This is Melchor de Mencos, our gateway to famously troublesome ‘Guate’, as the locals affectionately call Guatemala, one of the largest in Central America.

A two-hour cramped minibus ride through round hills covered in corn fields takes us to the city of Santa Elena, a large Guatemalan town and a focus point for the Peten region.

Just a fifteen minute walk away, sitting on a small island embedded in the blue waters of Lake Peten Itza and linked through a man-made causeway is the town of Flores (literally ‘flowers’ in English), our first layover in this country.

The small island was first visited by the Spaniards in the year 1541 and finally conquered in 1697, time in which all the local Itzas ran away to hid in the forest.
From the ruins of this civilization, the town of Flores ‘flourished’ in a combination of colorful colonial facades that rise up the slightly inclined hills to the main square where the whitewashed cathedral sits enjoying a privileged view of the surroundings narrow streets, only negotiated by brave red tuk-tuks who swerve around the stone-laid alleyways.

Flores is indeed Santa Elena’s pretty sister, as verified with a short visit to the hot and dusty streets of this transportation hub and dormitory town in order to buy a bus ticket to Guatemala City and refuel at the intricate yet charming street market where a crimson spicy beef stew served with a bit of rice and three corn tortillas can be purchased for under an US dollar.

The Lake Peten Itza is an attraction on its own, with the dramatic rays of sunshine penetrating the clear navy blue waters at sunset, whilst savoring local and slightly overpriced delicacies such as deep-fried enchiladas, fresh empanadas, bulky tamales or what I would call the best chocolate cake in the world at the street market that sets in at what seems to be the ‘main boardwalk’ shortly after the sun has finished punishing the hot jungle and the temperatures are slightly more bearable.

As the town sleeps, numb memories of an early morning bus ride North take me to the protected area of Tikal National Park, clearly defined by a wall that separates the human settlements/corn crops on one side from a dense lush jungle on the other.
‘Another Mayan archeological site’ I think, and this is a thought that vanishes almost immediately by the exuberance and remoteness of Tikal’s mirage unfolding just in front of me. Unlike tourist-plagued Chichen Itza, Tikal still remains as one of Central America’s best kept secrets.

Several pyramids towering to up to 70 meters tall seem to challenge the dense jungle around them , with the their tops graciously crowning the top of the tallest trees, enchanting the minds of many visitors who rush towards this complex before sunrise to witness a unique start of the day.
It is a misty morning, so instead of dyeing our sight with some orange-colored visual show, we delight our hearing with a loud symphonic performance of early morning howler monkeys clinging atop robust mahogany trees.
An over-stimulation of senses whilst skipping between old pyramids and carved stoned squares, just as the day sets in and the intense morning heat strikes minutes after we reach the top of Templo IV, setting of adoration in Mayan times and, recently serving as a filming spot for Star Wars (don’t ask me which one), setting of the surreal in current times.

Kayaking at Lake Peten Itza is the chosen activity for the afternoon, appeasing the heat of the day whilst bagging some much needed exercise and enjoying privileged views of the small island-town and surroundings.
Flores is left behind at night, under the scrutiny of dodgy characters which plague the long avenue separating the safe tourist haven of colonial Flores and the bus station at Santa Elena at night.

Splurging for the first time in days, we board the ‘Maya de Oro’ double-decker bus (at USD 35, it is the most expensive we could get) taking advantage of the mobile wi-fi and the comfortable reclining seats until finally falling asleep. It doesn’t last long.
Four hours later, I am awoken by the Arctic-like air conditioning now freezing up my legs and by the G forces applied to my body with every single turn the bus makes, readily checking on my iPhone’s GPS only to find out that we are entering the mountainous region, ending my hopes of ever falling sleep on this journey for good.

Seven hours after having left the hot plains of Peten, the lugubriously lit slums of Guatemala City rapidly mushroom outside my bus window. We have made it to the largest city in the country an hour and a half ahead of schedule, which in the end might explain the stomach-wrenching ride.
Tired, starving and slightly clueless, we arrive at the bus company’s own terminal and are advised not to leave the premises until the sun has risen.

Welcome to Guatemala City!