Blog #6 — Livingston: Expectations, Rainy Days & Finding Calm Back on the River
I arrived chasing Caribbean vibes and nightlife — and left with rainy days, long walks, and a quieter kind of calm.
Heading East: Finally Off to Livingston
I was really looking forward to Livingston.
After a few quiet days in Río Dulce, I packed up early, loaded my bag onto a water taxi directly from my hostel, and headed east toward the Caribbean coast.
Everything I’d read online made Livingston sound amazing — great food, Caribbean vibes, and a nightlife that backpackers seemed to rave about. After jungle lodges and river towns, I was ready for something different.
The boat ride took about two hours, winding its way along the river and stopping constantly to pick up and drop off locals from small villages along the water. Kids hopped on and off the docks, groceries were passed between boats, and everyday life carried on all around me. It was slow, calm, and surprisingly nice to watch.
Since I wasn’t staying directly in town, the water taxi dropped me off at a dock close to my hostel, which I was very thankful for. I checked into Casa de la Iguana, dropped my bag, and immediately got the sense that this place was going to feel very different from the rest of Guatemala.
Heading east by water — leaving Río Dulce behind and drifting toward Livingston, one village stop at a time.
Finding Dinner: Food First, Nightlife Hopes Second
After dropping my bag at the hostel, the first thing I did was hop on the Wi-Fi.
I was starving, and I already had an idea of where I wanted to eat. Everything I’d read online pointed to Las Tres Garífunas as the Garifuna restaurant in town — the place everyone seemed to recommend.
So that was the plan.
I headed out around 7 p.m., expecting the town to start coming alive. I figured dinner would turn into music, which would turn into bars, and maybe — finally — the nightlife I’d been hoping for.
But as I walked through town, it was… quiet.
Not empty. Just calm. The streets were still damp from earlier rain, and instead of music or crowds, there was mostly silence. I kept walking, telling myself the energy must be closer to the restaurant.
Las Tres Garífunas was packed, which immediately felt reassuring. Locals, travelers, everyone squeezed together — always a good sign.
Their most famous dish is tapado, a traditional Garifuna seafood stew cooked in coconut milk. Seafood is a hard no for me, so I ordered the chicken version instead.
And honestly?
It was really good.
Warm, comforting, and exactly what I needed after a long boat ride and a humid afternoon. I took my time eating, soaking in the atmosphere, still hoping that when I stepped back outside, I’d hear music or see people heading out for the night.
But when I left the restaurant, the streets were still quiet.
No bars pulling people in.
No music drifting down the road.
No obvious nightlife to follow.
That part was disappointing — especially because nightlife was one of the reasons I wanted to come to Livingston in the first place. I stood there for a moment, hoping something might happen… and when it didn’t, I headed back to the hostel.
Not because I was tired — but because there just wasn’t anything happening.
Great food. Quiet streets.
Not the Livingston nightlife I’d imagined — but still a solid meal.
Saturday Morning: Cloudy Skies & a Plan to Beat the Rain
Saturday morning didn’t start with sunshine, but it wasn’t raining either — just cloudy, heavy skies that made you feel like something was coming later.
According to the forecast, the rain wasn’t supposed to hit until the afternoon, so I decided to take my chances. I wasn’t going to sit around all day waiting for weather that might ruin my plans.
I grabbed my complimentary breakfast, packed my waterproof bag, and headed out early. I brought a towel, a change of dry clothes, my power bank, a water bottle, and an umbrella — just in case. The plan was simple: get to Los Siete Altares before the rain showed up, enjoy it while I could, and make it back before things turned.
I knew it was a long walk, but at that point I didn’t really care. I’d already come all this way — I wasn’t about to skip one of the main things I wanted to see just because the sky looked a little threatening.
So, I started walking.
Through town.
Onto the beach.
Following the signs and committing to it one step at a time.
At that point, I was still optimistic — hoping I’d beat the weather and that the effort would be worth it.
Wandering through Livingston, getting my first feel for the town — calm, quiet, and very different from what I expected.
Los Siete Altares: When the Map Lies
On the map, Los Siete Altares does not look far.
In real life?
It took me three hours to get there — and that includes a 30-minute lunch stop just to give my legs a break.
I left Livingston in the morning, hoping to beat the rain that was forecasted for later in the day. The sky was cloudy but holding steady, and I figured if I moved early and didn’t mess around too much, I’d be fine.
The walk starts out deceptively easy. Leaving town, stepping onto the beach, ocean on one side, jungle on the other. Quiet. Peaceful. Empty in that eerie, end-of-the-world kind of way where you start wondering if you’ve accidentally walked out of civilization.
Then I saw the first sign.
Los Siete Altares →
Amazing. Encouraging. Love that.
So, I kept walking.
And walking.
The beach just kept going. Every time I thought, okay, this has to be close now, another sign appeared — same arrow, same optimism, still no distance listed.
Los Siete Altares →
At some point, sweaty, tired, and questioning my life choices. I came across a small beachside restaurant. And when I say small, I mean empty. Not another person in sight. Just me, the ocean, and a few plastic chairs facing the water.
I took it as a sign to stop.
I ordered food, sat there for about half an hour, and just stared out at the water. No rush. No noise. No one around. One of those solo travel moments where you’re very aware that you’re completely on your own — and oddly okay with it.
After lunch and a much-needed mental reset, I got back up and kept going.
Back onto the sand. Back into the heat. Back into the lie.
The signs kept coming, each one making it feel like I was getting closer… while somehow not actually getting closer at all. It doesn’t look far on the map, but walking it from the beach takes forever.
Eventually — finally — I arrived.
Like most things around Livingston, Los Siete Altares sits on private property, so you pay a small entrance fee to access it. Compared to places like Semuc Champey, it was cheap — and at that point, I would’ve paid just to stop walking.
Standing there, sweaty and exhausted, I felt weirdly proud. The walk was long, misleading, and a bit ridiculous — but I’d made it.
And that made getting into the water feel even better.
The journey to Los Siete Altares — misleading signs, empty beaches, a necessary lunch stop, and the relief of finally arriving.
Cold Water, Hesitation & Knowing When to Turn Back
After that walk, standing at the water’s edge felt like a moment of truth.
Normally, when I’m cold, I don’t want to get in. I’ll stand there convincing myself I don’t need to swim, that just being there is enough. And honestly? That was exactly what I was doing — hesitating, watching, mentally negotiating with myself.
There were a few people already in the water, though. Swimming, laughing, jumping off the rocks like it was nothing. And then a little boy who lives on the property came over and asked if I wanted photos.
Well… that decided it.
I figured if someone was about to take pictures of me, I probably should actually get my butt in the water and look like I was enjoying myself.
So, I did.
And the second I got in, I was glad I did.
The water was cold at first — shocking in that sharp, wake-you-up way — but after the long walk, it felt amazing. Refreshing. Rejuvenating. Exactly what my body needed after hours of sand, heat, and stubborn determination.
I swam around, cooled off, and watched people leap off the rocks into the water below. I didn’t jump — I was perfectly happy observing — but just sitting there, watching, floating, and being present felt like enough.
I stayed in for a while, long enough to fully enjoy it and feel proud of myself for not chickening out. Los Siete Altares wasn’t just about getting there — it was about actually experiencing it once I did.
About an hour after I arrived, I noticed the sky starting to change.
The clouds grew heavier. Darker. That kind of grey that doesn’t ask questions — it just shows up and takes over. I knew rain was coming, and I didn’t want to test my luck with that long walk back.
So, I reluctantly got out, dried off as best I could, packed my bag, and started heading back toward town.
Not long after I left, the rain started.
At first, it was light — manageable — just enough to make me grateful I’d brought my umbrella. I kept walking, hoping I’d timed it right.
I hadn’t.
About halfway back, the rain picked up fast. The kind that soaks you instantly and makes pretending you’re “fine” completely pointless. I ducked under whatever roof I could find and waited it out, watching the beach blur behind sheets of rain.
Eventually, it eased just enough for me to keep moving.
By the time I made it back to my hostel, there wasn’t a dry spot on me — shoes, clothes, hair, everything soaked through. And of course, because travel timing is cruel, there was no hot water.
So no hot shower. Just dry clothes, blankets, and giving up for the night.
I curled up in bed, damp but safe, put something mindless on Netflix, and let the day catch up to me. The walk had been brutal, the rain unavoidable, and Livingston wasn’t quite matching the expectations I’d arrived with — but I still didn’t regret going.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t easy.
But it was real.
I hesitated. Then I got in. And I was really glad I did.
Sunday: Rain, Blankets & Being Dragged Back Outside
Sunday didn’t start with much ambition.
The sky was grey, heavy, and clearly undecided about whether it wanted to rain or not — which usually means it eventually will. After the previous day’s long walk, cold water, and getting soaked on the way back, I didn’t feel guilty about slowing down.
I wrapped myself up in blankets, accepted that Livingston was having a quiet weekend, and stayed in.
It rained on and off for most of the day — not a dramatic downpour at first, just enough to make everything feel damp and uninviting. Any lingering thoughts I’d had about nightlife completely disappeared. I wasn’t walking around in the rain hoping to magically stumble into a bar. That fantasy had officially died.
Instead, I leaned into it.
I worked on my YouTube videos, scrolled, rested, and let my body recover. Sometimes travel days aren’t about ticking things off — they’re about listening when your energy is clearly saying nope.
That night, one of my roommates and I ended up chatting in the room for a bit. At some point, food came up, and when I casually mentioned that I actually hadn’t eaten yet, she stopped mid-conversation.
That was it.
She immediately decided we were going out.
I didn’t need convincing — I was tired, damp, and hungry, but very much down for local street food. So we grabbed our things and headed out together, wandering through the quiet streets to see what we could find.
Livingston was still subdued — the roads were wet, the air heavy, and any idea of nightlife was officially off the table — but walking with someone else made it feel warmer and more inviting. We found street food, ate, talked, and shared travel stories, and it turned into one of those simple moments that ends up being exactly what you needed.
By the time we got back, the rain had fully committed to being rain. I climbed into bed full, dry, and content, knowing I’d given Livingston a fair chance — even if it wasn’t quite what I’d imagined.
When you don’t know what you’re eating yet, but you already know it’s going to be good.
Back to Río Dulce: One More Chance on the River
Monday morning, I packed up early and headed back to the dock. This time, I ordered a water taxi back toward Río Dulce — and the ride back definitely felt quicker than the trip to Livingston. Less stopping, less waiting, and before I knew it, I was back on the river again.
I was dropped off near my next accommodation, Hotel Casa Perico, on the opposite side of the river from where I’d stayed before. I’d booked two nights, hoping for a slightly different vibe — and right away, I could tell this place had more life to it.
The hostel was more social than my first stay in Río Dulce. They even had a hot tub… which unfortunately wasn’t working while I was there. Still, the common areas were lively, and after checking in, I ended up hanging out with a group of backpackers almost immediately.
We chatted, played a few games, and swapped travel stories until it got fully dark. Nothing wild — just that easy, low-effort kind of socializing that happens naturally in places like this. Eventually, we all hit the same conclusion at the same time:
Yeah… it’s probably time for bed.
Nothing dramatic. Just backpacks, river air, and the next stop calling.
Kayaks, Tired Arms & a Perfect Sunset
The next day started slow — exactly how I wanted it.
All I really wanted to do was relax and give kayaking another shot. I had to wait for one of the boats to come back before I could head out, but once it did, I grabbed it and went.
The kayak wasn’t great — a bit awkward, not the smoothest — but I wasn’t about to complain. I paddled out, explored a little, and once again convinced myself I could stay out longer than I actually could.
Spoiler: I could not.
My arms started killing me (again), and after a while, I accepted defeat and turned back. On the way in, I spotted a floating dock and thought, That looks like a good place to stop.
So I did.
I climbed out, sat down, and watched the sunset over the river — quiet, still, and exactly what I needed. No plans. No expectations. Just water, sky, and a moment to breathe.
That night back at the hostel, there was a bonfire. I ordered a couple of drinks, joined the group, and spent the evening talking with other backpackers about where we’d been, where we were going next, and what we thought of Guatemala overall.
By the time midnight rolled around, I was more than ready for bed.
The next morning, I packed up once again — this time knowing I was heading back inland, completely on my own.
Antigua was next.
No plans. No rush. Just water, firelight, and a reset.
