Fortunately for us, the Santa Martha is the afternoon ferry. The morning ferry is only slightly more modern and only slightly larger and the gangplank we have to negotiate with our backpacks looks decidedly flimsy. People are packed in like sardines. Thank goodness it’s a calm day and a short crossing to the island of Ometepe. Ometepe is the largest  and highest volcanic island in a freshwater lake (Lake Nicaragua)  in the world and is formed from two volcanoes, Concepcion and Maderas.  Ometepe means Two Mountains. I guess they’re not very imaginative round here. Concepcion’s last violent eruption was in 2010. Lake Nicaragua is also home to freshwater bullsharks, known to be aggressive in shallow water, so I’m hoping we don’t sink on the way across. Our friends from GAP join us on the boat and they are all a little apprehensive as this is where they will be doing a ‘home stay’. Our accommodation is at Finca Venecia and is adorable with log cabins right on the beach front. . 

 The island is beautiful, traditional with little sign of development. The farm has their own horses and so I opt for the trek, whilst others go for an island tour, bike ride or visit the thermal waters. Little do I realise that the trek is actually up the Concepcion volcano, although we cannot reach the crater. The route we take is beautiful, passing along the dirt trails through the village, where people still live a traditional life, everyone on foot or horseback, as it’s the easiest way to travel around here. Fields are being ploughed using horses to pull the plough; chickens, pigs, horses and cows are left to roam freely along the path.  Up through the forest, our horses make light work of the steep slope and rutted gullies and lava boulders that are strewn in our way. Occasionally, we come head to head with an ox-drawn cart and have to back down to a suitable passing place, until, eventually we exit the forest to low bushes high up the volcano and tie up the horses to hike a little further so we can see the fantastic vista below us, with the lava river (no longer molten!) leading down towards the lake and the village. 

As we make our way slowly back down, I can hear dogs going mad in the distance, but getting closer. Then I realise it’s not dogs, but howler monkeys, foretelling the impending thunderstorm. We push on a little harder, and hurry through the village, part trot, part canter as the first spots of rain start to fall. We are lucky that it is only after we have dismounted and relieved the horses of their tack that the torrential rain starts.

After the strenuous activity of the past few days, I’m ready for the massage and pedicure we have booked before the group dinner in the evening

Our hotel in Granada, Las Americas, is simple but sweet with a hot shower, fan and fully functional aircon. Despite the exertion and long drives of the previous  couple of days, I manage to wake up in time to enjoy the free breakfast. Yay. Eggs, beans and rice! Again. Yum yum. David takes us on a brief walking tour of this pretty Spanish colonial town.  Many of the old buildings have been restored or are in the process of being restored and wandering around the local market provides some insight into life here in Nicaragua. Anything can be purchased here, from freshly butchered meat, to fresh fish, to all sorts of vegetable and fruit to clothes, drinks, toys, furniture and even a fighting cock, if you’re so inclined. Around the outside of the real market, exists the ‘black’ market. Whatever you want, it’s yours...at a price.

We stop for smoothies in a pretty community shop which also sells hammocks in all sizes and colours. Everything here is made and sold by people who might struggle to find work in the wider community. The  friendly waiters and waitresses in the cafe are deaf and/or dumb and cards with the relevant sign language are provided to help us communicate more easily. Whilst we are waiting we all take a turn in the party hammock. 

In the afternoon, we have another opportunity to visit an active volcano, Masaya, and despite being exhausted from the previous day, it’s too good to miss. At least this time, we can access the crater by road. At the entrance to the National Park, we are told that we must wear hard hats and that we will only be permitted 15 mins at the crater. Although Masaya permanently emits a plume of sulphur dioxide gas, and is well known for  its seismic activity and tremors, it also had a series of small eruptions earlier in the year. Recently, a man died after falling in the crater and his brother died trying to rescue him. Now access is strictly controlled and monitored. We drive through the lava fields and arrive  in  the car park by the crater. A safety wall has been built by the rim and access beyond it is prohibited. A plume of gas pumps steadily from the crater base. 

Our 15 mins is up and a few of us decide to visit the lava tubes. These are tunnels in the heart of the lava fields left by the flow of fresh of lava over old. It requires additional payment at the gate and so we opt to wait by the crater whilst our guide and the others descend to purchase the pass and fetch a licensed guide. Despite it being only 5 mins down the hill, they are gone for quite a while and we notice a change in the wind as the sulphur plume starts blowing towards us. In the distance we can hear thunder and see the lightning. It’s a bit worrying as there is nowhere to escape it and we don’t know what is keeping them. Fortunately, the wind turns again and we are safe when the bus returns. Apparently, the delay was due to the guide not wanting to go in the tunnels in an impending thunderstorm.  Entering the tunnel cave, the bats swoop overhead in the narrow gap. The cold lava looks wet and slippy but, in fact, we have quite a good grip. Nonetheless, I wish I’d had the foresight to put on my walking shoes rather than my Merrell sandals. Inside, the formations are stunning and the different lava flows clearly visible.  The roots of trees on the surface have forced their way through any gaps in the rock and add another dimension inside. We travel in about a 100m before we have to turn around and wend our way back. Exiting the cave entrance, we enter what seems to be mist, but the sharp acid on the back of my throat tells me the sulphur cloud has switched again. It fills my lungs and I try not to breathe too deeply as I climb back up the short distance to where the bus is waiting with aircon on full. 

By the time we reach the Lago Apoyo, the headache from the ingestion of sulphur dioxide is making me feel sick and dizzy.  Fortunately, a dip in the cool clear waters of the Lake help. 

Granada is a lovely place to enjoy the street life at night, tho its best to wander in groups for safety. It’s hard to refuse the shoeless, feral children from 6 to 16, clowning around in the street, then pestering tourists, selling pictures, jewellery and other trinkets and I kid myself that to buy from them is to promote child exploitation. That night, seeing the same, small children curled up in doorways without covers and their gratitude the following morning when someone gathers up our breakfast scraps for them  is heartbreaking. 

David has arranged for a truck to take us and our bags to the local bus station on the other side of town and there is great excitement as we all pile in the back. These trucks are frequently used as transport by locals and this is our opportunity to get a taste of it. We are a real spectacle down the street and the locals stop what they are doing to stare at these white giants in the back of the truck like cattle to market. The transfer to our chicken bus causes an equal amount of amusement with the locals,  then when we arrive at the port in San Jorge for the boat to the volcanic island of Ometepe, we know the joke is definitely on us!

Not being a morning person, you have to give me a pretty good reason to be getting up at 5.30am and I have three!

1.       Vomit Comet Avoidance -Getting up at 5.30am means we can catch the early ferry off Roatan when the sea is much calmer.

2.       Volcano Boarding -Staying in Leon,  rather than Comayagua, besides being in a quaint colonial city, means we will be able to tackle two additional activities... one is ‘surfing’ down an active volcano and the other is..

3.       Live Lava

Everyone has agreed to a USD30 charge to bypass the usual overnight stop and head for Leon which is not on the normal itinerary. As compensation we will be able to stay in better accommodation than anticipated and because we will be using private transport the journey should be quicker. For me, the main attraction in Leon is that it is the only place in the world where you can 'surf' an active volcano and it is the only place on this trip that we will have the possibility of seeing molten magma or 'live' lava. 

The GAP group have also opted for private transportation, to take them directly to Grenada to give them an extra night in the city. Grenada is a further 2 hours from Leon and we do not fancy 21hours in a bus just for an extra night in the city. Besides they will miss the volcano boarding and the lava!

But ours turns out to be also a long, long drive day and it’s 10.30pm when we wake the guards at the border crossing into Nicaragua and 01.30am when we eventually arrive at our hostel. Definitely not an upgrade but we’re too tired to complain. Anyway, for those of us volcano boarding , we only have 4 more hours before we have to be up again. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Early next morning, whilst the rest enjoy a lie-in, eight of us drag ourselves out of bed for the first real adrenalin activity of the trip.. some of us even manage to open our eyes before we get there. Once out of the city, we turn up a lane and get a snapshot of country life in Nicaragua. The side road we take is more of a lane which deteriorates into a rutted, hedged alley only a fraction wider than our 4x4. Locals are not travelling in 4x4s but on horseback, or oxen and occasionally, on a motorbike. We pass villages along the way, where children, in oversized ragged clothes, are playing in the dirt, and the men  are gathered round the village well with horses or oxen towing a rope up to 100m to draw the water for the day’s needs. The women, in traditional clothing, are busy with their chores but the children run up and alongside us as we pass through, laughing and calling out. The men eye us suspiciously, until they recognise our guide, Miguel, to whom some call out a friendly greeting. When we get to the end of the lane and climb out into the chilly morning, what appears in front of us appears to be an oversized coal slag heap, with big, dark boulders scattered all around. 

This is Cerro Negro (Black Hill), Nicaragua’s youngest,  and most active volcano, standing  a mere 728m high, though it looks much bigger. The summit is out of view hidden by the light mist which covers it like a blanket.  It’s hard to see how we will scale this almost vertical slope with no clear path visible, let alone a ski-lift, to take us and our boards to the top. 

Miguel gives us the bad news. We will have to carry our own boards and protective clothing and climb the volcano surface to the top. As we set off the rain starts to fall and before long we’re a pretty soggy party staggering up the barely visible path, around and over boulders and up the slippery slope. As we climb around and up the volcano, the rain and mist start to lift and we get a greater appreciation of the volcano (which is dark and lava gravel coated) and the surrounding countryside which evidences older volcanoes covered in lush, green vegetation. Eventually we reach the lower rim of the volcano crater and can see down into the crater itself. No lava visible here but lots of red and white boulders with white steam, or is it smoke,  billowing out of many points where the crust is particularly thin. It’s like a different planet. Cerro Negro last erupted in 1999 but is closely monitored with experts predicting another large eruption very soon. We’re not daunted and a few of us manage to persuade Miguel to take us down a path into the crater. It’s not recommended, due the instability of the crater surface and the very real risk of death, so the others decide to remain on the relative safety of the rim. Down in the crater, we can feel the heat, and by the steam vents it is unbearable. There are a couple of large boulders so we decide to take some ‘jump’ photos from the boulders. As we land, we can hear a hollow echo beneath us. Time to make a quick exit! We scurry back the crater rim and start the climb to the far side where the rim is much higher. 

Then it’s time to don our fabulous green boiler suits, elbow and knee guards, eye masks and gloves. Looking gorgeous, and ready for action, I peek over the edge. It’s very steep and the jeep waiting for us at the bottom looks so small it’s difficult to make out. Well ...maybe I’ll just walk back down the way we came.  Miguel gives us a quick briefing on how to descend, how to brake and how to go faster. Faster? I don’t think so. I decide that I’ll just go down with my feet out to brake and take it easy. No shame in that. One by one the others set off, sat down on their boards like a sledge, until there’s just Dan and me left. Dan is the only one brave enough to go standing up. David has set off just in front of me and is braking hard, travelling only a few metres before coming to a slow halt. Ok. So at least I know it’s possible to have control. Courage Vicki! I set off, with my feet stretched out clear in front of me, for balance. At least I can brake quickly if I need to. Twenty metres down and I come to a halt, my board buried under the black gravel. This is no good. I’ll never get down at this rate and Dan is already catching me up. I lean back as far as I can to lift the front of the board to clear it and hold it up as I start to slide rapidly down the hill, gathering speed as I go, flying down. Wheeeeeeeee! I open my mouth to scream with exhilaration at the speed . BIG mistake. I get a mouth full of black ash and quickly close it again. As I gain momentum, the ash penetrates everywhere. I can feel it in my shoes, inside my jumpsuit, in my gloves, up my nose, in my ears, on my mouth, between my teeth and even in my eyes inside the goggles... Then, just as I’m really starting to enjoy it, I’m at the bottom, it’s all over and we’re watching Dan surf gracefully down. Looking round it’s like a Minstrels revival, with black faces and white eyes and teeth, except for Dan, who still looks squeaky clean.

We head off back down the lane, past the village where a baseball match has just kicked off. The modern baseball team kit they are wearing seems incongruous with the traditional clothing and antiquated lifestyle we witnessed earlier but baseball is a huge sport here in Nicaragua.

By the time we get back to base, we’ve only got a quick turnaround before we need to leave for the next volcano adventure, a twilight climb of Telica (Black Hole). Fortunately, there’s a great pizzeria two doors down, so we order our pizzas and grab a quick shower whilst we’re waiting.

Then it’s back in the jeeps for the 30km drive to the volcano. Once off the main road we drive up a narrow lane which gradually gets worse as we go. Our driver shifts into 4WD and we are thrown from side to side across the vehicle as he negotiates the deep ruts left by the heavy rains and climbs the hill leading to the base of the volcano.. At times it feels like the jeep will tip over on its side but eventually we reach a clearing in the woods and the jeeps come to a halt. Our hike starts here. Making sure I have water and my head torch, I regret not finding time to purchase a few snacks as it will be a long evening. The hike starts with a gentle climb up the original lane through the lowland woods, until we exit the woods and have stunning views of the surrounding volcanoscape. Many of the other slopes are covered in lush vegetation, but the lower slopes of Telica remind me of the hills I hike at home in Snowdonia, rocky outcrops, low bushes and short grass, but with a few more lava bombs or boulders. To our right it’s hard to tell whether the cloud from the crater is rain or gas but as it comes closer, the sulphur hits the back of our throats. Miguel guides us further round the slope to avoid it and I realise that, in the rush, I have also forgotten my scarf to protect me from inhaling the sulphur. As we climb the slope, the grass disappears and we are clambering up the rocks to the first ridge, where we stop for a brief rest to drink and snack and to assess the viability of accessing the crater with the possible rain cloud on one side the crater gases on the other. With a high blanket of cloud there is no possibility of any sunset either but we can feel the chill in the air as twilight approaches.  The goats nibbling at grass tufts in an old crater nearby ignore us as we ponder the options. But as dusk falls, the rain cloud dissipates and the gas cloud seems to disappear as well. We continue to climb to the rim of the main crater. It’s difficult to explain the feeling as we reach the rim. There’s no ‘Elf & Safety’ here. No steps to the top. No protective hand rail. No gas masks nor hard hats. Just nature and us, balanced precariously on the edge of a 120m vertical drop into molten rock at  1200C. In fact, the rock we are standing on juts out so we are not even on a  solid cliff edge. As the sky darkens the magma glows more brightly and, as it swells up and recedes far below us,  in the stillness of the night,  it sounds like the ocean waves on the beach.  Above us, the thunder crashes and lightning cracks the night sky but instead of the downpour we’re expecting the sky clears to reveal the twinkling stars. We could spend all night here staring into the bubbling magma but supplies of water are completely depleted and we still need a couple of hours to descend.

No moon to guide us as we make our descent over rocks and rubble, stumbling and slipping as they wobble beneath unsteady feet. Even our guide, Miguel, occasionally loses his footing and with no visible path down I stick close behind him, shadowing his footsteps with my own. It seems to take forever before we reach the main track back to the vehicles and as I head the line back through the forest, I see eyes everywhere in my torch light, and fireflies occasionally dancing off before me .The soft dampness of thread glistening with evening dew tickling my face as I break through the spider webs in the path. Once in the jeeps, we have to negotiate the deep ruts of the track descent in pitch dark. It’s even more hazardous and several times we are left wondering if our friends behind have come to grief as the headlights of their jeep behind us disappear for several minutes. Back in town we only have a few minutes to claim our rucksacks and jump on the bus to our next stop.. the oldest city in the New World, Granada

Today we were supposed to have a very early start for the long journey to Roatan Island, but David has worked his magic and joined forces with the GAP Adventure group who are mirroring our journey to hire a bright yellow chicken bus of our very own, at no extra cost, thus permitting us an extra 2 whole hours of sleep in the morning. Sorely needed after last night’s high jinks in Twisted Tanya’s. I’m not a morning person at the best of times.. and this morning is definitely not the best of times. My hammock securely strapped to my backpack I stumble off down the cobbled hill after the others to the meet point. Along with our chicken bus we seem to have acquired Honduras’s very own  Jensen Button who is intent on getting us to our destination in record time. The countryside flashes past us, lush and verdant. We fly through quaint villages, swerving around anyone or thing that blocks our way on the windy, narrow mountain roads, playing chicken with any oncoming traffic that may or may not be coming round the bend in front. It’s a hot day and the aircon is only semi-automatic. The driver controls the airflow with pressure on the accelerator and the user controls the air volume by opening or closing the window closest to them. I decide the only safe solution to any of these conundrums is to sleep.

It’s not long before we arrive in San Pedro, where we are, apparently, seeking out a tyre change. Having located a suitable merchant, we all discharge the bus seeking shade wherever we can in the scorching heat. There are tyres piled everywhere and at first it’s not clear which are new and which are old, but closer inspection gives a clue. Old tyres are generally completely bald, usually with ragged tears in them. Our bus needs 2 tyres (is that all?) changing. The company production line is ready. Four dirty guys to loosen the old wheels. Three dirty guys to jump on a lever to remove it from the wheel. Three dirty guys to fetch the new tyre. One dirty guy to paint the new  tyre with adhesive. Two dirty guys to put it on the wheel. One dirty guy to pour petrol on it. One dirty guy to set it on fire. Two dirty guys to inflate it. Two dirty guys to put it on the bus. Dirty guys and lots of rubber. ...... enough said.

All too soon Jensen Button is back on his mission to get us to the port, and we’re swerving to a hand brake halt in front of the ferry.  Now ferries are like mornings to me; I do my best to avoid them wherever possible. But I’m heartened to see this is a modern ferry with airport style boarding. I’m disheartened to see that they hand out anti nausea pills, like sweets, and little plastic sick bags to everyone. Seems this is the original Vomit Comet. I head for the outdoor seating,  and as we exit the harbour and the sea gets more and more choppy, I close my eyes and picture white sand beaches with hammocks and Caipirinha cocktails..As we dock, its already dark and I look around at all the pale, green faces around me and I’m happy to have escaped for a while.

On Roatan, David has worked his magic again, and we leave the GAP Adventure guys to find their hostel whilst we head to our upgrade hotel in West End, Posada Les Orquideas. As we pull into the potholed, dirt drive just out of town and look at the poky 2 storey building and construction work alongside, whilst waiting for the receptionist to materialise at the wooden hut called Reception, we think he must have made a mistake. But, as we are shown to our huge chalet rooms, with 2 Queen size beds, stripped oak floors and an enormous mirror to practise our salsa moves, not to mention the luxury bathroom, 2 massive fans AND aircon AND a verandah deck with hammock and outdoor seating, we are quick to appreciate his efforts. Wow. This is the life!

We head out along the dark dirt track back into town.. what more can a girl ask for. White sandy beaches? Tick. Sundowners bar for cocktails? Tick. Blue Marlin for the best  Lionfish fish fingers. Tick. Live music? Tick. Argentinian Grill for the best steaks. Tick. Hammock to lie in and read my Kindle. Tick. Kindle? Aah, yes. If I can just persuade Caroline to put down Christian Grey.......

Next day, we’re back at Sundowners, and bump into some local characters, including Captn Barry, owner of Reefrider floating bar, who regales us with his stories of flamboyant parties and his own love story with plans to sell up and come to England (duh?). Wendy has already become a permanent fixture in Sundowners and is planning  her retirement in Roatan as owner of Reefrider. We have a hard time persuading her to leave her new home and join us for the beach barbeque and karaoke night in the Blue Marlin before finishing off the evening on our verandah with a few bottles of local rum and coke, then falling asleep in the hammocks, big enough for two!

We have three nights and two full days to explore on Roatan. Next morning, others head out to swim with dolphins and dive with the sharks, but for once I’m feeling kinda chilled and happy just to hang out, taking an occasional dip in the water from our private jetty, and topping up my tan. We’re all a bit reluctant to leave this little piece of paradise and even more reluctant to get back on the Vomit Comet..

It’s with a heavy heart that we rise on Monday morning and head to Fernando's for our final breakfast. And it’s with heavy backpacks, our hammocks strapped to the side, that we climb into the bus that will take us across our next border to Honduras today.

After erupting nearly 10 days prior,El Fuego, the Fire volcano is still puffing smoke into the clear blue sky as we pull away from Antigua and climb through the beautiful Guatemalan mountains. Our driver appears to be a little heavy footed too, as he brakes hard as vehicles pull out in front of us or a road hump ‘suddenly’ appears before a village school. Each time we are thrown forward against the seat in front and we are convinced that it won’t be long before he leaves it just a little too late and we crash. A few hours in and we are on a road hugging the side of mountain staring at the severe drop on the other side of the road, when the driver mentions that he thinks we have a flat tyre and will need to pull over when he has an opportunity. We drive on a couple of miles passing several ‘opportunities’ on our side of the road in the shade of the mountain when he suddenly swerves across oncoming traffic on a blind hairpin bend to a patch of gravel on the opposite side. We can hear the metal of the wheel rim churning up the road and it’s several seconds before we all start breathing again. We clamber out into the searing heat of the sun to inspect the damage. What is left of the tyre is evidence that there had been no tread left on it. Fortunately, and unexpectedly, we do have a spare. Unfortunately, despite all efforts, the driver and several helpers are unsuccessful at loosening the bolts holding the wheel on. We wander off in search of shade while they work out what to do next. A passerby on a scooter stops to offer his help and with his assistance and brute strength eventually the wheel is successfully replaced.

Interestingly, the remainder of the journey is muuuch smoother. Dusk is falling as we arrive in Copan town and head up the steep hill to our accommodation in Calle Real, a lodge set into the hillside. After the heat and exertions of the day, I am hot and sticky and looking forward to a refreshing shower but , just as we’re offloading the luggage, the power goes out in the village. No problem, this is a frequent event in Honduras and I have my trusty head torch to hand.  Before long we also have candles in  our room and have confirmed that dinner will still be available. Time for a shower beforehand and I'm worried the power outage may affect the water supply.  Graciously I suggest that Caroline goes first.  While she is in I unpack and quickly undress ready to nip in when she’s finished. I hear the shower sputter and Caroline mutters under her breath.  Grr. The water has obviously run out, as I suspected. I start to put my dusty, sweaty clothes back on. No point in putting clean clothes on a sweaty body.  Caroline comes out and smiles sweetly when I ask how it was. ‘Lovely, powerful and warm’ she says. I glower back. Powerful and warm have been very elusive in our showers so far.  But she can’t contain herself any longer and starts laughing. ‘It’s working perfectly’ she grins. Quick as flash, I’m in there. A shower by candlelight is definitely to be recommended.

Despite the shower and stuffed pancakes for dinner, I’m a bit bleary eyed the next morning. Torrential rain, then an early cockerel, supported by what sounded like a whale in pain meant I didn’t get much sleep. Over breakfast we plan our revenge on the cockerel. The ‘whale in pain’ is apparently a group member, who will remain nameless, but knows who they are! It’s not too far to walk to Copan Ruins, the most southerly Mayan city in Central America, with an estimated population of 25 000 at its peak. Now a World Heritage Site only a quarter of the settlement has been uncovered from the jungle and excavations and restoration continues as funding allows. Most famous on this site is the Hieroglyphic Stairway and Ballcourt in the Acropolis, as shown on the Honduran 1 Lempira note. This site is also a sanctuary for the Scarlet Macaw, a splendid bird with fantastic plumage which can be easily spotted as we wander around the ruins. In the afternoon we have scheduled a horse ride in the mountains. I feel sorry for the skinny little runt that will have to carry me but Don Gallo is insistent that she is strong and used to heavy loads! Like his horses, Don Gallo is small and skinny, but strong as an ox, and every inch a gentleman, concerned for our welfare and comfort as we climb the very steep mountain track to reach his village at the top. While the horses have a well deserved rest from their exertions, Don Gallo gives us a tour of the village, of which he is fiercely proud, supported by dozens of local kids who gather round, keen to promote the straw dolls they have made. He shows us his modest, straw roofed cottage and the vegetable patch with coffee plants in his garden, and offers us a cup of home grown coffee. The views over the valley are spectacular and tucked down a little lane is a small weaving cooperative selling cotton scarves made by the local women. All too soon it’s time to clamber back on the horses and head back down to town before the threatening clouds let loose their deluge. There’s just time for another candlelit shower before we head back into town for nachos at Casa de Todos  followed by some very special Rum Punch at the famous Twisted Tanyas.

Dance till you drop in Antigua

After the homestay it’s back to Antigua and our hotel from home, Casa Familia for 2 nights. Here, we say goodbye to old friends; Aussies, Penny & Lach are off to start a new chapter in Canada; Barbara will return to Santander in Spain; Swiss Roland will continue his Central American adventure without us. Ernie will also be abandoning us to return home.

But we also have reason to celebrate, as both Wendy and Barbara have birthdays, so there is a surprise birthday party to organise.

First things first, I need to post my hammock so it’s off to the post office. Yes, no problem to post it, she says, as long as it is <1m. Unfortunately, mine is 1.05m. Posting is out of the question. Oh no!

As I head back to the hotel, the heavens open, as if to confirm my misery at the thought of lugging my hammock all over Central America. At least I won’t want for a bed at night!

But I can’t be downhearted for long, as Martin has taken on the impossible task of teaching us how to sizzle at salsa so we can hit the nightclubs of Antigua. We gather in his garage  which has a full width mirror pinned to the wall. The door is open so that passersby can participate in the fun. There are 5 of us girls and Roland, ready and eager. Martin smiles sweetly and swivels his hips as he executes a perfect pivot on one foot to demonstrate how easy it is. ‘Uno, dos, tres, quattro’ he chimes, slinking sexily forward, smiling indulgently at our reflections in the mirror. We stumble after him, shuffling madly and falling into each other as we go, unsure whether to glare our feet into action or look in the mirror, inevitably mixing our left & rights. Two hours later we’re ready for our night on the town!

A birthday piñata has been acquired in honour of Barbara & Wendy’s birthday. A what? Well, for anyone not in the know (which included me) a piñata is a papier mache dressed cartoon character which is filled with presents(usually sweets). They come in various sizes but ours is about a metre tall, not something you can hide in your handbag. Pinatas are normally suspended from the ceiling and the guest of honour has to take a symbolic hammer and hit the piñata until the it splits and the sweets fall out for the other guests to collect. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is it to get the piñata to the birthday venue and dress the table before the other guests and birthday girls get there. Caroline, Katja & I take our job seriously & decide the only way to do this is by tuk tuk. Unfortunately, the cobbled and potholed streets of Antigua were not designed with tuk tuks in mind, and tuk tuks were not designed to take 3 people and a huge piñata. By the time we reach the Rainbow Cafe I swear every pothole and cobble is etched by a bruise on my arse. We get the table set with party hats and glitter just in time for the others arriving. Each of the birthday girls has a special birthday tiara. Barbara and Wendy are overwhelmed and close to tears. Wendy makes her speech of appreciation “It’s a thousand times more than I expected from any of you” she gushes. Hmmm..... After dinner we set off in search of a salsa bar to show off our new expertise. Well, actually we set off to the Irish bar but that is too packed so we move to the salsa bar next door. It all looks very professional but we refuse to be fazed by it. Caroline and Roland decide to kick off on the main dance floor. Two minutes later they are back looking completely dejected... Laughed off the dance floor by the locals. We move on to another club which also appears to packed and find a space at the back. At least we recognise the music.. and the locals aren’t laughing at us. It’s time to dance the night away....

Sunday is our last day with Ernie. Barbara, Katja, Manu, Penny & Lach are also leaving us. After the hilarity of the night before, it’s a fairly subdued morning. Caroline & I miss breakfast at Fernandos and decide to go looking for Bistrot Cinqo, as recommended in the bible, Lonely PLanet. Wandering around the town on a Sunday is not an unpleasant experience. All the locals are out in their finery, heading for church. It’s an interesting city tour, but 2 hours later we are starving and no closer to locating our target eatery. We ask a policeman who tells us ‘Two blocks on the left”. Two blocks on the left later, we find another policeman ‘Never heard of it but the street you want is two blocks further back”. Two blocks further back, we find ourselves in front of the hospital where a policewoman is attending a man who has obviously just come off his motorbike and hurt his arm. There is the wail of a siren and an ambulance screeches to a halt, followed by a couple of policemen on motorbikes. I’m almost certain it would have been quicker and easier for him to walk across the road to the hospital but who knows... We walk on and find another policewoman. “Ah yes” she says ,”Two blocks on the right” BY now, we are dying of starvation and dehydration. But this time, we find it. In fact we have been circling around it for the past 2 hours. A quick look at the menu, tells us this place should not be in LP’s Guide to Central America on a Shoestring, but in their Blow the Budget’ alternative, but we are too hungry to start looking for something else. Fortunately the Eggs Florentine is to die for... we nearly did.

That evening we are to  meet our new guide, David, and our new travel companions, Lucy, Louise, Amanda, Nathalie, Pum and Rowan. David is a sharp contrast to the extrovert and wacky Ernie. Quiet and reserved, he starts off by telling us how dangerous the trip will be, and that we should expect to be robbed at every opportunity. He explains that his only role is to get us from A to B and provide a hotel. We should not expect anything more. It’s such a change from Ernie, who could not do enough to make our holiday fun, comfortable and entertaining. After terrifying several of the girls David offers to take us to a typical restaurant, frequented by locals. Restaurant Typico is not particularly welcoming. A tv on the wall is blaring out mindless music and the waiter seems a little reluctant to take our orders. There is little on the menu that is tempting but Caroline decides to try local ‘chipperones’, supposedly a sort of pork scratchings and I order the liver and onions. By the time everyone else has had their meal, I’m kind of glad mine hasn’t turned up. The chipperones turned out to be just fat, and several of the others have left in disgust to go to Mac Donalds for something they can eat. David, is unhelpful and unapologetic for not explaining in advance what to expect. We head back to Rainbow Cafe where at least I know I can get something good to eat and as soon as we are there he disappears. It’s not a good start for the group.

Nearly everyone is a bit nervous in the morning as we breakfast at Fernandos. Even if they have done an Intrepid ‘ home stay’ before there is still that fear of not being able to communicate and how to fill the time whilst in someone else’s home. What will the sleeping arrangements be like? Will they have a toilet? A shower? Hot water? What will we eat? Will they have kids? How many? How old? What presents should we take?  All of us, except Barbara (who runs a language school in Spain!), wish we’d spent a bit more time practising Spanish.

Before we get to meet the families we head to Chichicastenaga, famous for its market, where we can get souvenir bargains and also purchase some grocery items for our families by way of thank you.

For those of us who had spent the previous night out on the town in Antigua, Chichi presents more of a challenge than others. The narrow streets are packed with vendors, locals and tourists. Vendors peddling their wares, calling out their special offers at the top of their voices. We hide out in a first floor cafe overlooking the market before determining our strategy. Caroline & Ernie decide that a snooze is required before any further action can be taken and head to a couple of benches at the back of the cafe, but I am determined to take the bull by the horns and launch myself into the fray. Immediately, I am surrounded by diminutive, indigenous women & children trying to peddle their scarves,  table cloths, worry dolls, jewellery, ANYTHING! Aha! I am an old hand at this thing. I’ve travelled through India, Asia and Africa and long ago learnt the techniques to avoid this harassment.

1.       Ignore them

2.       Say ‘No thank you’ politely

3.       Repeat in local language

4.       Repeat 2& 3 more forcefully

5.       Never, ever, EVER, ask a price

6.       Never, ever, EVER, show any interest

But it doesn’t seem to be working here. A little entourage accumulates around me, swelling and receding as I wander round the artisan market, endeavouring to look at nothing in particular. My friends wander ahead laughing, unencumbered by the persistent cries of ‘1 dollar’, ‘nearly free’, ‘good price for you’, ‘maybe later’, as each vendor plants themself in my path, anxious to secure a sale. My friends look at items on sale, negotiate pricing undisturbed, make purchases! Still my little entourage continues until I am forced to seek a final escape in the veg market, slipping through a narrow archway & leaving them behind to attack some other poor, unsuspecting tourist.

After a morning in the markets we set off to Panajachel for a couple of hours respite before meeting our hosts in San Jorge. Panajachel sits on the edge of Lake Atitlan with stunning views of the volcanoes. The local lads are swimming in never decreasing circles in a makeshift pool in the lake at increasing speed. It seems triathlon is a big sport here. As we walk back up the high street towards the meet point the rain starts and gets increasingly heavy until the high street itself is a virtual river running down towards the lake. We hop from shop front to shop front but it seems there is no avoiding getting drenched. Then, our hero, Ernie, is running towards us down the centre of the street, in his bare feet, the bus behind him, collecting us from our little island refuges.

San Jorge is only a few minutes drive along the ridge to the next harbour. We have had no advance information about our families, or where we will be, or whether they speak any English or even Spanish. Caroline and I are pointed towards Rosa and we follow behind as she leads us up a steep narrow roadway towards her home. Fortunately, its not too far up the hill, as we are already puffing after a few metres. Home is a modest affair made up several single storey  concrete huts with a tin roof, shanty style. Our room is clean and has 2 beds, a window (no glass) with a wooden shutter. There is an outside sink next to the toilet/shower hut. The kitchen has a concrete range, wood fired and is pretty dark. Inside Estephanie, the youngest daughter, aged 10 and Gladys(26) are waiting. Estaphanie is happy to show off her knowledge of English by counting from 1 to 100, in full! The Welsh flag pencils and Welsh map tea towel I have brought as gifts are proudly shown to everyone. We are treated to a cup of hibiscus tea before heading off for the group orientation. Once back, Gladys and Rosa are busy making tortillas and we are invited to help. Despite carefully following the instructions and demonstration, this proves to be much more difficult than anticipated and pretty soon I am covered in flour with bits of pastry stuck everywhere, all of which causes great hilarity with Rosa, Gladys and Estephanie. Even Grandma pops in to see what all the fuss is about. After half an hour Caroline and I have managed 2 miserly, paltry efforts each , whilst Gladys & Rosa have already made about 30. That said, they have had plenty of practice, as tortillas form the staple of every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner! Rosa has pulled out all the stops for our visit and, when her husband Joaquin, returns from his shift in a local hotel at 7.30, we are treated to a special dinner of beefsteak, rice(made with a delicious consommé), mixed vegetables(also cooked in consommé & served with a little mayo stirred thru) and, of course, a huge pile of tortillas. After dinner, I chat in my limited Spanish with Gladys, who has set up a little evening stall at the front entrance, selling single portion servings of sliced fruit and coconut milk. Joaquin is determined to teach us some of the local dialect and has a crib sheet just for the purpose. Dutifully, we repeat each word or phrase after him, but by the end of the evening we have just about mastered, thank you. Eventually, son Julio, comes home late from school and, the other married daughter, Yolande, pops round to meet us. We opt for an early night and are sad to miss saying goodbye to Estephanie who starts school early in the morning.

Next morning, tortillas and scrambled eggs for breakfast with beans and rice and we say our goodbyes and  head back to Panajachel.

As the weather has improved, we decide to hire a boat for the day and head across the lake over to San Marcos and Santiago for the day to get a view of other villages living on the side of a volcano overlooking the lake. The lake waters sit in the centre of several volcanoes. An earthquake sealed the natural drainage system and since then the lake waters have continued to rise with rainfall until many of the homes around the lake have found themselves underwater. As we pull into the jetty at San Marcos, we float past an underwater gallery. Here, we climb the steep hill to visit a women’s cooperative where they take cotton and silk threads, dye them and weave them into garments, pictures, scarves and hammocks. I picture myself lazing in one of the hammocks across the decking in my garden and without thinking, make an offer. Before I know it I am the proud owner of one handmade hammock with wooden batons. Err. How am I going to get this home?

It’s a long bus day from Rio Dulce to Antigua, but it starts well on good quality public transport.  There’s no aircon but the through draft is good and there’s a good movie on the screen. Fortunately you don’t need to understand the dialogue to get The Hunger Games. The scenery changes as we head to the Highlands and we see lots of agriculture. There’s  a marked reduction in the temperature and we all appreciate the cooler, fresher air until we get to Guatemala City.

Dirty but dramatic, with its shanty towns hanging off the river cliffs and its own Suicide Bridge, it’s clear that gun law rules here and many of the men are carrying guns of one sort or another clearly visible. I am grateful that we only have a bus change here before heading out to the old capital of Antigua.

Antigua itself is a World Heritage Site and most of the authentic and quaint Spanish facades have been retained or restored. Indeed, in some cases, only the facade has been retained and a glance through non existent windows reveal there is no building behind. Even MacDonalds has not been allowed to impose their familiar landmark logo, even if they have been allowed to establish an outlet there.

Our hotel is hidden down a back street with no indication that a hotel lurks behind the double garage doors in the wall. Casa Familia is exactly that and it feels wonderfully at home, with small staircases leading to an upstairs loggia, a sort of inside/outside style of living with rooms around it. We head out for dinner near the main square. Tienda La Canche (The Blonde Shop), is a tiny shop where you disappear behind the shop counter into a little back room with two tables surrounded by shop stock – nappies, water, toilet tissue, etc.  The ‘Blonde’ is now about 160yrs old but she’s as sharp as a knife and in few minutes we are all tucking into her specialty, ‘Pepian de pollo’, a delicious and substantial chicken soup.

After that, some head for home as we have another long day ahead but a few of us move on to the Rainbow Cafe where it’s ‘Open Mic Night’. The music is great, with interesting covers of some old & new favourites, from Pink Floyd to Ed Sheeran. It occurs to me that wherever we have heard live music on this trip someone has tried to cover Pink Floyd, not always recogniseably. Those poor goldfish must be quite dizzy by now. When the Rainbow Cafe finally closes at 1am we are leaving with the staff who invite us to join them on a bar tour. But Antigua is not the most lively place on a Wednesday night and at 3am we find ourselves sharing street tacos and a beer with locals before hitting the sack.

Will and his uncle will drive us the 3.5hrs to Rio Dulce in 2 minibuses and it is noticeable that we divide naturally into ‘couples’ and ‘singles’.  We decide to get the party started with a few beers and games to while away the hours as we drive through the beautiful  Guatemalan countryside. The volcanic mountains are impressive and the fields as green and lush as any at home. Horses and cows are left to graze at the side of the road and we are grateful for the skill of our driver dodging oncoming traffic as we wind our way through the mountains and valleys.

By lunchtime we have arrived at Rio Dulce and there’s just time for a quick bite to eat before the hotel lancha will pick us up. We trundle along the narrow boardwalk to wait as a dark cloud looms in the distance. Ernie looks up and decides there is little time to be wasted before the storm hits, so he heads off up the road to the main water taxi terminal with us scurrying behind. 50m from the covered area the heavens open and by the time I reach it I am completely drenched.  We are treated to a half hour lightening and torrential rain show, with the local children taking the opportunity to dive from the river bank into the choppy waters, before the skies clear and we can board our launch to the hotel.

Ernie has already forewarned us that all the single ladies will have to share accommodation at this hotel and so we are ready for the rustic wooden shack on stilts by the water’s edge that greets us on arrival at Hotel Tortugal. Encumbered with our backpacks we follow the manager down the narrow boardwalk, past all the luxurious yachts and motor boats, famously moored here to avoid the Caribbean tropical storm season and dodging overhead mangrove branches to what seems like the end of the world. As he opens the door to our cabin on stilts we squeal in delight.  Our ‘cabin’ has 5 bedrooms on 2 floors and 2 bathrooms. It sits on stilts, shaded by mangroves with no external walls, only mosquito netting between us and the jungle or river. There is a large lounge area and an external dining area. Beyond it, the boardwalk leads to a private sundeck overlooking the river. It’s love at first sight.

Next morning, the sun blinking through the leaves wakes me up to my view of the river. Today we are to take a motor launch down river to the town of Livingston, a Garifuna town unconnected by road from the rest of the country. It’s a long journey across the lake and down river but along the way we spot indigenous shanty homes on stilts alongside luxurious residences (American tourists or maybe local drug barons?), with dugout canoes alongside luxury yachts and motor launches. On the way, we pull over into a small jetty where we can go and see community handicrafts being made. Lots of coconut shell earrings but some interesting embroidered blouses and traditionally woven bags. Further along, there is a wide gorge with local fishermen in their dugout canoes fishing in the shade of the towering cliffs

Livingston itself, turns out to be somewhat of a disappointment. Lots of tourist shops selling locally produced handicrafts and their Chinese imitations, often side by side in the same shop. We stop at a stall to purchase a sample of the local moonshine, known as garifiti (or graffiti to me).  Famous for its medicinal properties, combining local rum and a selection of herbs and spices, this liquor is said to cure all ills and either make you laugh hysterically or sob inconsolably.  We decide to defer our initiation until later in the day.

The wait at the restaurant is worth it for the delicious seafood soup which is a meal to last the whole day filled with fresh local prawns, a whole crab and other local fish. Then it’s back in the boat for the return journey to our luxury residence. On the way back, we stop off at the Aguas Calientes or Hot Springs. No big touristic, commercial venture here. Just low underwater, wall of rocks, separating  a 10m pool from the rest of the river with some old wooden steps in and out from the jetty. A bar at the end means we can enjoy some liquid refreshment whilst  partaking of the waters. Gingerly , I slide down the slippery steps into the water. Ouch. It’s scalding hot.  I swirl the water mixing the scalding hot with the not quite so hot. There is no ‘cool’ tap here. The faint whiff of sulphur hangs in the air and we sip our beers as the fish provide a free pedicure, occasionally nipping or ankles by mistake. It’s very relaxing and it seems far too soon we are back in our boat home. By the time we are back, plans for a night out on the town in Rio Dulce, have been modified to a Girls Night In. No-one wants to leave the next day.

It’s not far in the Jungle Bus to the border with Guatemala and with open sides we manage to avoid getting hot and sticky, for once. At least,  until we are standing in the blazing sun. We pay our 37.50 to exit Belize, and USD3 to enter Guatemala and cross the border with ease. Caroline’s personal porter is carrying her backpack and so she elegantly trails 2 small wheelie bags behind her as the rest of us hoist our packs onto our sweaty backs and stagger in the heat towards the waiting minibuses on the other side.  As the driver comes to meet us, he immediately offers Princess Caroline assistance with the tiny bags she is trailing. The rest of us just stare in wonder. It’s a brief 2.5hrs to Flores through the beautiful countryside and we are soon crossing the bridge to the island with its quaint, colourful houses and cobbled streets. The EcoGreen Hotel overlooks the lake and has attractive lime green walls to give you nightmares when you sleep. Our bijou little cell offers extensive views over the corridor and a working fan, for which we are extremely grateful. Water from the shower is an optional extra and the exclusive acoustic sound system enables you to enjoy everyone’s conversation from the comfort of your own bed.  The air humidity ensures you have a constant stream of cooling water running down your back eliminating the need to get undressed to get wet. Furthermore, the daily afternoon torrential downpour serves to wash both you and your clothes at no extra charge.

Guatemala is also celebrating its independence and so the streets are lively with families enjoying the sultry weather and opportunity to take a dip in the cool lake waters.  At night there is a small street market at the lake side where family run stalls offer home cooked traditional tacos, nachos and tamarind juice for 5 quetzales ( <1USD).

It feels like we have hardly gone to bed when the alarm goes off next morning. We have a 4.15am start for the trip to Tikal, an ancient Mayan site that predates Chichen Itza. Bleary eyed we are introduced to our local Guide, Juan, who happens to be an ex Intrepid tour leader. He is knowledgeable on all aspects of Mayan culture and  amusing in his delivery. I love this site more than Chicken Pizza, as it has a real sense of a thriving city, but the majority of it is still in the clutches of the jungle and there are virtually no other visitors apart from ourselves.

As we wander round the temples and pyramids we spot the spider monkeys and listen to the howler monkeys cry. We even spot another tarantula hiding in its hole in the ground. Climbing the steep steps of Temple 4 we are able to see the true extent of the jungle enclosing the site.

Back at our exclusive residence we just have time to change for dinner before heading off to Villa del Chef on the lake side for some beautiful white bass, a speciality of the area.

When I wake next morning, it’s light outside but dark inside. I need the loo and I’m hot. Trying not to wake Caroline I carefully put one foot on the floor. It feels wet. Maybe its just my sweaty feet? I put the other foot down. Yep. Definitely wet. I slosh my way to the bathroom, ankle deep in water.

We step outside to dry off and head over to the other side of the island for breakfast at the famous ‘Cool Beans’ where we enjoy the stunning views and amazing fresh fruit, yoghurt, granola and pancakes, before packing our bags into the 2minibuses Ernie has organised to take us to our next stop, thus avoiding the chicken bus and saving hours on the journey.