Antonio, as many of you know by now, is the same guide we had last year. He is used to working with our group. If we head somewhere, and it is a half-hour ride, it is likely to take us at least an hour for all the stops we make for photographs.

In fact, I don’t think we had gotten more than ten minutes from the lodge, when someone cried out, “STOP!”

The mists were on the mountains, and the lovely magentas and yellows contrasted beautifully with the greens and mountain layers.

As some scrambled out of The Jungle Bus, others soon followed, afraid they might miss a shot. We walked up and down the road and into the field to get what we wanted.

Some of what we affectionately call our “spousal units” stayed on the bus, as it was a bit muddy outside after the rain (note the bike in yesterday’s blog).

I couldn’t resist this shot of the smurf-like hands and faces at the bus windows, as it also shows some of the terrain.

We were actually headed to Crique Sarco, not far from the Guatemalan border. This is where Antonio lives, and it is also a center for the beautifully hand-carved rosewood bowls that one finds in Belize. Antonio had wanted us to come to his village last year, but it was too late to arrange anything. This year, we made sure to put it on our itinerary.

In Ketchi, one of the Mayan languages (as opposed to dialects), Crique means creek, and Sarco translates as shining eyes. Indeed the river does sparkle. And while many of us photographed down the river, I was also attracted to this cayuk, the Ketchi word for their traditional dugout canoes.

We meandered up to the village and met Antonio’s family — his wife and daughter, his sister-in-law and her husband, as well as assorted other relatives who drifted in and out.

It is a pretty little village high on a ridge with tidy, painted thatched houses alongside more traditional unpainted ones. Pigs and chickens scooted across our paths, and the occasional turkey gobbled at anything in general. The laundry that we all love to photograph decorates all the houses and yards, and the children scamper about.

We walked up by the school and peeked inside the doors to see the children at their lessons and their teachers at the blackboards. Outside, there was a fairly new playground with swings and a slide.

Wood fires are always burning, cooking the next meal. These pots, sitting out on a comal, ready for the next meal, captured my attention, especially with the traditional house behind.

After a few hours, we headed back to the Lodge. Antonio pointed out his farm that he had hand cleared over five years with a machete. Tough going.

I asked Antonio what happened to the court case regarding Mayan land and was happy to hear that the Mayan people had banded together to stop the government from selling their land to developers, even though the law supposedly prohibited that practice. It reminded us all of our country.

As we bounced and jounced along the road on our return trip, I thought of Antonio who makes this trip on his motor bike, an hour each way in muddy weather, less in sunny. Sometimes, even at night!

We got back to the Lodge in time to enjoy the late-afternoon light on the beautiful Moho River with a Cotton Tree silhouetted against a fading sky. What a nice way to end the day!

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