Half way between Guatemala’s capital and its boarder with Belize lies the small mountain town of Coban and the national park, Samuc Champey. Located in the mountainous Alta Verapaz province, Samuc Champey was a holy site for the ancient Kekchi Mayans and means, ‘Sacred Water.’ Praised for its picturesque beauty, the park’s main attraction is a natural limestone bridge of lagoons that sits atop an aqua green mountain river as it tumbles down a sub-tropical valley. It has for a long time been one of the Guatemala’s hidden gems, but has recently become a popular tourist destination and a must-see for many who travel into the countries heartland.
I made my way from Guatemala City to Coban, four heart-wrenching hours in the back of minibus along a narrow, winding road that traverses the mountainous interior. For added kicks, our driver, either an escaped mental patient or looking to be committed, decided to play chicken with oncoming traffic by overtaking slower cars through blind corners and small straight-aways. This was usually about the same time a huge logging truck would be coming in the other direction and he'd have to quickly slam on the breaks and verve back into our lane just as the 18-wheeler whizzed past. To top it all off it was pouring rain, adding more hazards and increasing the likelihood of an accident and my impeding heart attack.
By some miracle we survived the trip and made it to Coban by early afternoon. I checked into a local hotel that doubled as a tourist agency and booked a tour for the following day and spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring the city.
A chilly sub-alpine hamlet tucked back in the folds of this jagged countryside, Coban is a transportation hub for the local coffee farmers in surrounding hills. This all sounds quiet nice when you’re reading it in a guidebook, but now, walking its drizzly, colorless side streets, I found it lacking in charm and cultural vibrancy, both of which you come to expect from small mountain towns in Central America. It was as bleak and sullen a migrant town during the Great Depression and after an hour of fruitless wondering I gave up and returned to my hotel. I took an early dinner, after which I decided to call it a night, knowing full well that I wasn't going to be missing anything in the way of excitement out on the town.
Arising at 5am, I was greeted with a warm complimentary breakfast after which I, along with a handful of other tourists, boarded a small tour bus with our guides and made the 2-hour drive to the entrance to the park. Again, we traveled along a rough, curving road but time however, the driver had taken his prescription medication and the ride was much more pleasant. We slowly descended from crisp-aired pine forests and dry mountain plains to humid palm-covered lowlands and moist river valleys, stopping along the way to view the beautiful countryside from amazing vistas. Desolate olive green hills, sprinkled with coffee and cardamom farms, rolled back toward the horizon like ripples in a pond, and you truly got a sense of just how vast the Guatemalan interior actually is.
Just before we reached the park entrance, we pass the Cahabon River, both swift and powerful, it is a hypnotizing shade of emerald green and it cuts a narrow, winding track down the heavily forested valley. Just past the river lies the small riverside town of Lanquin, a quiet community with some lovely riverfront accommodations making it a nice alternative to staying in Coban.
On the other side of the river we arrived at the park, paid our entrance fees ($3) and entered into a thick tropical oasis of ferns, palms, and flowering Cecropia trees. Following our guides, we climbed the steep hillsides of the valley on a series of dirt paths and wooden catwalks and found ourselves at a viewing platform 1,200ft above the river. With this aerial view, we could see a series of seven shallow lagoons set atop a limestone shelf forming an arching bridge across the Cahabon as it disappeared into an unseen underground spillway beneath it. The cascading pools, a brilliant shade of jade green, straddled the river for about half a mile before culminating at the mouth of a large waterfall, below which the Cahabon resurfaced from its submerged passage and continued its southern run down the valley. It was brilliant, so impressive that it was hard to believe that it was a natural wonder and not man made.
We made our way back down to the water’s edge and ate lunch along its shaded shores. Afterward we put on our swim trunks and walked over to the top of the limestone shelf where we could peered down beneath it to where the white water of the river plunged into the blackness of the underground passageway. The Discovery Channel tried to float a camera through this submerged section of the river to see if it might be passable. After four broken cameras and no evidence that it was possible they gave up. We decided not to try our luck either and instead opted for the much more tranquil lagoons.
Armed with our sandals and a sense of adventure, we jumped into the first pool, where the water, as shallow as a swimming pool, was warmed by the midday sun and it felt more like swimming in a tropical sea than an alpine river.
We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the lagoons. Each pool, slightly lower than the previous one, was connected by a series of small cascading
waterfalls and marshland. We used these waterfalls as a path to get from pool to pool, traversing down the coarse limestone cascades and jumping off the edge into the next hole. Reaching the second lagoon in this fashion we were able to climb up the side of the rocky valley walls from the riverbank and dive into the deeper pools. On and on we went, sliding down waterfalls and diving from one lagoon to the next in the breezy afternoon sun. At the end of the seventh pool, where the shelf abruptly gives way to a huge, free-flowing waterfall, our guide was waiting for us with a small rope ladder. Then, two at a time, we descended down the face of the waterfall with the torrent beating down on our backs and came to a limestone plateau twenty feet below. From there, we ducked back behind the cascade and, crawling through a small crack in the rocks, emerged into an underground cavern and the submerged Cohaban River. It was incredible, the cave funneling back into dark recesses of the underground passage with stalactites dropping down from the ceiling and stalagmites protruding up along the riverbank. The sun petered through the cracks in the rocks, reflecting slow hypnotic waves of light off the water and along the cave walls. Aided by this dim light, we were able to feel are way along the edge of the riverbank, careful not to loose our footing and be lost in the torrent, and descend deeper into the cave to which point we were standing in utter darkness and the raging water, reverberating in the ground and echoing off the cavern walls, was so loud, that even your thoughts seemed to drown out its shear power. It was an amazing experience. This part of the tour should be done with a guide and is available only in the dry season when the water is low enough to enter the cave.
In the waning hours of the afternoon, we returned to the bus and drove back up the river valley, stopping at some more limestone caves just outside Lanquin. While not nearly as impressive as the previous limestone cavern, it was nice enough and you could tell someone put some work into it.
Well maintained, with celestial lighting guiding you along, you enter the cave and traverse through the darkness along a slippery metal walkways and cut tracks in the rock. As you descend deeper into the cavern, you are meet by signs along the path inviting you to stare at rock formations that someone (someone with too much time on their hands) has decided resembles something. You stare blankly at a spotlight beamed down on a solitary rock, supposedly meant to resemble something important. I couldn’t make it out to be anything other than a funny looking rock with an accent light, but the signs indicated that they were special: ´The Virgin Mary´, 'An African Elephant,' ´An American Eagle´, ´Elvis.´ Well, maybe not Elvis, but they could have said that and I wouldn’t have know the difference.
As you walk further down through the cave, the air becomes cool and damp and you begin to see bats. Increasing in number the further you descend, at first its just a cluster of them on a cave wall, then more clusters, some squeaking as they flutter past, and before you know it, they are buzzing your head from all sides, flapping within inches of your face before veering off into the darkness. Just when you think you’ve found the back door to Transylvania and lord Dracula himself is going to appear before you, the cave abruptly ends and, with a sigh of relief, you’re able to turn around and scurry back toward the entrance without looking like a scaredy cat to the other, equally terrified, members of your group.
We piled back into the bus, exhausted, but alighted, and headed back to Coban. There, we were greeted by a hot shower and a hearty meal. At dinner, we recounted the day’s events with laughter and remembrance and another group of travelers, overhearing us, asked how it was and if they’d enjoy it. With a smile, I said, ¨it’s worth the trip to Guatemala in itself, and I’m sure you’ll love it... you aren't afraid of bats are you? ¨
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