We hadn’t planned our return itinerary to Cape Town and were open to suggestions. Over the past two days, during the down time between game drives at Schotia Private Game Reserve our guide, Edward, shared his love of South Africa with us. “Did you stop at Stormsriver?” “No.” “It’s a breathtaking stretch of coast. They have cabins you can rent, right on the water, and there’s a spectacular trail with suspension bridges across the gorge.” “And the Karoo, don’t forget the Karoo and Ronnie’s.” 
During the morning “golden hour” we watched a family of giraffe walk gracefully through the forest, nibbling thorns from the acacia trees, before saying our goodbyes. Stormsriver, it was! Backtracking through Port Elizabeth we retraced our drive past Jeffreys Bay and continued west on the N2 until we stopped to photograph the steep chasm that the Stormsriver Bridge spanned, just before the village of the same name. Mostly folks mean the Tsitsikamma National Park when they mention Stormsriver; they are synonymous with each other, the difference being the village is located far inland, just off the highway, and the park is on the coast. 
We thought the entrance fee of $17.00 per person for international tourists was steep and we did see some cars turning away, but we had heard such tremendous recommendations we would regret it if we didn’t check it out. There was a long winding road down from the entrance gate and when we finally rounded a sharp corner, the view of the rugged coastline with crashing waves sending up large white sprays was spectacular! 
We enjoyed lunch watching and listening to thunderous waves explode against rocks only a short distance away from our table at the Cattle Baron. It’s the only restaurant in the park and was excellent, along with being very affordable. A nice surprise after the park entrance fee. 
After lunch we followed an easy section of the Otter Trail to the three suspension bridges that cross Stormsriver where it meets the sea. Reservations and a permit are required to trek the full length of this popular and strenuous 28 mile trail that follows the edge of the coastal plateau through evergreen forests, traverses boulder strewn beaches and tidal river crossings. 
Staying in designated cabins each night, it takes five days to cover the route that stretches from Stormsriver in the Eastern Cape to Nature’s Valley in the Western Cape. The reverse hike is referred to as the Tsitsikamma Trail.
We were greeted warmly by Bev and Marco, owners of At The Woods Guest House Tsitsikamma in the village. Their place is a lovingly envisioned and restored eight room B&B in what had been a carpentry workshop. At check-in Bev noticed that the clasp to the shoulder strap on Donna’s camera bag was broken and offered to repair it. A huge help, the repair has lasted eight months so far. We greatly appreciated it. We walked around the corner to Darnell Street, the village’s restaurant row, with six eateries, and sat down at Marilyn’s 60’s Diner. The place is shrine to Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe with movie posters, classic cars, motorcycles, juke boxes, checkered floor and chrome, lots of chrome as décor. Happy Days meets Northern Exposure, it seemed to be a clash of cultures in the woods.
The next morning we enjoyed coffee on our balcony while listening to new bird calls and hoping to spot Narina Trogan, Knysna Turaco (Loerie) and Victorin’s Warblers which inhabit this heavily forested area. 
After breakfast, on our way to Nature’s Valley, we crossed over the Bloukans River Bridge, which claims to be the world’s highest bungee jump at 710ft and divides the western cape from eastern cape region. The small resort village is right on the Indian Ocean and borders the Grootrivier lagoon, which is blocked from reaching the ocean by a wide sandbar. The two waters only merge when a hide tide washes over the sand, or when heavy rains raise the level of the river and it cuts a channel through the sand to the sea.
On the way back to the highway we stopped at Nature’s Way Farm Stall for coffee and a snack before continuing or drive to Oudtshoorn in the Klein Karoo. Located on a working dairy farm, the stand had a wonderful selection of homemade cheeses, breads, jams and chutneys – we stocked up. They also have cottages available for rent.
Passing through Plettenberg Bay we stopped at the Old Nick Village to check out their mid-week farmers market and the homeware textiles created on site at Mungo Mill, a local South African company that reinvests 1% of its profit back into community projects. There was also an interesting plant nursery and pottery shop with vervet monkeys scampering across their roofs. 
Our steep ascent away from the coast began in George as we headed north on the N9/N12 twisting our way uphill through the Outeniqua Pass to Oudtshoorn. This is a challenging stretch of highway with continuous s-turns that required my constant attention. Passengers can enjoy spectacular views on sunny days that stretch for miles. If possible, drive the route towards the coast, it’s easier to stop at the scenic lookouts this way.
One thing about traveling in the off-season, things are quieter, especially on the late Sunday afternoon when entered Oudtshoorn, looking for dinner before we checked into our B&B for the night. It wouldn’t have surprised us to see tumbleweed blowing down the streets. It was too cold outside to sit by the open firepit in the courtyard of La Dolce Vita, one of the few places we found open. But the staff was friendly, the food was good, and the bartender had a sweet dog to help him keep the conversations going with the ladies. 
We’ve heard of gold booms, where fortunes were made. But it was the ostrich booms in 1865 -1885 and 1902-1913 when ostrich feathers were the ultimate fashion accessory in Europe that enriched local farmers here. At one point 314,000 ostriches were being raised and their feathers were a valuable South African export, only surpassed by gold, diamonds and wool.
Today Oudtshoorn attracts outdoor enthusiasts, with the Cango Marathon endurance race and the “To Hell and Back” mountain bike race. Wine and cultural events like the Klein Karoo Nasionale Kunstefees (KKNK) a visual and performing arts festival also dot the high season calendar. The region is on the R62 Wine Route and becoming increasingly known for its port style fortified wines and brandies produced from grapes that thrive in the arid conditions of the karoo. Ostriches are still raised in the area for their meat and leather. 
Die Fonteine, our B&B for the night, was a few miles north of Oudtshoorn, outside the small village of Schoemanshoek. After a delicous breakfast the next morning we enjoyed exploring the manicured grounds of this beautiful farmette. Caged song birds, chickens and sheep provided our morning entertainment. Anzue, our hostess, gave us a jar of homemade guava jam for our journey back to Cape Town, after we raved about it at breakfast. “How are you headed back? “Through Montagu.” “It’s a long stretch through the karoo, not much between towns, just Ronnie’s.”
Leaving town, we hammed it up with a jaws of death photo at the Cango Wildlife Ranch. It’s South Africa’s version of a petting zoo, where you can go cage diving with crocodiles for an adrenaline rush, if that’s your thing.
The word karoo comes from the Khoisan language meaning “land of thirst” and it precisely describes the terrain along R62 which we followed. Parched, rock encrusted rolling hills and mountains covered with a fynbos of low heather-like shrubs and proteas occasionally accentuated by taller, lone trees and dry riverbeds crisscrossed the landscape. During the South African spring, in October, it bursts with flowers, but it was July, still winter. The area endures extreme heat during the summer. Fortunately for us recent winter rains had spurred some greenery to burst forth and aloe plants to bloom. 
We stopped in Ladismith, a rural farming community where Vincent, Donna’s friend from seminary, first pastored a church, and enjoyed its colonial Dutch architecture.
Watch for Stray Cattle and Wild Animal Crossing Ahead signs occasionally broke the rhythm of the terrain. Every few miles now we would pass old battered signs for Ronnie’s. Somewhere along the way they turned into signs for Ronnie’s Sex Shop! 
The heat can do strange things to the mind and sometime in the 1970’s Ronnie thought a farm stand on this desolate stretch of highway through the karoo would be a good idea. Fortunately, his buddies realized it was destined for failure and would soon be another abandoned building along the road if something wasn’t done. One night they painted SEX into the name of the shop and suggested he open a bar. They saved his butt! Famous now worldwide as a dive bar in the middle of nowhere, it draws in the curious. It’s not the raunchy place the name implies, filled with frustrated farmers between ostrich roundups. A grey bearded Ronnie, now a cause célèbre, still pours drinks at the bar. It has a tired, dusty bar area filled with foreign money plastered to the walls and lingerie hanging from the ceiling, but aside from that it’s a wholesome oasis with a covered patio where you can get a decent burger with fries, ice cream and coffee along with some hard stuff if that’s your drink. It’s not worth a detour, but if you are on the R62 traveling between Barrydale and Ladismith, it’s worth the stop. Actually, it’s the only place to stop.
For some R62 conjures up thoughts of Jack Kerouac and his road trip across America from Chicago to Los Angeles along Rt 66 through the heartland of the country. Similarly, R62 connects Port Elizabeth, on the Indian Ocean, to Cape Town, on the South Atlantic, while passing through the beautiful karoo region, the core of South Africa. An epic journey for many of the folks in camper vans and cross-country motorcyclists we passed along the way. It’s an interesting, inland alternative to the N2.
We zoomed past the small village of Barrydale on our way to Montagu, so we could explore the town a little before nightfall. The farming community is in a valley surrounded by the Langeberg mountain range and has many examples of late 19th century Cape Dutch architecture scattered about town. Ornate gables, thatched roofs, whitewashed walls and occasionally gingerbread trim define the style, but there are modern interpretations also.
In a country not known for Art Deco we booked ourselves into the Montagu Country Hotel, the only original Art Deco hotel in South Africa. In the main building, lounges with fireplaces and guest rooms are filled with stylish Art Deco antiques. Contrarily, we stayed in their African lodge – after all, this is Africa – which was situated nicely in a lush garden. It was circular structure with a 20ft high thatched roof that had all the conveniences of home. The bathroom had the largest soaking tub we have ever seen that easily could have held a family of four. We wondered when the last time it was filled. Guilt about wasting water, during a drought, prevented us from using it.
The temperature drops quickly in the mountains once the sun sets so we enjoyed a local wine, in front of a fireplace, in one of the lounges before dinner. We usually look for a less expensive alternative for dinner, but the hotels’ Wild Apricot Restaurant drew us in with elegant candlelit tables and live piano music. It was the last night of our road trip – we could splurge. With Smoked Ostrich Carpaccio and Springbok Tarta for appetizers followed by Cape Malay Bobotie and Karoo Lamb Pie as mains and a traditional Orange Malva Pudding for dessert, we were splendidly sated.
Cruising around the village before heading back to Cape Town, we found some interesting examples of colonial Cape Dutch architecture and a small suspension footbridge over the Kogsmankloofrivier. Water rushes over the road below it when the river runs high. 
We followed R62 west through a small tunnel, locally referred to as the “Hole in the Wall,” that was dynamited out in the 1870’s. It’s a dramatic landmark that tells you of your arrival into or departure from the Karoo. As we left our road trip behind, we looked forward to heading to a new apartment in Cape Town.
Till next time, Craig & Donna
This would be Donna’s fourth trip to Cape Town and my first. Back in 1993 she visited friends she had made while attending Princeton Seminary, and a year later in 1994 she volunteered to be an International Observer for the first free and fair democratic elections in South Africa. In 2016 she returned to a city humming with positive energy and a growing economy. Unfortunately, this situation did not continue, and by 2019 the governance and economy of South Africa and its neighboring countries had stalled. The city was still beautiful and growing as a tourist destination, an amazing coffee culture had been born, but shuttered construction projects and an increasing homeless population were evident, and across many different socioeconomic groups, people were feeling disenfranchised. A multi-year drought exasperated many infrastructure problems that were being neglected. Fortunately, exceptional winter rains broke the severe drought and replenished the city’s nearly depleted reservoirs.
We immersed ourselves quickly into the neighborhood around our first apartment on Buitenkant Street, just a few blocks away from the District Six Museum, steam punk themed 
On the edge of the City Bowl and Zonnebloem districts, formerly District Six, our high-rise apartment building had a rooftop gym with fantastic views of the city, a 24hr doorman, gated parking and balconies with beautiful views of Table and Lion’s Head mountains. But the area immediately around us was in transition, without enough residential housing to call it a neighborhood.
![IMG_7861[42783]](https://i0.wp.com/2suitcasesfor2years.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/img_786142783.jpg?w=272&h=363&ssl=1 "IMG_7861[42783]")
We had to find a dentist also, as just before our flight into Cape Town one of my crowns broke. Fortunately, South Africa is recognized for good medical and dental care and is slowly becoming a medical tourism destination. I found Dr. Ramjee on Google Maps, checked his reviews and made an appointment at his office which was within walking distance of our apartment. With his jovial and comforting manner, I instantly felt at ease. Though only a one dental chair office he had a state-of-the-art digital x-ray machine, a dental assistant and a receptionist. Besides the broken crown, I needed a root canal as well – what fun! My experiences with Dr. Ramjee were excellent and I raved so much about him Donna decided to use his services when the need arose for an emergency root canal and crown also. Unexpected expenses that in the states would be costly, even with insurance, were much more affordable and payable out of pocket here. The savings were tremendous.
You just can’t walk enough miles along the coast or up and down Loin’s Head to keep the calories off in this foodie-oriented city. The Saturday- and Sunday-only food markets didn’t help, but they are a treasured tradition, throughout the region, that brings family, friends and tourists together to enjoy live music and good food.
In early June the castle hosted the 2019 Cape Town Coffee Festival which celebrated all things caffeinated with growers from across the continent, barista workshops and pop-up coffee stands. If you ever wanted to see thousands of folks ricocheting off the walls from too much free coffee, this was the place to be.
The coffee festival coincided with the Red Bull Cape Town Circuit where their F1 Aston Martin Red Bull racing car roared down Darling Street at over 150mph, passing the spot where Nelson Mandela addressed the nation upon his release from Robben Island, and turning the stretch in front of city hall, lined with bleachers, into a high-speed drag strip. At the intersections, souped-up street cars burned rubber and spun donuts while the Red Bull Air Force performed aerial acrobatics over the city. It was a raucous day that we could hear from our apartment.
Families and neighbors were intentionally sent to different communities to break the spirit of the people. The apartheid government was so vile it “regarded the district as both physically and morally tainted by miscegenation, wholly unfit for rehabilitation” and flattened every building except for Churches. Even the original streets were destroyed, and new roadways were created so folks couldn’t find their homes, now vacant lots, that they legally owned. Much of the area still remains abandoned. The District Six Museum commemorates this tragedy and the lasting heartbreak of this cruelty.
Despite our apartment’s faults, we enjoyed our time on Buitenkant Street. Watching the brilliant sunrises and the flat clouds – the tablecloth of Table Mountain – cover the summit and then spill down the side like a waterfall. The street life below spanned the gamut from groups of tutu-clad race walkers one day to noisily protesting sex workers or Fridays for Future demonstrators the next.
After you crouch to enter through a low door and then look up in this intimate space, the WOW element of 
Our main destination was 
This is the only monastery to survive during the centuries of Ottoman domination over Bulgaria, when it was rebuilt in defiance of the Turks. The Bulgarian people have great affection for this monastery, as a symbol of their religion and culture during those turbulent centuries.
Thirteen miles from the monastery, on a side street in the town of Rila, we spotted a church with three small cupolas, that called for a quick stop. The church “St. Nicholas the Wonderworker Mirikliyski” was a surprising find with its cracked bell tower and muraled covered entrance porch, complete with woodpile.
The painter of these hell fire and brimstone murals might have gotten his inspiration from the tortured works of Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch. Unfortunately, the church was closed and we haven’t been able to find any other information about this off-the beaten-path treasure.
The Unofficial Junk Museum is a vast, rusty and dusty collection of whatever the owner deemed representative of Bulgarian culture under communism. Radios, tv’s, typewriters, farming equipment, cars, motorcycles, household items and busts of Stalin are stacked everywhere. It’s fascinating! And of all the places to buy a bottle of homemade 
In the morning we followed Rt. 1 south for a while as it hugged the Struma River, which would eventually reach the Aegean Sea, before we turned off and headed in to the Pirin Mountains.
Melnik is situated in a wide gorge under striking sandstone rock formations, called hoodoos, that tower hundreds of feet high, created from millennia of erosion. Locals refer to these geological phenomena as Melnik Earth Pyramids. The village has been renown for making strong wine since 1346 from a regional red grape varietal, Shiroka Melnishka, and wine cellars still line its main street. 
Once a thriving village with one thousand residents, today it is now home to fewer than three hundred. The village was a delight to explore with its cobbled streets meandering between the whitewashed stone and timber homes built in the Bulgarian Revival style. Ninety-six of the village’s houses are historically protected. Any new construction in town adhered to that aesthetic. 
From the ruins of Bolyarska kŭshta, high on a hill above the Church of St. Anthony, we spotted the dome of what looked like a hammam, a Turkish bath, nestled between the traditional homes below, and went to explore. 
With the help of a kind woman, who somehow knew what we were looking for, we found the ruins of a small Roman era spa in a small side alley. Its dome was fully intact and the substructure of its once heated floor remained. There is also a single arched old roman bridge, near the parking lot, that you can still walk across. Before continuing to Kovachevitsa, we relaxed at one of the sunny cafes in the center of the village.
Kovachevitsa, an isolated, rustic stone village in the Rhodope mountains, was only 52 miles away near the border with Greece. However, it took us the bulk of the afternoon to reach because “someone stops every hundred yards to take a photo.” And stop we did as we were awed by the beauty of the border region as we drove through the mountains. So close were we to the border that our phones binged with a “Welcome to Greece” message from our cell phone carrier.
At one point we stopped to photograph a complete section of an iron truss bridge, just rusting away on the side of the road, only to have our car suddenly surrounded by a flock of bah-ing sheep.
So, we knocked on the ancient door of the closest building only to be greeted by loud barking. Retreating back to the car we pondered what to do when a voice behind us said “hello.” That was the only word of English our host spoke until he said “goodbye” two days later. The barking dog turned out to be a gentle giant, who welcomed us to the inn. In fact, all the dogs of the village were St. Bernard-size, and they must all have been related, because they closely resembled one another. Fortunately, they were good-natured.
Bulgarians fleeing religious persecution and the forced conversion policies of the Ottoman Empire sought refuge in the rugged Rhodope mountains and established Kovachevitsa in 1656. Agriculture and stockbreeding in the area thrived during the 1800s and the homes still standing in the village date from that time. The tall stone homes of Kovachevitsa are stunning and unique in an organic way.
At breakfast the next morning Google Translate nicely bridged our communications barrier with the innkeeper’s wife. Loading the Cyrillic keyboard into the app for our hostess to use, Donna’s phone was passed back and forth repeatedly during a lively conversation about family, each other’s lives, the village and our travels. Our hosts’ children live with their grandparents in one of the larger towns off the mountain as there isn’t a school in the village anymore. 
Most of the young families have moved away to find work, leaving only 28 year-round residents looking after the village till the tourist season starts. Strolling under blossoming elderberry trees, we had the narrow lanes to ourselves as we worked our way towards St. Nikolas Church.
On the way back to our inn we stopped to admire the woolen creations knitted by a lone street vendor with a toothless smile who was bundled under layers of clothing to ward off the mountain chill. Her prospects for a profitable day seemed slim as the street was nearly deserted. When we expressed interest in only one pair of socks, she assertively pantomimed that we needed more. Looking up from readying our payment we could only smile and chuckle when we found she had filled our bag with two extra pairs of socks. They were well made and a bargain, so we caved to her sales pressure. I’m wearing a pair now as I write this, and my toes are happy we she insisted. I wouldn’t have been surprised if we were her only sale of the day.
In the airport, at the tourist information kiosk, multiple large screen tv’s played flashy videos promoting Bulgaria’s culture, tourism, and natural beauty. We asked the woman staffing the desk for a map of Sofia and directions on how to transfer into the city. “Follow the line,” she snapped. Not fully understanding I asked again. “Follow the line!” she barked firmly a second time. She scowled in the direction of the arrows painted on the floor and turned away. Her previous career, I’m speculating, was a prison guard in the now closed gulags. She was obviously better suited commanding prisoners to “assume the position” than to being the first friendly face welcoming visitors to her country. I’m sure she was hiding handcuffs and would have used them if I asked another question. But that’s how it was, one day you’re communist and the next day you’re taking customer service courses and trying to embrace a free market economy. And for some the promise of a better life hasn’t been realized. Later, one of our hosts would express, “some folks prefer the old way, they’re still communists.” “Come and keep your comrade warm,” another refrain from the Beatles song, didn’t ring true. We weren’t feeling the love just yet. Aside from that rocky start, we had very enjoyable time in Bulgaria. 
The line led to a modern subway station adjacent to the airport terminal and for 1.60 BGN, about 90¢ USD, we rode the
We emerged onto the pedestrian only Vitosha Boulevard filled with folks enjoying a warm Spring day and an incredible vista of Vitosha Mountain towering over the city. Inviting outdoor cafes lined the street and we quickly chose which one we’d return to after meeting our Airbnb host. We stayed on Knyaz Boris just two blocks parallel to Vitosha Boulevard and as majestic as the pedestrian mall was, the side streets, though tree lined and harboring small shops and restaurants, were slightly dismaying with wanton graffiti tags on every apartment building door and utility box. There was a lack of pride in ownership. 
The idea that’s it’s not my responsibility is a leftover from the communist era, when the government owned and was responsible for everything. The front door to our building was no different, but our third-floor walkup apartment was an oasis with a sun-drenched living room and tiny balcony that we would call home for a month. And to our delight, but to our waistlines’ detriment, there was a baklava bakery across the street! 
Long at the crossroads of expanding empires, Bulgaria has had a contentious past with Thracian, Persian, Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman and communist influences. The First Bulgarian Empire, 681-1018, has been deemed the Golden Age of Bulgarian Culture, with the adoption of Christianity as the official religion in 865 and the creation of the Cyrillic alphabet. Independent for only short periods of time during the medieval age, the National Revival period between 1762-1878 brought Bulgaria to finally throw off the yoke of Ottoman domination that had lasted from 1396. Sadly, there were only six decades of self-government before the proud people of Bulgaria became a satellite regime of communist Russia at the end of WWII and fell behind the Iron Curtain.
Today Sofia is transforming itself into one of the most beautiful, cosmopolitan cites in Europe with its pedestrian malls, extensive park system and tram lines that weave throughout the city. But the past is always present and just around the corner in Sofia. Walking north along Vitosha past the end of the pedestrian mall there is a three block stretch that displays a vast stretch of that history on the way to the Central Market Hall, where we were headed to stock our pantry. We got sidetracked.
Seven millennia ago, put down the first foundations of what we now call Sofia. The construction of Sofia’s modern subway system in the 1990’s revealed multiple layers of antiquity and many of the amazing artifacts unearthed are displayed, in museum cases, on the subway platforms in the Serdika station and National Archeology Museum nearby.
Tragically in a 1925 bombing, the Bulgarian Communist Party attempted to kill the King of Bulgaria and other members of the government who were attending a funeral at this church – one hundred-fifty people died, and the cathedral’s dome was razed. Excavations behind the church in 2015 uncovered early ruins and a treasure of 3,000 Roman silver coins from the 2nd century AD. 
It ends just short of Banya Bashi, an Ottoman mosque built in the 16th century. The towering statue of St. Sofia is also visible just beyond the subway station. Ancient walls found during the renovation of the Central Market Hall can also be seen in the lower level of that building.
Nearby the oldest building in Sofia, the Church of Saint George, built by the Romans in the 4th century, has early Christian frescoes which were painted over by the Ottomans when it was used as a mosque, but they were rediscovered in the 1900s and restored. It stands surrounded by modern buildings in a courtyard behind the President of the Republic of Bulgaria building, within earshot of the Changing of the Guard.
In the crypt of the cathedral a small, state of the art museum showcases the development of Bulgarian orthodox iconography over the centuries. 
Nearby, the five gilded spires of the Russian Church, officially known as the Church of St Nicholas the Miracle-Maker, can be seen from the steps of Cathedral Saint Aleksandar Nevski. Built in 1914 on the site of a mosque that was torn down after the liberation of Bulgaria, it served has the official church for the Russian Embassy and the Russian community in Sofia. The religious murals that cover the interior of the church were created by Vasily Perminov’s team of talented icon painters, who were also responsible for the iconography in Cathedral Saint Aleksandar Nevski. Darkened by decades of candle smoke, the fresco paintings in the dome were restored in 2014.
In 2001 an early Christian mausoleum was unearthed near the American Embassy and it’s fantastic that things are still being discovered in 2019.
The good news is we haven’t killed each other, though there have been times that I’ve dreamt a pillow was hovering over my head. Just kidding. We have gone from the two of us working six days a week while living in an eight-room house, to being together 24/7 with only a suitcase each. Boy did we downsize! It was challenging: what not to bring, considering all the seasonal changes we have encountered. Don’t laugh, but I have thermals, wool hats and gloves packed, just on the off chance we get snowed in on a mountain pass in the French Alps, this July. Yes, there’s also a flask of medicinal whisky packed in the bags for emergencies. And to my wife’s amusement, a cheap plastic fly swatter. Tragically the backup swatter was left behind in Antigua. In Lisbon I finally caved in and bought a pair of slippers because the floors of the stone buildings just don’t retain any heat in the winter. The comfort of a pair of slippers in the evening, after a long day of walking, can’t be underestimated.
It’s been a huge but surprisingly easy transition for us. 253 days ago (I thought I was writing this at around day 200, it’s easy to lose track of time on the road) we slammed the door shut on our storage pod, locked it, and popped open a bottle of champagne to celebrate our impending journey. We haven’t looked back. Ecuador, Guatemala, Cuba and now Portugal; I can’t imagine undertaking this adventure with anyone else.
This visit also gave us an opportunity to jettison the wonderful textiles and ceramics we had purchased along the way for a home we don’t have yet. Imagine this scene from our last stop in San Pedro – the backseat of a tuk-tuk overflowing with Donna and all our suitcases, while I’m sharing the driver’s seat with the driver, one cheek on, one cheek off and a foot dangling outside the cab as we speedily snaked through the steep narrow alleys of the village.
![IMG_2836[12654]](https://i0.wp.com/2suitcasesfor2years.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/img_283612654.jpg?w=279&h=209&ssl=1 "IMG_2836[12654]")
![IMG_2841[12658]](https://i0.wp.com/2suitcasesfor2years.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/img_284112658.jpg?w=279&h=209&ssl=1 "IMG_2841[12658]")
![IMG_6276[12629]](https://i0.wp.com/2suitcasesfor2years.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/img_627612629.jpg?w=477&h=636&ssl=1 "IMG_6276[12629]")
The scenery along the drive to Lake Atitlan, along roads that continued to climb higher, was spectacular with verdant greenery and distant volcanos appearing then disappearing again with each twist of the serpentine route. 
Arriving in San Pedro we thought we were on a movie set for a sequel to Mad Max or Water World. Down by the Panajachel dock dreadlocked travelers, wearing eccentric attire, filled the streets along the lakeshore. Feeling as if we had time traveled, we were relieved to find our Airbnb far out of town on a dead-end road that ran along the lake. According to Google maps the road was unnamed. Our host said “tell the tuktuk drivers you are staying on Calle Finca,” which referred to a distant and abandoned coffee farm, about an hour’s walk from the trail head at the end of the road.
Our new home for our last week in Guatemala had a wonderful porch with great view of Lake Atitlan and tranquility. A relaxing change of pace was called for after the Christmas and New Year’s Day celebrations in Antigua. Bird calls or the soft Mayan chatter of coffee pickers, harvesting ripe beans right outside our door, were the only sounds that filled the air. Fortunately, we were much closer to town than the abandoned coffee finca and were able to walk to the daily outdoor market, along streets where we could see women washing clothing in the distant lake, and make-shift scales were set up to buy coffee beans hauled down from the slopes of Volcan San Pedro.
A short ferry ride took us to San Juan La Laguna, a weavers and artists village that visually celebrates its Mayan heritage with colorful street murals. The steep walk uphill from the boat dock to the center of town was lined with art galleries.
It’s a long ferry ride to Santiago de Atitlan and even longer when the wind churns up whitecaps on the water, and the small boat we were in rocked side-to-side for the duration of the crossing. We silently said our prayers when the local folks stated to reach for the life preservers. Fortunately, we were never too far from shore and know how to swim. It is a breathtaking view coming into the boat dock at Santiago with its namesake volcano towering over the town and Volcan San Pedro just an avocado toss away, across the water.
Enjoying the stars from our porch we were surprised when fireworks celebrating Epiphany lit up the night sky above villages across the lake, their colorful bursts reflected brilliantly on the water. With magical moments like this, still fresh in our memories, Guatemala tugged at our hearts as we packed for our next adventure.
Paradise is such a subjective feeling and if you don’t require a turquoise blue sea and white sand beaches, Antigua, Guatemala just might fit the bill. This charming colonial city with its ever spring-like weather was perfect for our two-month stay. 
We arrived in Antigua at the end of October so that we could attend the Sumpango Giant Kite Festival held every year on November 1st, All Saints Day. That spectacularly colorful event and a religious procession that burst forward from La Merced Church on October 28th would prove to be representative of the people and life in Guatemala we experienced.
On Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays the market tripled in size when the outdoor portion was open, and farmers brought in truckloads of fruits and vegetables from the surrounding villages. There we experienced one of the best markets going, set in a bustling, dusty lot with Volcans Agua, Fuego and Acatenango touching the sky in the background. Most produce was sold in quantities of 5 quetzals (60 cents) so bring lots of small bills, as vendors didn’t usually have change for anything larger than 10Q. The flavor of the locally grown vegetables was amazing. Being backyard gardeners ourselves, we were duly impressed. Twenty quetzals would buy enough vegetables for a week.
Shopping at the local supermarket, La Bodegona, was a wonderfully hectic experience. At times it could feel like you were shopping from a conga line, weaving up and down aisles, afraid to leave the line for fear of not being able to enter it again and being stuck in dairy for eternity. Numerous store employees lined the aisles offering samples of cookies, deli meats, drinks and other temptations to keep the energy level of the beast alive. It was a hoot! We had to psych ourselves up, like players before the big game, to shop there because it was so hectic and required a certain mental and physical stamina. I will confess though to dancing in the checkout line to blaring Latino Christmas music – the mood was contagious. 
On the same block D&C Cremas, a Walmart affiliate, offered a more sedate shopping experience. Both supermarkets had excellent poultry, which was more tender and tastier than back in Pennsylvania. We were also fortunate that a pork butcher opened a new shop a half block away and offered fresh meat and sausage daily. We enjoyed all the different varieties of Guatemalan sausage he made and found them to be very flavorful and lean, with almost no fat.
The next day we a followed a serpentine mountain road, second gear all the way, up to Santo Domingo del Cerro, a beautiful sculpture and art park with museums, walking trails and a restaurant that overlooks Antigua. Plan on spending at least a half day there, because it is a beautiful setting for a restful day or afternoon. Casa Santo Domingo offers a free hourly shuttle to the park from the hotel in town.
Antigua filled early with people in all their finery on New Year’s. Vendors selling textiles the day before were now offering party hats and all sort of 2019 memorabilia. Concerts were held in Plaza Mayor and under El Arco. Firework launchers were being setup amidst the crowds in the streets. Families were picnicking in the park and folks were staking their spots early to watch the fireworks later. At midnight a loud and colorful display filled the night sky. We could hear the roar of an appreciative crowd from our rooftop. We heard random explosions throughout the night to sunrise. Guatemalans love their fireworks!
A vacation from vacation? Yes, its’s tiring work having fun every day! Where to? 
With a bed in the dorm room going for $9.50 and luxury private cabins starting at just $39.00, the resort has a reputation as the place to go to “relax, enjoy, forget time and stay awhile.” Free morning yoga classes, a wonderful restaurant with some German dishes, and super affordable spa treatments (90 minute, deep tissue massages for $24.00, we both indulged) definitely promoted well-being. Bird calls filled the air and the distinctive face of 6,000ft high 
