Cobán

The guidebook described Sayaxché as a "lawless frontier town" overrun with members of Mexican drug cartels and "best avoided" except as seen from the car window during a drive from Flores to Cobán.  What neither the guidebook nor the map told  us, though, was that the highway would grind to a halt on one side of a very wide river, turning into a large dirt parking lot.

Eventually, we figured out there was a ferry across the river, costing about $0.30.  So we waited our turn, buying coconuts and spicy peanuts from vendors and enjoying our view of the lawless town across the river.  Then - on the ferry, through town on the other side, and on our way to Cobán.

First in line.

This seems safe.

Cobán, unlike Sayaxché, got fine treatment from our guidebook.  Not so much from the media, which mis-translated a late 2010 police crackdown on members of the Mexican drug cartel Zeta as a "state of seige," frightening tourists away probably in greater numbers, and at least for far longer, than necessary.  Of course, the Zetas apparently did drive around town in December 2010 in armoured vehicles with grenade launchers, intimidating cops and pretty much  having their way with the city, but that was then.  Now, Cobán is a really charming, lively, vibrant city on a hill surrounded by pine forests.  (There is some dispute as to whether the police crackdown worked or whether the Zetas successfully paid off the police, but in either event, it's now a relatively peaceful and really beautiful place.)

Cobán is famous for it's coffee, which truly is delicious.  Weirdly, there are a lot of Guatemalans with German names in the area.  Apparently, the German population was offensive to the United States during WWII, and the U.S. government successfully petitioned Guatemala to kick Germans out.  But a certain German influence remains, including in the name of one of Cobán's most famous coffee farms.

In the center of the city is a protected old-growth pine forest.  Lena and I went for a run one morning, dashing madly through the insane market toward the park.  Quite a sight, I'm sure.  Me: ridiculous, tall, and blond-headed.  Lena: ridiculous, shiny, on a leash (!), and oddly-marked.  And we were running.  A complete spectacle.  

And then we broke into the dark  of the forest, where ferns grew and paths wound up and down and past a little lagoon.  

One one side of the park, overlooking the city, sits a little white cathedral whose broad white steps lead back down to the bustling city center, where on the main square a woman sells the very finest empanadas we have ever tasted.   

We slept in Cobán in the parking lot of a rather fancy hotel, protected by our very own guard (with shotgun).  We couldn't quite figure out why the hotel would let us park the muddy, silly rattlevan in front of their reception office, but they seemed to enjoy having resident hobos out front.  

Safest camping ever.

On our way out of town, we stopped at a peaceful orchid nursery called Vivero Veracruz, which covered a few acres of land on a hilltop overlooking the city.  The old caretaker came out to show us around.  He explained that there were more than 400 types of orchids there, from the miniature to the huge and everything between, including the national flowers of Guatemala and Belize.  Some of the plants were 30 years old, and the guide was justifiably proud of his work.      

 

And somehow, between drinking gourmet coffee, jogging in the pine forest, visiting orchid farms, and eating delicious local food, we entirely forgot to get assaulted by drug gangs.

Next up, maybe: How the Gringos Ruined Christmas.