If we’d felt like sticky-sweet tourism was fantastically absent from our travels through mainland Belize, the boat station for the islands made up for that within minutes. One step through the gated entryway felt like entering an amusement park: little tourist shops selling cheesy gifts and kitschy postcards, overpriced bars with frothy drinks, and a waiting area so clean and well kept that it could be anywhere other than in Central America. It felt strangely enticing and horribly fake all at once. Luckily the fake luxuries of the waiting area was not a precursor to more of the same– once on the island everything seemed to mesh well into the Belize we’ve grown to admire and love.

Caye Caulker has that friendly Caribbean feel to it that we’ve come to crave. Sandy walkways and narrow roads used mainly by golf carts and scooters. Turquoise blue water, palm trees bending in every direction, simple little buildings housing family businesses, and tiny beachside restaurants with one or two dishes on the menu.

The smell of slow stewed chicken, spicy gingerade, and salty sea water fill the air. Locals and tourists walk the main promenade without shoes. The sky is a clear blue, the sun covers everything with color, and all around the vibe suggests you to relax, forget about everything else, and focus on only what’s in front of you. It’s a place heavily funded by tourism, but not ruined by it.

There are no huge hotels or corporate chains. The beachfront is scattered with little guesthouses and food huts. Kids play basketball in the local beachfront court, and signs all over promote the upcoming local election. Caye Caulker is just as real as it is dreamlike. It’s the type of thing movies are made of.

Making the long journey up to Guatemala’s northeastern region is a prerequisite for most anyone visiting this country. It is in these densely forested hills that the ruins of Tikal spread out amongst the shadows of ancient trees. Still partially buried, and spanning over 200 square miles, Tikal draws fascination not only from the city it once was, but from the years it stood undiscovered. Buried under earth and overgrown by foliage, to walk Tikal is to feel as if you are on the verge of discovery.

It’s cliche, but Tikal is one of those ‘must see’ places. It changes you..and to think we almost missed it due to the long haul it took to get up here from Utila. Squeezing it in to our dwindling time frame was the best decision we could have made.

Tikal’s sheer vastness– a Mayan metropolis in the middle of a relentlessly dense tropical rainforest– is something that can’t be fully understood until you see it. Limestone temples with intricate carvings tower atop hills, entire community living quarters still buried beneath years of earth, active excavations delineated by construction tape and spotlights, the experience is both solemn and wondrous.

Roadways, marketplaces, jail houses, temples, and palaces: the area paints a picture of the early city in such vivid light that it is impossible to not feel an attachment. Tikal is an original ghost town representing a modern edge of early humanity– it instigates philosophy into the depth of our species, and has the potential to make anyone amass a connection with the history of the Mayan world. I am humbled, I am amazed, i feel connected. My experience has left a lasting impact beyond anything I could have imagined.

Our time is wrapping up, and I find myself writing less– trying to take everything in, racing to the final places I feel I have to see. I start posts, and never finish them– find them a week later and then never upload them. This is one of those posts…

I’m savoring things I wouldn’t normally enjoy; such as the 20 hour journey stuffed into a minivan-a Collectivo- on our way back up to northern Guatemala. We were told the trip would take six hours. At one time I would have been frustrated by this. Staring out the window at tiny thatched huts, family farms carved into the dense tropical hillsides, and wooden street side fruit stands. Everything has a familiarity to it now. The inconveniences of long travel days are taken with stride. I question less, I accept more, and generally I welcome this pulse– it is a signature of Central America.

It’s with this rhythm that I find myself taking more time for myself to sit and contemplate what has been collecting dust in the attic of my subconscious for so long; this uneasiness that comes hand in hand with the pending end to this big journey of ours. We have reached the finish line of sorts, and it’s these last few weeks that I have strived more and more to cherish every second left. I question what I’ve learned, whether I got everything I could from each instant..I wonder what my reintegration will be like… And most of all, I wonder how it’s going to feel to close the doors on this journey that has occupied so much of my life for the last 4 years– from planning and saving, to traveling and wandering.

I cannot begin to imagine myself back in the US. It’s as if I have forgotten so much about where I came from– left in it’s place is nothing but clouds. So for now, I let myself feel that way and take advice from the pace of my current home in the hills of Guatemala. It reminds me to not take my worries too seriously, to dance to the street drums, take life as it comes, and leave the rest to oblivion. Beautiful little Guatemala.

Our rental house in Utila has brought along a reemergence of life from home: a set of house keys, warm showers, home cooked food, and big couches to sprawl across in the evening. It’s been a time to catch up with friends, hear stories about home, and begin to adjust to the thought of returning to US soil. It’s our ‘halfway home’ reminder as we enter our final weeks of travel.

Our house is an octagonal vacation rental on the far side of Utila’s main bay. It is utterly fancy for our standards, and a vacation for our four friends who met us here. Right on the water, with a spread of coral running parallel to our deck, we spend our mornings snorkeling a spot that feels like our private oasis. Iguanas sunbathe on the rocks along the water’s edge.. We feed bananas to them and look out over the blue water.

The backdrop of mainland Honduras’ mountains draws a dramatic line of crags and pinnacles along the horizon. At our feet, the shallow garden of seagrass drops off into a turquoise blue field of sea life: from nurse sharks to eagle rays, barracuda and swarms of tropical fish, we have it all in our back yard– about 50 feet from our sandy patio.

Life here has been blissfully perfect. I have nearly forgotten that a world exists outside of these views. It is the type of place that feels immediately like home and we have all adjusted without pause.

The week has disappeared so fast that I can hardly grasp where seven days went. As we all pack up and set off for the next step– the stunning view of the sunrise is what we take away. This picture will stick with me as one of those isolated moments– the times where you stop and realize how shockingly incredible earth is.