-Rios Negro & La Pasion
Truth and Aravac sail rivers North & South; Chixoy to Sayaxche, ghost town to port town.

The eerie Negro showed nearly no signs of life. A band of white limestone marked the 30 foot drop in the water level but the bottom of this river would never be touched by human hand. Hopping over jagged rocks to slip into the cool, calm, consistency.

A riverboat near a mile high dam saw my bobbing head and came over and offered to take us up river. A lone goat was the most that any of the steep mountainsides could home. Water fell from cracks in the stone and each of the natural trellises fed into its black depths.

We arrived at clay huts beyond all expectations of life.

"That green pasture would be a great place for a longsword battle." Yes, there had been a battle. Now there was sobering peace. Only the river and memories. The clouds were painted a perfect pattern to contrast the stark chiseled landscape. The tiniest sprinkles of watery beads bounced along as my hand stretched to catch them.

The sun was warm and water was kind. I exchanged strange sounds with children of an unchanged language. The boat landed near the dam and we felt the weight being held behind its walls. Three families formed a chain, with the one motored boat, pulling the wooden hulls.

Sayaxche is a much different story. The ferry took cars across 10 times a day, but we found a man heading upstream. A relentless storm came and poured all its might. We were contained by our emotionless captain His face did not change. He simply slid through the channels, maneuvering mangrove, and beached us inside a lagoon.

An old city had experienced an earthquake long ago and was split in two halves. We threaded the split like a soggy back alley and the jungle roared. Monkeys showed their resentment. This was their home.

Rick was pleased.

Jungle still exists where the moss of the forest can make pillows on ancient stones.
The sun set and Truth was left to the insects. The buses had run, the storm had come, and our luck to hitch a ride in the bed of a pickup truck was tested by the relentless cold of mountain rain and wind.

Finally did we feel the wear of the open road?
We would soon find out.
Salama at Sunrise...


Wilson Pickett- Get Me Back On Time