Rush Hour in Río Dulce

Positioned as the eastern crossroads of Guatemala, Río Dulce turned-out to be one of those unexpected pleasures that the unsuspecting traveler could never adequately strategize or foresee. The small port-side outpost might be miles inland from the Caribbean coast but water also plays a significant part to the junction function.

The town evolved on a narrow channel that acts as mouth to Lago de Izabal; the country’s largest lake. The span is now connected by Puente Fronteras; ‘Bridge of Borders’, which is supposedly the longest of its type in all of Central America. Notoriety comes from the town’s namesake; the Río Dulce, which flows into the nearby Caribbean. 21st-century results?

Just as pirates and raiders once navigated towards the interior, today’s mix of world-traveling seafarers arrive on yachts. Local tourism is rapidly developing in catering to these crowds that overload piers and shores while stocking-up on supplies, or launching land explorations around the country. Boating enthusiasts will marvel at the daily flotilla on parade, whether drifting towards the lake or back out to sea.

Away from all the panache, the local version of society goes about their business as if the other didn’t exist. And what business it is! Guatemalans from the region flood Río Dulce in a manner that transforms this slapdash backwater into a bustling metropolis like none other.

CA-13, the main highway which barges right through the middle of town, is a never-ending rush hour of transport that heaves through a sea of pedestrians clogging the main artery – worse than any of the devoured greasy foods will likely do to your arteries in the process! Hot off a platter or fresh from a truck, the parade of vendors and shoppers was something to marvel and was definitely highlight of my brief stay.

This bizarre bazaar was beyond captivating the way simplicities of everyday life transpired amidst such commerce. Immersing in to the nomadic spectacle was a furnace of commotion shared with all that moved, including the faintest of breezes. Sizzling circumstances were inescapable but certainly more sufferable when heading towards any of the waterfront docks or the town’s Parque Malecón underneath the bridge.

Literally melting into the laidback lifestyle of Río Dulce shouldn’t be a problem for the curious, adventurous, or even the dinghy-type jet set looking for seclusion or inclusion.

Relevance is all in the perspectives.

If anything, that’s part of the magnetism that seems to be attracting more and more foreigners, by land and sea, to what has undoubtedly become Guatemala’s busiest intersection – a buoyant crossroads to chaos!

Quick Tips:

A Day or Extended Stay?
Río Dulce is a place that most travelers likely manuever through on their way to Tikal and Flores to the north, or Antigua and Guatemala City to the west. While there’s really nothing of interest beyond cultural pursuits thoroughly covered in less than a day, the town makes a logical home-base if planning to explore this southeastern territory on numerous Day Trips.

In addition to water-related activities, the Mayan ruins at Quiriguá are less than two-hours away, south of the lake.
The northern coastal rim is lined with accessible attractions, including Castillo de San Felipe, Finca El Paraiso, and El Estor; town serving as gateway to Bocas de Polochic Nature Reserve. East is the controversial coastal settlement of Livingston, which makes for an interesting browse despite hassle and hustle from hostile Garifunas.

Biggest decision confronting adventurers is whether to explore independently or book through numerous excursion companies popping-up everywhere, such as Tijax. While not attempting to arrange activities in Río Dulce, I did seek excursions through several agencies in Livingston and got a major run-around resulting in absolutely nothing! Since many of these places operate out of both towns, beware! Heading-out on your own may be confusing at times, but at least it’s a sure-fire bet for making something happen and to prevent getting herded around like cattle.

Fresh Water "Soup"
Although dulce usually refers to something "sweet", meaning shifts to "fresh" in relation to describing anything that’s not salt water. Nevertheless, there’s nothing fresca about this lowland coastal region of Guatemala. I’ve been in some tropical environments over the years, but nowhere has ever been quite so steamy! Especially if coming from inland, expect at least a 24-hour acclimation period accompanied by extreme lethargicness.

Sweat-soaked clothes are indication of need for continual hydration; various forms of heat-related illness legitimate concern. Conservative manners of dress are even shed by locals with some men wearing shorts and women baring more skin than usual. Frequent cold-water showers (even while keeping clothes on) were revitalizing for the moment.

Us vs. Them
Two very different worlds function side-by-side in Río Dulce while all but isolated from each other. Although there’s no escaping the Guatemalan sector invigorating main street, that’s exactly what seems to happen thanks to expat-ran enclaves catering exclusively to travelers. Otherwise, expect to feel like the only foreign visitor circulating around. And, be quite the welcomed novelty in the process! Bruno’s is the in-town asylum, while numerous others are sprouting along lakeshores.

-- Additional Río Dulce photos

Best Way To Get Around:

By Land
Finding your way around Río Dulce is rather straight forward as most everything evolves along busy CA-13 highway which doubles as main street. Any secondary needs diverge to the left where a secondary roadway heads west towards the Fortress and other factions lining north shore of the lake.

Río Dulce is quite walkable and I highly recommend exploring side passages; especially ones heading towards docks. Expect on-foot to be slothful amid roastings.

The main bus terminal is off to the left side from where bridge enters town. Posted schedules didn’t seem to mean much; most long-haul arrivals and departures happening before noon. Travelers can head north to El Petén and the Mayan Ruins of Flores and Tikal, or anywhere towards Guatemala’s west.

-- Departing from Copán, Honduras at 6:00am, I arrived in Río Dulce shortly before noon. One-way fare for direct connection from Chiquimula; Q30/.

-- Since I’ve encouraged independent exploring, smaller vans collect/depart from a concealed parking lot off right of main street. If you can’t find it, asks for the fish markets. It’s before heading towards docks.

By Water
The main transportation dock in Río Dulce is located west of the bridge, where road veers off to the right. Most connections are heading towards Livingston and the coast. While this 2+-hour boat ride is packaged like an adventure excursion, don’t expect much beyond the alternative measure for getting there. One-way fare is ; round-trip .

With tourism development beginning to sprawl along the lake’s shores, most establishments advertised shuttle service to/from town. Staying on the outskirts would definitely have pros and cons; while removed from noise and all the chaos, guests are also secluded from everything else. Consider the trade-offs unless total relaxation, doing absolutely nothing is part of the agenda.

-- For all the mass transit passing through along the highway, local watercraft shuttles keep docks just as busy!

I was quite taken back to find the town’s grocery store had parking space for less than a dozen cars, but could accommodate numerous boats at a pier! Don’t under-estimate how much waterways play in the whole whacky transportation process – everything from motorized speed boats to dug-out wooden canoes.

Local transportation docks are in front of the fish markets; behind the smaller transportation lot where vans disperse. This area stayed quite active at all hours of the day and night. If speaking the language, it would certainly be possible to negotiate your way around – "if" you actually knew where you planned on heading. I didn’t but heading-out through the swamps and side channels would certainly be part of the appeal if ever returning, whether going out with a local fishermen or an all-day joyride.

Exiting bus where the bridge funnels into main street, I looked north towards the river and saw the sign for Hotel Posada del Río. Recognizing name from this website, it made sense to start here for scouting accommodations. The short walk felt like sluggish miles thanks to the opaque coastal humidity that had already subdued any relevance or common sense. I was obviously restless, listless, and just ready to be settled!

Owner lives on the lower level and was eager to have a mid-week guest. On the upper floor there are three rooms with two twin beds and private bath costing Q150/$20; a triple for Q225/$30, and a single with double bed and private bath priced at Q75/$10. I tried bargaining based on listed rates from the website, which had now more than doubled! She had no idea what I was talking about, but the place was clean and secure, and I had melted into submission. Big mistake!


Convenience to the bus stop might have been the initial asset, but location was a downhill curse from there on out. Hotel is located across from and under the mammoth bridge. Other listings had included caution about traffic noise, but how bad could it really be?

Sleep-defying horrendous as mufflerless trucks grind their gears downshifting for entering town! Hoping that traffic decreased after dark, as usual, was also pretentious along this major thoroughfare; something I’m not sure even earplugs could have thwarted.

The other sticky situation was just that – the 3-speed overhead fan was stuck in slow mode regardless of which direction the oscillation. This was not discovered until after the fact; owner toying with the switch as if to indicate I wasn’t working the controls properly, yet her assistance and insistence changed nothing. The room remained a 24-hour sauna, and this is for once worth reporting that showers are cold-water only!

To say I do not recommend this place is really a shame. Beds were comfortable, bathrooms were new and in working order, and there were all kinds of little accents and extras providing the homey touch; even the way towels were folded and waiting on beds. Another very appealing draw upon first inspection is the open-air sitting room on the upper level. Breezes were most welcoming as were spectacular views over the harbor. But with the guaranteed soundtrack of inescapable transport, don’t be surprised if you end up the total wreck!

Scouting around later, here are other considerations for budget travelers:


Hotel Don Paco would be my choice if returning. This unsuspecting facility is on the highway out of town that heads toward El Castillo and northern rim of Lago de Izabel. Not only is traffic of less magnitude, the facility extends deep with cheaper rooms towards the rear in a garden-like setting. Actually, I was quite surprised with what was available with $4 singles and $7 doubles, with private bath and fan. Potential drawback is distance from the bus lot. While not overly far, the sultry saunter was brutal even without being weighted down with baggage! Unless hopping into/onto a passing vehicle, taxis and short-hop connections around town weren’t overly obvious.


Hotel Backpackers is across the river, and definitely appealing to younger crowds. Rowdy types eventually checked into where I was staying based on lack of room availability; reservations definitely recommended. While they don’t have single rooms, multiples splitting costs were even cheaper than Don Paco. Again, location plays a deciding factor as the facility is next to the noisy bridge. It’s also isolated across the river, and guests were overheard complaining about having to wait for transport back-and-forth. While not determined if free shuttle service was included, it could potentially compound cheaper room rates.

For the unacclimated traveler that finds Río Dulce just a bit too Guatemalan, Bruno’s is the place for you! This jack of all services has been the driving force of tourism in the region. Growing competition has kept them from cornering the market, but they’ve certainly cornered the harbor with prime location.


While I had no intention of paying double or triple their accommodation rates (especially considering Bruno’s is on opposite side of the bridge from where I stayed, and certainly not exempt from incessant traffic noise), I was curious to find out what all the fuss was about. The segregated compound explained why there weren’t any foreigners wandering around town. They were all holed-up in this gringo haven worthy of a Jimmy Buffet chorus line; especially the "wasted away again…" part.

Smells of burning reefer lazed in thickness of humidity, and I was quite humored from more than a half-baked contact buzz. These weren’t gnarly surfer-types or younger rhasta-wannabes but retired salty dogs that had drifted-in on fancy yachts and become anything but grounded. To watch them scamper around bunkhouses and grounds like a bunch of kids at R-rated summer camp was aspiration for my golden years to be as much a total lost cause.

Once realizing the pool was open to anyone for $3, I swam in my own sweat back to retrieve trunks and couldn’t wait to cool off. If only! Diving-in about caused me to gasp under water thanks to the boiling pot affect. No wonder this picturesque setting was abandoned in early afternoon; almost nauseating to stay in the torrid water. Breeze against wetness momentarily felt good until stickiness returned. Bring a towel or something to sit on. Otherwise, cushionless wooden chairs were something like coming hot off a grill.

The lunch crowd had thinned-out from the open air restaurant and bar. Recognizable food choices started at US$7; beers and drinks also well over-priced compared to local establishments. I couldn’t help but notice how all eyes seemed to fixate when walking in; whether as someone new to drink and talk with or what. Uncanny how the entire expansive setting had a caged feeling; rather like some had wandered in and gotten trapped or lost.

Since things to do around town are limited, Bruno’s did make for interesting browses beyond the norm. Docks are scenic with vistas framing watercraft, and varieties of flowering tropicals were everywhere. At first I thought numerous ‘Danger, Falling Coconuts’ signs were playful swipes at the Margaritaville-crowd until thunderous crash legitimized alert; cue to watch where you walk or park.

A store caters to landlubbers and yachtie-types, and I highly recommend the communication center just to feign interest while basking in air-conditioning. Internet service is $2 for 30-minutes or $3 for an hour; rather up-scale prices like everything else at Bruno’s in catering to a crowd that doesn’t mind or know the difference in paying extra for everything.

Nightly activities are jump-started with a popular Happy Hour. Returning to my hotel around dusk, the younger Europeans were heading out to a Bruno’s pool party and coaxed that I join them for cooling off. Buckets of warm longnecks in melted ice around the balmy bathtub was not my idea of "chill"; opting for another cold shower instead.

"Small whims"; that’s the translation for Antojitos, and I wouldn’t realize until later that almost every local eatery in Guatemala appears to go by this as a name. Hence, my first dining opportunity in the country qualifies equally as an experience and review.

Arriving in Río Dulce shortly after noon, I’d left Copán, Honduras that morning at 6:00am, and had barely even snacked on whatever roving vendors where hawking at every bus stop. With family-ran restaurants on either side of Hotel Posada del Río, I asked the owner which one she’d recommend. Without hesitation, she all but scooted me out the door to the right/north.

Four plastic tables lined the front porch of what looked more like someone’s storefront home. The place was abandoned; not a good sign considering it was the lunch hour. Walking through the front door, a make-shift counter and couple of reach-in coolers did little to disguise this was also someone’s family dining room, with large table and small kitchen off to the side. Waiting for a minute, I eventually called out with no response. About to turn and leave, a young woman entered from the rear courtyard with a rather surprised look that quickly turned to downcast eyes.

Perhaps she assumed I was lost or something. Speaking Spanish and assuring I’d came to eat mildly eased awkwardness – a cultural stigma I’ve picked-up on from my midwest Guatemalan neighbors where women become highly subdued around men; especially strangers, and even more so to foreigners. Asking for a menu was perhaps a bit much. Figuring I’d already blown things, she quickly escorted me out the door.

To spare mutual embarrassment, I kept right on walking until "Marta" yelled, "Oye, no tiene hambre?" – "Hey, aren’t you hungry?" Shaking my head yes, she slapped wall next to the entry. It took a moment to realize the menu was painted there. Ok.

There were only five possibilities for eating; three for drinking, and I was hoping for perhaps a little more selection on my first meal in Guatemala. Plus, I didn’t even know what a couple of things were. Asking for explanations was taken as indication I’d be staying for lunch. Figuring anything would suffice, a couple of tacos would do along with a pair of churrasquitos - whatever they were.

Selecting a table at far end of the porch, Marta brought a Gallo cerveza and returned to the kitchen just behind the grated window. What initially sounded like industrious preparations stalled when she came back to stand in the doorway; sheepishly stealing glimpses. Eventually asking a couple of small-talk questions, she eased into chair closest to the doorway.

Several minutes had passed between frequent runs back into the kitchen; each return bringing her a chair closer to where I was sitting. Amid conversations, it didn’t take much to realize every Guatemalan passing in the street offered some type of greeting – just as every "foreigner" kept right on walking as if we were invisible. Marta noticed that I noticed, and delivered an unsolicited beer to engage what made me different.

Repartee shifted from casual to flirty, with no doubts toward direction. Aromas wafting through the kitchen window redeclared my only hungering intentions, and she quickly scooted off. It wasn’t until reappearing with deceiving arms that I knew I’d gotten in way over my head!

Marta was carrying enough food to feed an army as she proficiently began to load the table. Before I could even question the obvious communication breakdown, she was off to retrieve round two which included a basket full of corn tortillas and several small bowls of sauces and toppings. No more had final item hit the table when she plopped-down in chair on the other side. Afraid she was closing-in for keeps, I was again in for a shocking surprise.

This was exactly what I’d ordered – two tacos and two churrasquitos. Tortillas and toppings come with every meal.

Blunder was forgetting that "a" taco always gets you three; just like in the authentic taquerías back home. In reality, six tacos was exactly what I’d requested! And yet, they were like nothing I’ve ever had.

While the small steak knife easily glided through the cuts of beef, it was typical Central American style – thinly cut and grilled till it chewed like shoe leather, but what flavors from the marinating, wood smoked grill, and red sauce. Typically a person would or should slice the beef and disperse it evenly, but I preferred to wolf like a horse while folding the tortillas and enjoying them with just the lettuce, cheese and sauces.

However, it’s the churrasquitos that I’m highly recommending and nowhere in Guatemala did I find anything better! The most comparable Tex-Mex "gringo" offering would be similar to a flauta. Filling was basically the same as the tacos except the tortilla is thinner and meat was sliced into smaller portions. They’re then rolled, pinned, and deep-fried until crunchy.

I was about halfway through the meal when down to the last sip of my third beer. Marta offered another but I was rather hesitant. Considering each return trip to the table had brought her one seat closer, we were out of chairs and next stop was sitting on my lap! Besides, I was already stuffed. These types of selections tend to ride heavy, and heat was only compounding the bloated affect.

Marta agreed to wrap-up the remaining portions of take-out provided I agreed to bring them back when ever ready to eat again so she could rewarm them. Baited hook or not, it sounded reasonable considering potential food-related illnesses. When receiving the bill, total came to Q110 – $14.65! Wondering if there was gold in the tortilla cornmeal, I questioned exactly what I had.

Marta had to stop and think for a moment. The churrasquitos were Q15/$2 each as were the taco plates. Beers were Q10/$1.33. Quickly tallying Q90/$12 in my head as the appropriate total, Marta fumbled for a calculator to attempt some quick math. We went over and over the items and costs perhaps three times before she figured my total. She kind of laughed at her mistake, and willingly accepted Q10 more as a tip – not that I ever thought she was trying to rip me off.

Periodically sitting on the open-air deck of the hotel next door, I caught Marta stealing glimpses again. She waved me down later; reminding to bring the leftovers; just as filling the second time around, but certainly better freshly prepared.

The following morning, it was I that found myself watching her as she opened-up and immediately went to work scrubbing and scouring the front porch before reassembling the tables and chairs. She worked harder in that brief time than most Americans do in a day!

Marta indicated being ready to serve breakfast, and I somehow couldn’t resist. Morning selections weren’t painted on the wall so she called me over to the refrigerator to do a quick survey. Considering I’d already been up for hours, quite the appetite needed to be filled and I was disappointed that portions were rather skimpy. The salchicha scrambled with the eggs turned out to be hot dogs rather than actual sausage, and there was only a smidgeon of fried sweet plantains.

Figuring I’d load-up on the tortillas, with what I thought was butter and jelly, the clump of thick brown paste turned out to be refried beans prepared in a manner I’d never seen or imagined. It smoothly spread across the tortillas and certainly took the bite out of the "meant to kill ya" – mantequilla; the bitter concoction Central Americans call butter.

Marta and I made small talk about my plans for leaving and heading-off towards Livingston. I didn’t find it all surprising that she’d never made the two-hour boat ride towards the coast. When asking what I owed, she got out the calculator and quickly got down to business. With all that she quoted, Marta kept insisting it was Q15/$2 including the cup of coffee.

The poor woman couldn’t do math to save her soul! I did finally determine that she didn’t actually live in the house out-back, but suspected she was running the restaurant for whom ever did. And, either making or losing them money based on how inept she was at figuring bills. The breakfast actually cost Q20 and while I could never get her to accept the extra 5, I just left it on the table as part of the tip.

Considering Río Dulce’s position as the crossroads for eastern Guatemala, the town also doubles as outpost for this entire region. What I wasn’t expecting were the tremendous amounts of trade and commerce in one of the most chaotic and unique settings ever experienced!

Bridge over the river funnels into main street which also doubles as an outdoor extravaganza from sun-up ‘til sun-down. Heavy traffic all but came to a standstill at times thanks to swarms of locals freely circulating amidst daily activities. I was amazed how people took little to no caution while walking through traffic; hypnotized by impulse towards all that awaited. Not that there’s any types of sidewalks for safe passage, but it wouldn’t matter.

Vendors have squeezed-in elbow to elbow hawking countless amounts of goods and services that packs potential customers 10-deep in spots! Crowds on-foot, bicycles and other crude forms of "go" intensified in swells from both sides; at times bottle-necking traffic as if oblivious to the whole transportation interchange. Official businesses lining the thoroughfare are obscured by the masses; not that whatever is needed can’t already be found out front in the streets!

The veritable spread was as much a potential feast for the stomach as for eyes thanks to a bounty of make-shift stands doubling as open-air eateries. As was my first stop in Guatemala, the introduction to culture and cuisine was confounding with mounds of unidentifiable, prepared foods. A person could eat three meals a day without ever having to enter a restaurant, and it seemed that’s how locals function. While tempting, my exploratory palate left samplings unappraised.

Peddlers were out at dawn and seemed to rotate positions through the dinner-hour as selections disappeared. Majority of foods are fried and a stomach full of grease, further queasy from the heat, was not my idea of light and fluffy. Potential spoilage or contamination is also a factor thanks to questionable sanitary practice, flies, heat, and the persistent seasoning of all-day exhaust fumes.

Figuring a cup of coffee wouldn’t be a digestive compromise also proved somewhat a gamble. The lady scooped a generous spoonful of the ‘instant’ variety into a styrofoam cup and added water from a container sitting on a heating unit. Not only was the coffee gritty and lukewarm, first sip also sparked conscientious questioning of where the water came from, and if it was even boiled and/or safe. Within minutes, I had a couple of sharp pangs within my digestive tract and while never developing beyond anything more, reserve the street-side bait for photos only!

While the main street fiasco is inescapable, the curious traveler would be short-changed without exploring all the lesser alleys and passageways which trail off towards the waterfront. Evolving amidst a much calmer approach, it’s still "business as usual" with colorful assortments of goods for sale including in what appears to be the official market place engulfed by all that sprawls beyond.

Side passages dead-end on docks which afford a behind the scenes look at daily activities happening along the waterfront. Changing vantage points requires going back to main street and taking a different entry. Photo opportunities were excessive; locals not seeming the least bit offended and more than willing to engage in conversation. These docks also rendered a sparkling picture-perfect sunrise!

-- If looking for sit-down dining beyond snacking in the streets, head anywhere towards the waterfront, especially around the busy sections of docks. While there were a couple of expat establishments catering exclusively to travelers, the majority of restaurants and bars are locally-owned and specialize in fresh fish and seafood unloaded right at the door.

Initial explorations had already quickly scouted territory under the bridge as it trailed off towards the river. Nothing had overly registered until a self-confined captive at Bruno’s included this area on a mindless list of places to avoid for safety reasons. Immediately, curiosity had me wondering what I’d overlooked? Apparently, the fact that enjoying moments of leisure are perceived as a threat!

For all the hustle and bustle of main street Río Dulce, this shaded section of recreational space is where local people escape to catch their breath from cool breezes coming off the river. Unlike most towns which have a Parque Central where residents congregate, this rendition was all the more engaging and worth repeat visits.

Actually, I’d detoured from this entire area on the first bypass; opting where road splits to the right for reaching the public transportation docks. Otherwise, thoroughfare ends at a viewing platform on river’s edge. The overlook is somewhat impeded by trees, but welcomed just the same as a coolant with ample shade. Not much was happening mid-day aside from ladies pounding clothes on rocks in performing mundane laundry duties.

Overhead traffic rumbling across the bridge shatters tranquilities, but environment is still relaxing. Haphazard gardens are colorful in-bloom. Of most intrigue was the mammoth statue dwarfed under the bridge reinforcement – man grappling with fish as if to indicate the struggles and triumphs that defined age-old subsistence. The statue towers over a small fountain that didn’t look like it had been in working order for quite some time.

Significance of this being the town’s main social center didn’t begin revealing itself until later in the day. Basketball courts and playgrounds began stirring with action, and clapboard buildings and stands took-on new appeal as small business owners catered to crowds with foods and trinkets – things that would qualify as the town’s only souvenir venue. Height of traffic was at dusk as if everyone came to watch a sunset that never happened.

The area stayed quite active with families, young lovers and strollers well after dark as likely the only entertainment beyond home. At no point did I ever feel unsafe day or night, or that this was a place off-limits to travelers. Beyond smiles, people weren’t overly friendly perhaps because of perceived language barriers but for me it sure beat the English-speaking zoo-crew at Bruno’s.

Considering there’s not much else to do around town, this recreational area is certainly recommended for diversion and photo opportunities.

Recommending this as an alternative transportation measure for reaching Livingston and Guatemala’s Caribbean coast is one thing. Expecting this to be anything more than a hot joyride quite the other! Whether to justify fares or to increase tourism, these waterway connections are packaged like excursions. A list of enticing sites and stops along the way made the adventure sound quite worthy of the $10, one-way ticket. Keep an open-mind, and it might be.

Departure got off to a rough start when crossing river to pick-up passengers at Hotel Backpackers. When guests were nowhere to be found, it became evident they’d already been shuttled across the river and dropped-off at a different dock. After quite the search, the hostile hostal-types were loaded, only for returning across the river for an elongated fueling stop. To say things went downriver from there would be a gross understatement!

First stop of "the tour" was to be at El Castillo de San Felipe on the lake’s shore west of town. The current fortress is a 1956 authentic reconstruction of a Spanish stronghold that warded off ships and pirates heading inland from the Caribbean.

I had intentionally bypassed visiting on the day before since this was included with the boat trip. Because we were already so far behind schedule, driver simply zipped the additional 3km inland, somewhat slowed during a bypass of the fort, and immediately did a u-turn without bothering to stop as promised.

The group of irate Israeli students were either hung-over or had been traveling together for too long, but their constant bickering and heckling of our Guatemalan crew and passengers (as if they couldn’t understand body language and surliness) did nothing to help any cause. A German and I guarding the backseat were more than thankful when utter boredom silenced outbursts, and they all finally put their heads down and shut-up.

But quite truthfully, it was boring! Where the river bottlenecks at Río Dulce forming what appears to be mouth to the lake, it just as quickly sprawls on the other side for at least two-thirds of the ride. The 18-passenger speedboat split right down the middle, with banks too wide on either side for seeing anything. I’m all for boating and would’ve enjoyed this much more if promotions and information hadn’t deceived me into thinking I’d be getting something else.

Thankfully, we did head towards shore a couple of times for dropping-off random passengers. To get a quick peek into their humble riverfront lives were highlights of the trip compared to listed attractions.

Isla de Pajaros – "Bird Island", was an obvious bust heading towards high-noon with heat and threatening rains scattering flocks elsewhere. Other than a lone vulture and couple of white egrets, more birds were available for viewing from docks and shores of Río Dulce.

Supposed feature of the trip were Los Jardines de Aguas; "water gardens" that even the ticket vendor seemed enthused to discuss. What these involved were an indented coastal area where thick clusters of water lilies were sprouting in shallow depths.

The white blossoms radiated against the red and green pads; further enlivened from waters reflecting the momentary blue sky. Slowing to enjoy the area cut any breeze, and the sun bearing down had the ungrateful protesting to move full-speed ahead!

When preparing to leave the alcove, a young Guatemalan boy came curiously rowing towards our boat. The small, dug-out canoe seemed barely enough to accommodate his small stature, but he continued approaching as if to try and cut us off. Holding a small crab in his hand, driver stopped just long enough to pull side-by-side before issuing a reprimand to stay out of the way, and go home! Considering the squalid hovels lining nearby shores, he didn’t have far to go.

Rather than offering a Quetzal to the young lad for our viewing pleasure, apparently the boat crew was banking on our generosities at the final stop. We pulled alongside a make-shift walkway that actually hemmed thermal springs gushing from the river banks. Rancid sulphur smells and the shadeless dock were anything but welcoming. Driver indicated there was a small cave further up the cliffs we could explore.

The German and I headed up a steep trail through the forest, and were immediately followed by locals offering to be our guides. More were waiting at mouth of the cave as potential escorts. My comrade agreed to enter and quickly returned from the darkness reporting there was little to nothing to see. He slipped a couple of Quetzales to the kid that actually had used a flashlight but as we turned to leave, the remaining followed as if waiting for us to give them something; anything.

An awkward silence back at the bottom was finally broken by one of the passengers asking if we could go somewhere to swim. Driver indicated that this was the place, and everyone started the reboarding process on-cue. Before leaving, much to everyone’s surprise, crew made a bilingual appeal about how hard everyone hanging around the docks work to keep things clean and appealing for tourists – all 20+ of them. I realize this is a very poor country, but this tactic for handing out money only further soured what already felt like a fleecing!

We’d been out on the water going on two hours with no place to cool-off with a swim, nor stops at any of the little make-shift restaurants lining banks closer towards the coast. (Be sure to bring bottled water or something to drink.) Even worse, there had yet to be anything that lived-up to Río Dulce excursion information listings. And while there are plenty of private companies offering these tours, I’d be hard-pressed to guess that shuttle transportations isn’t the main priority for any of them!

The channel was finally narrowing into what more resembled a river; a very wide one at that. Massive walls of karst dipped into jungle-laden valleys that would have provided the ultimate explorations. Conditions within the boat had rather calmed along with the scenery until one of the insufferables asked to drive the boat. I couldn’t believe driver agreed! What ensued was an on-going clamor for the privilege as if each had to further prove themselves a total ass; safety violations and reckless driving included in the process!
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Perhaps this was the captain’s own slick way of trying to get back on everyone’s good side as we neared end of the trip. We docked at Livingston a little over two-and-a-half hours after leaving Río Dulce, including all the initial confusion. Everyone jumped-out of the boat and kept right on walking without tipping or even acknowledging the crew. If paybacks are hell and there’s any such thing as kharma, this "boat tour" would end-up seeming like a first-class experience compared to all the hassle and hustle that abounds in Livingston!

-- There’s first clue that I Do Not Recommend coming to Livingston! But if you insist, the Río Dulce boat ride is recommended over the only other alternative which involves taking a bus out of town and changing at the La Ruídosa junction for anything heading towards Puerto Barrios. Boat ride across the river mouth to Livingston was Q30.

While the land-route is somewhat less expensive, it requires more time as well as advanced planning. Shuttle service between coastal towns is limited, and Puerto Barrios didn’t look like the place to be stuck for a night. When leaving Livingston for Puerto Barrios, I caught the last boat out, which was 11am.

-- Again, while I recommend this boat trip as over-priced transportation worth the splurge, I do not recommend this for its excursion qualities. Perhaps with a little more time and research something better could’ve been found based on numerous trip descriptions. But with willy-nilly operation modes of both expats and locals regarding most everything, I’d be surprised! Prove me wrong.

-- The main transportation dock in Río Dulce is located to right/west of the bridge. (Tel. 5561-9657). Ticket window opens early, but options decrease during the afternoon. Information recommends making reservations, and you probably should just to insure a spot. While I bought ticket on the day before, several passengers showed-up that morning and found availabilities.

-- I was the only passenger that planned to stay in Livingston. The others had several hours to explore before returning to Río Dulce. Supposedly boats make different stops heading in the opposite direction. Round-trip cost was $18.