Livid! in Livingston

What was to be the pinnacle of a 10-day Central American adventure literally sent me packing within 24-hours thanks to a milieu of mishaps, still contemptible almost one-year after the fact! Personalized traumas and dramas may have subsided, but there’s no filtering the bitter objectives towards blasting the town of Livingston – supposedly Guatemala’s funky little seaside Hot Spot.

The town is unique with its blending of Caribbean, African and Latino heritages. Architectural styles were primitive yet colorful along active streets. Intriguing Photo Opportunities abounded, and one of my overall trips highlights was watching the sun rise from atop the look-out point along Playa Capitania. If only the remainder could’ve have been as memorable for optimistic reasons.

Four days had been planned-out with assistance of the owner from Exotic Travel excursions. While he couldn’t guarantee enough interest to make the snorkeling Day-Trip to Belize’s nearby Cayos Zapatillos, there were numerous other opportunities. With last e-mail contact four days before arriving, imagine kick in the teeth of getting there to find he’d planned to be gone that week, there was no record of me, and all trips were cancelled!

Actually, that would turn out to be a minor jerk of the chain compared to the run around from other excursion companies, where both locals and expats operate in that enigmatic fog that can drive Latin American travelers insane! Wretchedly, this was still far from the worst.

Livingston is supposed to be the cultural epicenter for The Garifuna; displaced slaves that now populate much of Central America’s Caribbean coast. Actually finding and experiencing the real people was out of the question thanks to antisocial types prowling streets in a manner that would make any urban ghetto feel passive! Bitter hostilities directed towards travelers were only the sideshow to obvious racial tensions festering between local blacks and Hispanics; division lines undeniable.

There was so much left unexplored – at first waiting for an excursion that would never happen, but also in quickly realizing what risks abounded in certain parts of town. Unfortunately, the hustle and hassle was largely inescapable anywhere. It really was a damn shame!

Negative reviews aren’t easy to compile, but I’ve tried to be objective with shameful descriptions of Livingston’s Cultural Collisions that lie in-wait for fresh prey disguised as travelers. The entire experiences were so exasperating, I scrapped remainder of a coastal itinerary; opting to retreat inland rather than heading across the border and chance-finding more of the same in Garifuna-populated Omoa and Puerto Cortes, Honduras.

I’m sure some people have had exceptional times here, though I highly suggest googling Livingston reviews. While perhaps not as scathing, cons certainly out-weigh any pros. Even with this first-hand advice, there will undoubtedly be those still hell-bent on visiting.

¡Buenas Suerte!

But don’t be surprised if you also end-up flying the coop like a big chicken because this place is inexcusable!

Quick Tips:

There are reasons why NYC visitors don’t plan to stay in the Bronx, nor Chicago travelers on the south side. They’re perilous ghettos I’m very familiar with, but I’d take my chances there before ever returning to Livingston!

Risk factors aside, most everything travel-related in this town played-out on one of the most incompetent scales ever fathomed. For anyone that’s toying with decision to visit, here’s more of the very least of the worst in what to expect:

-- Numerous excursion companies operate in Livingston, but they’re all somehow inter-connected the way guests are booked and passed around. Options aren’t nearly as abundant as they seem, and there was no such thing as daily tours for anything as advertised. Reservations mean absolutely nothing, and do not send any deposits for arrangements made in advance, including accommodations.

At the same time, I highly caution about wandering around town; little alone heading-off towards remote jungle trails and Los Siete Altares. Travelers’ feedback questions why pay for tours when independent explorations are just as doable, including through Livingston’s historic Garifuna sections. I didn’t even make it a third of the way to the cemetery along the main street and turned-back due to undeniable resentments towards mere presence.

-- This might be Guatemala’s Caribbean, but don’t expect quick access to decent beaches. Playa Capitania is actually a grass-covered inlet of the Río Dulce just inside the mouth. The seafront strip at base of the hill was heavily polluted. Day-time sneers from suspicious locals milling about suggested this was Garifuna territory, and I was invading. Recommended area beach is Playa Blanca up the coast; too far to walk and part of the elusive excursions.

-- The majority of Livingston’s restaurants are clustered along the main street that heads uphill from the docks and hooks to the right. Most have front porch patios for dining; some hemmed with a short wall while others open directly onto the street. Be prepared to fend-off the shiftless and opportunists passing in the streets if choosing to dine in these areas. Staff seemed oblivious to pestering of their customers.

There was one rather large, mentally-challenged individual that raced from place to place eating off peoples’ plates the moment they stood to leave. He also had no qualms about asking for food, cigarettes or money amid dining. Yet another Livingston ambassador, where all seems to have gone wrong!

-- Internet service is widely available in tourist areas, with decent speed. I used computers at The Happy Fish Restaurant on the main strip, where 30-minute increments cost Q5. Finishing before my hour was up, owner appeared from the back and demanded I pay for 90-minutes in going over the time. A nasty confrontation ensued, my arguing clock on the wall and computer didn’t even show an hour from time written in the book. He berated the young clerk for not documenting a correct start time; obviously no end to the methods for scamming travelers!

Best Way To Get Around:

Situated on northern bank where Río Dulce flows into the Caribbean, Livingston is a quintessential entrapment of the worst kind. Surrounded by jungle, there’s no way for reaching the town except by water. Most arrive on boats from upriver and the town of Río Dulce; a scenic ride but precursor towards disappointment for what’s considered an excursion.

The other arrival/departure option involves Puerto Barrios, Guatemala across the bay. The 30-minute connection cost Q30/. I was fortunate to catch the last official boat out of Livingston at 11:00am. Getting back to Río Dulce would at least have afternoon options depending on random day trips scheduled for return.

-- In Puerto Barrios, buses congregate a doable 7-block walk from the pier. Taxis were available, but I’d already passed my quota for regional rip-offs. Walk was safe and uneventful for daytime, making an immediate connection to Chiquimula for Q35, and arriving 4-half hours later. Biggest concern should be for travelers arriving at Puerto Barrios in the afternoon, and finding no boats headed towards Livingston. Information suggests this is a very risky, undesirable place to spend the night – as if Livingston won’t be, too!

--Supposedly, there are also international boat connections to Belize and Honduras operating on random schedules from either of these ports. Considering how unreliable most everything else was, prepare to luck out or waste considerable time.

Getting Around Livingston
With few vehicles available, expect to walk everywhere. This proved quite challenging beyond houndings! There’s no way for maps or information to convey that town is positioned on a very steep hill. Strenuous climbs were only exacerbated in the sultry tropical conditions. The main part of Livingston plateaus across the top. Side streets towards the sea slope downward. A coastal road paralleling the river is level.

A couple of places had bikes for rent, but independent explorations would seem just as bothersome as walking depending on areas.

The town is largely segregated with Garifunas living on the hill and seaside, and Guatemalans living in lowland areas along the river. Walking through Garifuna neighborhoods was dicey enough by day; I can’t imagine being around come night, including for several listed hotels.

Darkness had barely settled-in for my only night in-town, and large basketball court off the docks was already swarming with heated pick-up games. Dreads; tats and piercings, the latest styles of ghetto gear; I was quite in my Harlem Days-element, that took years to cultivate! Smells of burning reefer augmented the lawlessness impression and while I certainly never would’ve let my guard down, there was also nothing to fear though I knew not to linger long.

The entire town was on-edge intense 24-7! Even the bravest, most seasoned travelers would be hard-pushed to actually come here; little alone want to chance the risks. If you wouldn’t take a walk through LA’s Watts or Brooklyn’s Bedford Stuyvesant, don’t fool yourself into thinking Livingston will be any different!

After thoroughly scouting around town, settling into Hotel Caribe was definitely the best of the least for budget accommodations. The establishment has numerous rooms that sleep anywhere between two-to-eight people. If one can survive with bare-bone basics, this place might even prove rather homey.

Unlike too many over-priced, darkened and dingy rooms found around town, Hotel Caribe was like a breath of fresh air – literally. Curtainless windows provide natural illumination. A large sitting room in the back, facing the Río Dulce, had refreshing breezes whipping through hallways.

Rooms with two twin beds are Q50/$6.65 for two people or Q30/$4 for one; the only place listed in Lonely Planet that hadn’t doubled/tripled rates even in this shoulder off-season. Bed and pillow were quite comfortable, and top sheet was welcomed come night time if sleeping with floor fan on high. Towel and toilet paper are provided and while budget travelers might be with me so far, bathrooms are highly questionable.

Separate male/female facilities are on the lower floor, and were somewhat scary! Each were lined with five toilets and showers running down either side of a passageway. Enclosed stalls were rather dark, and trying to find one where door actually locked was a challenge. Toilets were crude but showers even worse!

This entire region had been experiencing drought; water conservation was high priority! Barely a trickle dripped from the sawed-off pipe protruding from wall. I ended up rummaging the basement area to find a bucket to fill from a utility faucet, and then used a bowl to ‘douse and bathe’. Apparently water was available, but you have to ask for getting supply turned-on.

Sinks are in the outer hallway; better lit in the daytime thanks to a skylight. Be prepared to improvise. While used to ‘roughing it’, these facilities about pushed the limit. Diehard female travelers would definitely prove hardcore to manage here.

Unfortunately, this hotel does have great potential but needs some TLC. A new coat of paint would help! Despite what’s seen in pictures, the place was clean and secure even though I was awakened about 1:00am by gunshots outside my window from somewhere in the alley. Considering the nature of Livingston, there’s definitely risk beyond the walls but nothing to fear inside, even though I was only guest rattling around in a fair-sized building!

Don Alfredo is the crusty old fart that has managed the hotel for more than 20-years. He also lives in a front room where nothing or no one escapes his vigilance. Initial gruffness about not using or messing-up other bed in the room almost had me ready to bolt. Graciously, I stayed. Come night, we sat on the street and talked for hours about numerous things, including how tourism has changed the town over the years. When making a split-second decision to leave in the morning, he had no problem refunding my pre-payment for a second night.


Hotel Caribe (502-947-0053; Don Alfredo only speaks Spanish) is located on riverside of the coastal road which turns left/west from the docks. This entire stretch is lined with hotels, including Iguana de la Casa as farthest removed. I’d definitely recommend staying in this area, but expect to pay at least $20 for a single in other places; some not much better than what you’ll get here for $4.

-- Uphill in the main part of town are the majority of accommodations. Was surprised to find numerous unlisted places that looked quite nice from the outside, but had rooms that resembled Latin American prison cells!

Hotel Doña Alida sounded promising and perhaps worth a splurge at the listed $13 a night, but certainly not for $35-rates! Not only was facility somewhat difficult to find, the place was crawling with rowdy kids running the halls. As for listed seaviews and private beach, what’s seen in this picture is it! (By the way, that’s actually the river - not the Caribbean.)

I also do not recommend Hotel King George or Hotel Garifuna based on safety risks. They’re located in Garifuna ghettos and while going to check, locals in the streets made numerous threatening, derogatory statements assuming I didn’t understand Spanish. If this was happens in daylight, I’d hate to think about being in this area after dark!

Initially turned-off by the aggressive dockside touts pushing flyers and trying to lure new arrivals, the around-town marketing blitz had captured some curiosity when finally coming to this place at far end of the riverside/coastal road. So exactly what was all the fuss about? Plenty, and while I didn’t actually stay at Casa de la Iguana, I’m recommending this as the place to be for anyone that insists on coming to Livingston.

Not only is this new facility compound removed from all the nonsense of town, its well off the road along a path that follows a wall before opening on edge of the jungle. The haven that awaited is exactly what the Livingston traveler needs!

Casa de la Iguana has taken the communal approach with mass-appeal to the younger hostel-backpackers crowd, but also style and elegance that could certainly appeal to older, seasoned travelers, too!

With plans to expand, this work-in-progress currently has three bungalows that go for Q120/$16 a night, and they’ll allow as many in your party as you’d like to cram-in. Most popular are dorm rooms which go for Q35/$4.65 a night. While having male and female bunkhouses located on two levels, popularity often keeps them co-ed and occupied As if the floors and space weren’t crowded enough, they’ll hang elevated hammocks (in bungalows, too) to insure everyone has a space to sleep.

Casa de la Iguana proudly advertises to have the only hot showers in town; not that you’d need or necessarily want one in the steamy environment. The private and shared bathrooms appear a little rough, despite creative designing by the owner. On-going upgrades were all part of the plan. At least they were in working-order with adequate water and pressure - something not to be taken for granted when traveling in Latin América.

The edenistic garden is lush on the jungle’s edge. They also allow camping around the lawn. Bring your own equipment, or settle in to one of the numerous outdoor hammocks strung about. A palm-thatched, open-air pavilion serves as the restaurant, bar and lounging area. Anyone is welcome to stop for daily breakfasts, from 7am-11am for Q15-Q20, or family dinners nightly at 7pm with a 15Q vegetarian plate or 20Q meat option. Happy Hour runs from 6pm-8pm.

I had been invited back for dinner the following night, and regret leaving town early for missing out on the experience. I recognized a guest on the departing boat from Livingston and he admitted to holing-up for three days to enjoy lounging around the garden and bar, simply reading.

The young expat owners’ name is Rusty, and the assembled, eclectic staff seemed to be mostly guests that had decided to stay in exchange for work. Reservations can be made from calling 502-7947-0064 or at rusty101_OZ@hotmail.com.

In addition to expansion, they also hoped to have an official website soon. Googled results don’t turn-up a website, but there’s a rather surprising mixed bag of opinions for people that actually stayed here, including jungle bugs and crowing roosters.

One area of comments worth noting are the Group Excursions that Casa de la Iguana helps arrange through a guide named Francis, operating out of McTropic Restaurant. The blog reviews say it’s not worth paying for the escort for things that can be independently accomplished; the Siete Altares waterfall hike costing Q50/$6.65! Rusty had called to arrange this "daily trip" for me the following morning. After waiting several hours, the guy never showed and I was told it was because he’d been out on tour the day before. Beware of what you’re promised and expect!

Recommended as Livingston’s hallmark for dining, Restaurante Bahía Azul was my first stop after settling-in. Actually, it was in trying to pin-down details with Exotic Travel Excursions, which operates out of the dining room. While owner had pulled a vanishing act for the week, smells wafting from the kitchen indicated everything else was business as usual.

Specializing in casual atmosphere, the place leaves no doubt this is Guatemala’s Caribbean! Main dining room is rather rustic with ample wooden tables, and chairs and décor that celebrates local Garifuna heritage, but it was the large, covered porch patio that steps this place up on the preferred list. In Latin America’s world of plastic, tables were graced with colorful linens while chairs had cloth coverings; an added touch of effort that lends an upscale environment not reflected in prices.

Unfortunately, think twice about sitting outside to enjoy meals whether here or any number of Livingston eateries that have outdoor dining. Customers became easy targets for beggars in the streets asking for food, cigarettes, money or trying to make conversation while eating. Staff had no action or reaction towards them bothering customers.

Deciding on a calamari platter for Q45/$6, I’d barely gotten into my tableside distractions when food quickly arrived. At first glance, the segregated presentation reminded me of something out of an Asian restaurant with the separate piles of sautéed squid, and stir-fry veggies with a white rice compote. The baby squid had been prepared to a proper chewy texture without becoming like rubber. Seasonings in the sauce were unique and hard to distinguish but something had a hint of coconut. After about the third bite, I took my fork and swirled everything together which only enhanced flavor.

The extensive menu features options for three meals a day; standard breakfast platters priced between Q20-Q35, and available at any hour. Fresh seafoods are said to be the house specialties, and deciding exactly where to begin was quite the challenge. Shrimp dishes, prepared in a confounding variety of ways, are the most expensive selections at Q65-Q75. Otherwise, all else was below Q50.

Bahía Azul also serves up a version of Tapado; a rich blend of fish, shrimp and other shellfish with chunks of coconut and plantain in a rich, hearty stew. This local specialty is served in most every restaurant; large servings priced anywhere from $9 and up. I’d planned on eventually trying a bowl, despite the thought of eating soup in such a hot climate, but unfortunately left town before having any opportunity.

The restaurant is located on left side of the main road which runs uphill from the docks; you can’t or won’t miss it. While I highly recommend the food, you’re on your own with what to expect from the excursion company.

Making a split decision to get the hell out of dodge, there was enough rationality to eat something before leaving. Restaurante El Malecón fit the bill in a way that only corroborates my unusual cache of Livingston hauntings.

Entering the empty establishment, it took a bit for the portly pair behind the counter to realize they had a customer. The undeniable mother-daughter duo were even more curious acting than looking. Pear-shaped figures, pasted-down hair, and pencil-thin fuzz on the upper lip reminded me of Russian nesting dolls – one just big enough to enfold the other inside! Awkward fuss ensured over whether to order from a large take-out counter or be seated first. I chose the counter, and snagged a menu to further review.

Shrinking into a table, I was relieved about leaving this disreputable destination. With no plan or idea where to head next, gathering wits was accompanied by perusing guidebooks. Younger of the strange characters brought my cup of coffee with a gauche hovering that lingered a bit long. Short on patience, a tilted head and probable silent glare of "what", sent them scurrying behind the counter.

Considering this would be a fourth coffee for the morning, first sips only compounded tense demeanor. A pair of teenage girls emerged from the kitchen; playing some local version of patty-cake. The younger unsightly-type made a flamboyant effort to join-in, only further deterring what had been a peaceful environment. Obvious kinfolk; all of them, but initial two had definitely been short-changed in the gene-pool.

Once served, my hesitation invited another dawdle. Waving off the mousey-sounding ¿algo más?, I was simply waiting to get the dutiful photo before digging in! Samplings were similar to previous day’s breakfast up the river in Río Dulce, except in bigger portions. Scrambled eggs were light and fluffy with thin slices of minced ham, but hardly the highlight.

It might have only been my fifth morning in Central America, but I was excited to have actual bread; already a nice break from bland corn tortillas. The butter wasn’t quite as bitter which only complimented the spread with refried beans, textured like jam. It didn’t take much to clean my plate.

Final sip of coffee was symbolic for knowing I was done with Livingston, but not without one last far-fetched episode. Not waiting for the bill, I headed for the counter. Amid trying to recall and tally selections, another lady came from the kitchen and immediately took charge while issuing instructions.

Preparing to out for the morning, she asked her two daughters to do some cleaning in the kitchen. Younger of the nesting dolls was instructed to mind the front while the older one was obviously left in charge. About the older one - she bent down and left a peck on the cheek of her husband. Father/son? Go figure! Guess it truly was a family-oriented business!

-- Restaurante El Malecón is located on the left, where main street begins climbing the hill from the dock towards central Livingston. For anyone staying along the coastal road, this place is recommended simply for convenience. Set hours weren’t posted; the place large enough that reservations shouldn’t be needed on even the busiest of occasions.

-- Serving breakfast, lunch and dinner, standard fare was all priced under Q50 except for steaks and seafood. Breakfast platter pictured in this review, with a cup of coffee, was Q20/$2.66.

The only thing missing from this 66-th journal is another 6 ! Livingston turned-out to be nothing short of an evil eden; a pandora’s box of seething social adversity for Guatemala’s Caribbean nerve center. Various resources make the generic claim that crime-related incidents against travelers has improved, and perhaps they have. What that doesn’t take into consideration are blatant, age-old problems of communal catastrophe that could leave visitors caught in the cross-fire; literally!

Progress or not, unsuspecting travelers should acknowledge that issues have taken generations to create, and will require as long to rectify. Bitter roots run deep for The Garifuna; displaced slaves that now populate much of Central America’s Caribbean coast. Scenarios played-out all too familiar in hostile environments usually reserved for urban ghettos of large cities. Per capita, confrontations and risks in this small village turned-out no less.

Even with my galvanized approach towards adventure and open-mindedness, not only was I challenged from assailants but also within my own character! I’ve never considered myself a racist and still don’t, but encountering the Garifunas was certainly cause for questioning self-integrity. Every negative stereotype ever associated with African heritage had been perfected to fault. Over-riding impressions from some ultimately cast the unfortunate labels for all; ambush of the worst kind that only drives the vicious cycle of intolerance.

The town is highly segregated; Garifunas mostly populating the hill and easy-going Guatemalans living in lowlands. Livingston information promotes, encourages culture encounters. I don’t! Antagonistic receptions were distressing enough by day; even from children. Insults and threats may elude travelers that don’t understand Spanish, but there’s no barrier towards feeling downright vulnerable!

Individuals that don’t feel good about themselves could never possibly begin to embrace a stranger; little alone each other. From the moment travelers step onto the dock, the assaults begin. Skirting aggressive touts was like a schoolyard escapade compared to shiftless vultures prowling the streets; circling prey with malevolent tactics of provocation and intimidation.

Cry Me A River…
I’d already scouted at least a dozen hotels and found nothing but over-priced cell blocks. Frustrated and soaked with sweat, I paused on a corner while thumbing through a guidebook. Second mistake was acknowledging the overgrown kid on a bicycle. He mentioned a hotel three blocks away. Deciding to follow, it didn’t take much to realize why the place wasn’t listed.

Heading back towards the coastal road, the guy followed while offering suggestions. Small-talk opened about excursion tours; promise that a $20 deposit would secure a spot with his boss. Reading my general frustration and exhaustion, he insisted on carrying my bag. I declined; suspicions mounting with each step taken and word spoken, in English or Spanish. He was too eager to extend greetings to locals that went unreciprocated, which spoke more truths than obviously he did!

Supposedly there were a couple of hotels further down the coastal road I’d yet to check. They were both Garifuna-owned establishments; one in a run-down old mansion that had potential. The place was huge but something didn’t feel right; especially as the only guest. For one, young receptionist was the first acting friendly to the tout. Gut-instinct warned me if staying, I probably wouldn’t be two-steps back out the door until they were rummaging through my bag.

Starting to get annoyed, I returned to Hotel Caribe. He still followed, including into the joint like he owned the place. As if barking orders wasn’t enough, he required a finder’s fee cut of the $4-rate. Don Alfredo insisted I’d already been there, checked-out the place, and he wasn’t owed anything. The surly Garifuna could’ve crushed the old proprietor with his size, but Don Alfredo wasn’t buying the intimidation tactics. Bullying shifted towards me to collect for hospitality services or whatever, before slamming the door in his face.

Intensity of the moment slowly subsided and finally being settled was enough to calm nerves. Heading-out, kid on the bike was approaching alongside a pair of travelers. Fully engrossed in persuasion, I was thankful not to even register on his radar and wrote-off previous incident as just that.

Enjoying lunch on a porch-front patio, the same guy stopped and demanded I order him a beer. Brazen insolence pissed me off, yet the heated exchange didn’t seem to alarm or concern staff members anymore than his taunting while riding back-and-forth in the street. Throughout remainder of the afternoon, this thug continued appearing out of nowhere; asserting his entitlements to beer and cash.

What this goon wasn’t counting on was squaring-off with a former transplant-from-the-‘hood that understood how the game worked. I knew his type – create a big enough scene and get what he wants, whether from coercion or someone just hoping he’ll go away. I also knew that once someone complied, the tyrant always comes back for more which apparently kept the Guatemalan and expat business owners trembling in fear. No one ever stood-up to these on-going harassments towards me, a browsing/dining customer.

Make no mistake – this guy was not the only Garifuna hassling and hustling travelers in the streets. I’m not sure if there’s some unspoken code for how they divvy-up foreigners, but none of the others even casually approached; obviously marked and claimed by the biggest predator and pretender. After about the second or third round of holding my own, he no longer approached when I was alone but waited for opportune moments when audience was present.

Darkness had barely settled in when returning to the hotel. Don Alfredo was sitting in front, and I pulled up a chair to enjoy the evening over conversation until the nuisance returned; still talking trash about not getting paid earlier in the day. Second bypass involved stopping long enough to demand a beer or else, including physical threats to the both of us. Gaining ferocity, I conceded to buy the damn beer if he’d go the muck away!

Entering a nearby Guatemalan-owned store, this idiot had the audacity to denounce my decision and insist going to a Garifuna bar two businesses away. I absolutely went ballistic in verbally dismantling this kid. People were beginning to congregate but no one dared to intervene even on his behalf. Turning to walk away, he still mandated I buy beer.

"Or what?"

He wasn’t backing down until realizing I wasn’t either! With every idle threat of rounding up a posse, getting a gun and coming back to finish me off, I smugly indicated right where I’d be sitting and waiting; even challenged him to make his move right then and there if he was man enough. Thankfully, he wasn’t and didn’t, but talk about a sore loser beaten at his own game! Was I proud? No.

It’s not like I’m some sort of bad ass that goes around looking for a brawl but I was beyond provoked. In a way, it felt like stepping-up to the plate for every Livingston traveler that has ever had to endure such stalking. Don Alfredo never said anything but understanding was mutual. The old man was the only other person I’d seen stand-up to the bully all day! We sat in the street talking for at least another hour, including about these very types of incidents that are crippling tourism.

Up Yours Livingston…
Gunshots outside the hotel room window around 1:00am were at first intense until drifting back to sleep. It really was like some kind of Spanish Harlem flashback...

Up in time to catch a sunrise in solitude while the shiftless still slept, it was dawn of a new day I was actually looking forward to enjoying. Besides, considering riff-raff of all races that seemed to permeate the village, I wrote the alley shooting incident off to pure coincidence; almost laughable knowing my ruffian didn’t have balls enough to stage such an alarm.

While this dirty laundry list would probably have most ready to bolt, I still wanted to do Livingston! Something totally unrelated had me packed and leaving in less than 24-hours. Reserved for one of the daily jungle hikes, I waited almost two-hours for a guide that never showed. Making matters even more insufferable was the insane run-around I got from numerous tourist-related business owners as if in cahoots up to their eyeballs with cluelessness! "Maybe tomorrow," was eventually best I got!

Determined not to waste another single moment in this god-forsaken hell-hole, I headed straight for the docks and was ecstatic to find the last boat out for the day departed in less than an hour. Gathering my things and quickly eating, exodus couldn’t have come quick enough!

And sure enough, there he was at the docks – congregated off to the side with a detestable band of marauders. I defiantly welcomed the eye contact, just hoping he’d be fool enough to say something. No such luck for unloading any extra baggage of wrath and lividness. Rush was on for him to jockey for position at the arrivals dock. Another boat was coming down the river; loaded with fresh prey.