mark to join in in any event. There was one couple near the front of the bus who seemed to be speaking English to one another, but the others were speaking what sounded like German, French and maybe Italian.
It is not far from Flores to Tikal, less than an hour. Admission was included in the price of their tour. So was a tour guide, but Claudia and Mark had already decided that they would make their own way around the ruins. They would come back after visiting Edward and take a guided tour; today they wanted to walk around together to admire the ruins.
The ruins of Tikal are enormous. To explore the entire site would take weeks if not months. To see only the largest and most important ruins at the center of the site, where most tourists go, takes at least two days.
The ruins at Tikal were left by the Mayas. Tikal was mostly deserted by about 1,150 years ago. At its height, it had a population of perhaps 100,000 people. The ruins consist of temples, pyramids and other buildings, all built of white limestone. There are hieroglyphs and other designs carved on stone stelae, and on the buildings. It is even possible to see original Maya graffiti, where more recent graffiti has not obliterated it.
Claudia and Mark spent a happy four hours in the ruins. They had a guidebook which helped them understand what they were seeing. Claudia and Mark, but especially Mark, were overwhelmed by the splendor of the ruins. It was Mark who raced to the top of Temple IV, the highest temple in the ruins, at some 210 feet high.
Both of them, but especially Claudia, also appreciated the setting for the ruins. The ruins are in the midst of the virgin rainforest that reclaimed the land when the Mayas left, and there is a wealth of plant, animal and insect life to see. Claudia was thrilled when she managed to coax several tarantulas from their burrows in the ground with long stalks of grass.
Back in Flores that night, Claudia and mark had pizza for dinner at a pizzeria called βPicasso.β Their pizza was surprisingly good.
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They woke up early the next morning. Edward had told them to be at the mainland end of the causeway by six in the morning. They were up at five. It was just starting to get light; they could hear the sound of roosters crowing faintly across the water. They got dressed quickly, and were in the street, their packs on their backs, by five thirty. It was a bright, clear morning. The heat would not begin for another few hours.
Mark spoke first.
"Excited?"
"Yes. This is going to be fun."
"I wonder what Edward's house will be like?"
"I bet he has servants. Probably horses too."
"Of course he does. His family is part of the ruling elite."
They had reached the causeway. Guatemalans get up early; there were already a few people out on the road. They walked at the edge of the causeway, away from the occasional truck or bus that drove by, kicking up dust and gravel.
Edward's driver was waiting for them at the end of the causeway. He was dark and looked very Guatemalan. He was driving a brand new black four wheel drive Isuzu Trooper.
"Hello. Mark, Claudia?"
He had a heavy accent.
βYes.β Mark answered.
"Please."
He motioned for them to get in the back seat. He put their knapsacks in the rear of the vehicle. Without another word, he got in and they were off.
Claudia leaned forward, her phrase-book in hand.
"Como te llamas?"
Her pronunciation of "what is your name" was far from perfect, but the driver evidently understood the question.
"Ruperto."
"Cuantas horas de viaje son?"
"Son dos horas y media. No es lejos."
"Gracias."
Claudia turned to Mark.
"His name is Ruperto. He says that it's not far; two and a half hours drive from here."
Santa Elena is not a large town. They were soon past the outskirts. The countryside was mostly pasture, with a few grazing cattle. There were some stretches of jungle. It was very flat. They passed several small towns. The road was unpaved. Ruperto drove a fast slalom, avoiding most of the potholes.
An hour into the journey, small round hills began to appear. There were now patchwork fields of corn running up and down the hills on both sides of the road. Some of the fields were blackened from having recently been burnt. The road began to climb between and around the hills. The potholes got bigger, and Ruperto slowed the Isuzu.
After half an hour of gentle, winding ascent, Ruperto turned off the main road and onto a dirt track. He stopped the vehicle and engaged the four wheel drive. It had obviously been raining here; the track was very muddy. Ruperto drove slowly, but the vehicle still skidded from side to side in the mud. In places, the Isuzu got stuck. Ruperto would rock the vehicle forward and backwards in the mud, the tires spinning furiously, until they were free.
The hills around them were virgin jungle, with occasional small plots of corn. Some plots had been freshly cleared; they could see the charred remains of the forest that had been cut and burnt. The track continued to climb, although twice it dropped steeply down to a river. There were no bridges. The rivers were broad but not deep, and the Isuzu forded them without difficulty.
As they drove deeper into the jungle, Claudia found herself remembering Edwardβs angular features and his British accent. He was certainly a man of mystery. And very sexy.
They came to a wooden gate. Ruperto got out of the car, unlocked it, and swung it open. Beyond the gate were broad grassy fields, with horses grazing. The fields were enclosed by striking white limestone cliffs, topped with dark green rainforest. They could see the outlines of a river snaking along the cliffs furthest away from them. To their left, on a small hillock, was a house. They drove up.
Edward was standing waiting for them at the front of the house.