Our body clocks had finally adjusted to the local setting as we woke up naturally, at a normal time of the morning and after a good night's sleep. It felt good.

I got up and went to the common room for our coffee when I heard this comotion outside. There was lot of shouting, not angry raised voices like an altercation but more like chanting on the football terraces.

I opened the window and had a look outisde where I so protesters gathering in front of the National Palace. I couldn't understand what they were saying but they were waving placards and chanting in the style of "Together, United, we'll never be defeated!"

I searched the internet about what could possibly be happening and came across a news story that on the day we arrived 90,000 people had gathered in the Zocalo to protest against the government about reforms before the elections in June.

It's always a worry if you visit a country during the build up to elections as it usually brings on social unrest but we weren't going to get caught up in a revolution this time so we were fine.

Back in the room we drank our coffee whilst finishing our packing before heading downstairs for breakfast about 9:30am.

The protest had fizzled out by now, so we sat outside again. Still Kevin the waiter apologised for the noise they made earlier.

I wolfed down my chilaquiles with gusto. I realised I was going to miss this delicious breakfast habit. The Guatemalean start to the day is a little different. 

We decided to leave four hours before our flight was due to take-off. We were weary of the notorious Mexico City traffic. You can never tell how long it could take to get to the airport. So at 10:30am we checked out and walked over to the crossroads of Avenue Francisco I Madero and Isabel la Catolica for our Uber pick-up.

As it happened traffic was light and we sped to the Benito Juarez international airport easily within half an hour. I knew we were leaving from terminal 1 but there were so many options of where to be dropped off.

"Internacional?" asked the taxi driver.

"Si, Guatemala" I replied, almost passing for a Spanish speaker...  almost.

We passed entrance points 1,2,3, all the way to 9 and then it became F1, F2 and finally F3 the last of the drop-off points. He eventually stopped and we got out. I thanked him but I knew we were probably at the furthest point away from where we needed to be.

With our rucksacks on our back we entered the terminal building and began the long walk back in search for the Volaris check-in desks. They turned out to be located near the entrance 3. It took us over 10 minutes to reach it!

The on-line check-in problem I was worried about wasn't much of an issue and we were handed old school boarding passes from the helpful staff at the desk. One of which was called Kevin. That was the third unexpected Kevin on this trip!

We self-dropped our luggage with the assistance of another helpful member of staff, who happened to be in a wheelchair, as he showed us how to attach our luggage tags and pointed us in the direction of where to send our bags down the conveyor belt.

We breezed through the security gates and were sat in the departures lounge with three hours to wait. We had already been given our gate number so there was nothing to do but wait.

With hindsight we shouldn't have rushed!

There wasn't much in the way of retail therapy before the flight. At least there were a few bars and restaurants. So we sat and enjoyed a cold Modelo beer in one, before moving on to another. Eventually we turned our attention to lunch. 

We browsed several menus and came across one with a photo of a dish called omelette del huerto, an omelete filled with courgettes and topped with mushrooms and fried panela cheese. It looked great so we decided that Wings was the restaurant for us, or for me at least.

The moment we walked into the restaurant two women came racing towards us. The quickest showed us to a table. She was all smiles and giggles but it then took a bizarre twist when she brought to the table a bowl of quinoa pudding and a croissant. Apparently there was an offer. We turned her down politely but she huffed in disappointment and withdrew her smile.

Whilst we waited for our food we noticed she tried to give away this bowl of quinoa to every customer that came in.

My omelette del huerto arrived looking like a sad version of what we saw on the menu, but it tasted just fine. Julie ordered the chicken fillet which came with mashed potato which she was also pleased about.

When we came to pay our bill the waitress tried to get us to buy a awful soft toy for 200 pesos. When we turned her down she sulked again. With such laughable customer service I thought about complaining to the manager but we had a sneaking suspicion  she was the manager!

Moving on, we decided to find gate 25. We left the departure lounge down steps to a lower level. Turning left for gates 13-26 we then walked past several shops and much nicer looking restaurants. If only we had known!

There was even a large duty free shop by gate 19 where we bought a bottle of champagne, stretching our tradition a little. We usually only do it on the flight out.

We reached the gate an hour early but the time flew. Before we knew it, and before Julie had time to finish all the dutch courage wine she had bought in duty free and was illegally drinking, we began boarding.

I had pre-booked our seats which was a relief for her as we sat in our regular seats of 18E and 18F.  Then at 2:30pm precisely we took off.

With the flight less than two hours we hardly had time to think or for Julie to worry about being 35,000 feet up. By the time the cabin crew had been with their trolley of goodies we were already getting closer to Guatemala.

There wasn't any need to play a game of scrabble or occupy ourselves with other diversions. We only had to look out of the window to be distracted. The views of the volcanoes above the clouds were unbelievable. 

Just when I thought the view couldn't get any better we saw Volcán de Fuego, an actual smoking volcano! We weren't alarmed nor surpised because we had seen it before on our previous visit to Antigua, four years ago. It has been constantly blowing out plumes of smoke since 2018.... waiting for the big one!

Ahead of time we began our descent, coming in over the centre of Guatemala City, landing smoothly at La Aurora international airport twenty minutes before schedule.

After a short delay in getting off we were thrilled when we claimed another Guatemalan entry stamp in our passports. It is actually one of the more impressive ones.

I didn't think we had been any slower than anyone else getting through immigration, but by the time we reached the baggage reclaim the conveyor belt had stopped moving and our sad lonely rucksacks were the last to be collected. 

We then had to have our them x-rayed before entering the country which was a first. Finally after our pre-authorised visa entry QR code was scanned, we stepped into a very empty arrivals hall.

We were expecting someone to pick us up but there was no one there.

"Here we go again" I sighed. We weren't having much luck with our airport transfers. However because this one was booked through Intrepid, the tour company we were joining, I was confident that someone was here somewhere.

I thought perhaps the driver wasn't allowed inside the terminal building so I went to the automatic door which opened for me. Mindful that it may shut behind me and not open back again I stepped outside but kept my foot in the door. I couldn't see anyone, and the door kept on attempting to close, bashing into my foot. I was getting really stressed. 

Then I saw someone with a piece of paper in his hand, I whistled, waved and caught his attention. The paper had the intrepid logo my name on it. Hallelujah, we're saved!

We chucked our bags in the boot of his car and set off for Antigua Guatemala. In theory the journey would take an hour, which would have been ideal because the tour group meeting was scheduled for 6pm.

Unfortunately that didn't account for rush hour traffic in which we were caught right in the middle of it. As soon as we came out of the airport we joined a queue that crawled along at walking pace, but we didn't mind. We could sit back and relax, we were safely on our way.

But after taking twenty minutes to reach the National Archaelogical and Ethnological Museum the reality kicked in. Then we came to a grinding halt.

Fifteen minutes later we had moved a 100 metres! Eventually we joined the main road, driving beneath a large pergola structure, but even then we continued to be gridlocked. A further 15 minutes passed and we had only moved a few 100 metres more.

At a junction with a dramatic statue of a woman reaching for the skies holding a laurel branch I hoped we had escaped the worse of it. There was a sudden breakthrough, a rush of traffic but the joy was shortlived as we returned back to a crawl.

It had taken us almost an hour to get to this point. Google maps suggested it would have taken 17 minutes to walk here! Out of interest I checked how long it would have taken to walk to Antigua and the answer was 9 hours, so that was out of the question!

It had gone 6pm and we were still trying to make our way across the city,  We were now officially late for our tour group "Welcome Meeting" but at least the sun setting beyond the hills was a glorious sight and more than made up for it.

The traffic continued to be bumper to bumper so our driver attempted an alternative route, leaving the Pan-American Highway (CA-1) heading towards Villa Nueva, a notorious red zone, with high crime rates and gang-related violence. That worrying fact didn't put off other commuters as everyone else had the same idea to bypass the congestion, only to create another congestion.

At least we were moving a little more freely but still painfully slow.

It was 7pm by the time we felt Antigua's cobbled streets beneath our wheels. After 2 1/4 hours of being held captive in the back of a taxi there was a surge of excitement when we drove down familiar roads, passing the yellow painted Iglesia de la Merced.

"Oh, oh, I know exactly where we are now" I said.

We were staying at the same hotel as last time, Casa Florencia. "It's just up on the left." I said as all those memories came flooding back, lockdown, borders closing, end of the world, and so on.

As we pulled over the driver spoke into his phone, using his google translate app, and asked "Can you me give a tip?" Cheeky bugger we thought but gave him a few Mexican pesos.It was the only cash we had.

We checked into our room, dropped off our bags, noticed they were twin beds and huffed a lot in protest before heading straight back out in search of the "Welcome Meeting". The young girl at reception told us it was in a restaurant called Sol de Oriente on 1a Calle Poniente between 7a and 6a Avenida Norte. Luckily we found it pretty quickly.

Despite us being over an hour late the rest of our new travelling companions for the next week or so were still at the restaurant, just coming to the end of their meal. With a little wave and a "hello" we introduced ourselves. Some heard us, some didn't. One waved enthusiastically with a "hello" right back at us. It was a good mix of young and old, although we looked to be the oldest in the mix.

Marco, the tour leader, came over. He was only a young lad and appeared a little nervous. He invited us to join the group but I explained we had other plans this evening.  It seemed rude, arriving late and then not joining in from the start but that was just the start of it.

I then had to let him know that we wouldn't be joining the group tomorrow morning either because we had even more plans. I guess the joy of getting older is that you don't mind upsetting the apple cart. Conforming is necessarily a requirement.

Julie then reminded me that we probably weren't going to be back to join the group for supper tomorrow evening either, so I explained to Marco that we would see him and the rest of the group early on Saturday morning when we travel to Rio Dulce.

We wished everyone a good evening and then left to find our own supper. 

Our plans for tonight involved finding a restaurant called Hector's. We ate there twice on our last visit. It must have been very successful after the pandemic because it had moved from its small premises on Parque La Merced to a much larger restaurant on 6a Calle Poniente between 7a and 6a Avenida Sur.

The city centre was laid out in a grid which made it quite easy to find your way around.

 We took the scenic route and walked to the iconic arch of Santa Catalina, the most photographed view in Antigua. The story goes that it was built to allow the nuns from the convent of Santa Catalina to cross the street without sullying their habits so they could teach in a school on the other side. The clock was a feature added many years later. 

From the arch we walked down to the central park, an entire block given over a large open space. We had our head down and marched through without paying much attention to the stunning colonades of Real Palacio de los Capitanes Generales.

We didn't even see the Fountain of the Sirens in the middle nor the 16th century Cathedral San Jose on the opposite side. We were on a mission to find Hector.

After a further block South we turned right, counting the streets as we went, from 5 to 6 and then almost reaching 7 where we found Hector's new bistro. Whilst we waited to be shown to a table we both noted how the reception room was almost as big as the old Hector's.

We followed a young lad through into a large inner courtyard. There was a great atmosphere, full of people eating, drinking, laughing and joking.

Once we sat down we suddenly felt a sense of arrival. We were here, we had arrived. Finally all the stress of travelling, the stress of having to get somewhere melted away. With a glass of wine and a bottle of Gallo beer we toasted to our next adventure.

The menu arrived and I scoured it for a dish that I hoped was still on there, the Balsamic Mushrooms. I still remember how delicious they were four year ago.

It was there! I ordered it and it didn't disappoint. The balsamic vinegar and mushrooms were made for each other. 

Julie skipped starter and ordered the "tenderloin steak" which looked fabulous whereas I went for a simple spaghetti al pomodoro. I felt like I was selling out by not going local but to be honest it was just what I needed after a few days of rich Mexican food.

It reminded me of when we went away for a three night fine dining experience in Portmeirion, Wales where the food was spectacular but the first thing we ate when we got home was a dirty bag of chips from a chip shop. The most basic of dishes.

We paid our bill and left shortly after 9pm.

On our way back through Parque Centrale we stopped at one of several ATMs available. Eventually after finding the one that worked with our cards we took some cash out for the next few days. (I remember the same happening during our last visit.)

We followed our footsteps, returning back up towards the arch where we came across a bar called Macondo. It looked inviting with some loud and acceptable live music being played. After weighing up the pros and cons of going in for another round, knowing we had a 6am start, we decided to just have one more drink. 

The moment we got inside we realised it was one man and his backing tracks, performing slightly elevated karaoke. It wasn't good but neither was it bad enough to make us want to leave.

Julie ordered a wine and I went for a michelada. When my beer cocktail arrived I was blown away by its presentation! A glass of spicy tomato juice and ice in a lime and salt rimmed glass had this small bottle of Modelo beer held upright inside it with a Corona Extra place holder.

As you drank through a straw the beer would release itself into the glass. I'm sure Archimedes could have explained how this equillibrium worked, but I didn't care. It looked great and tasted even better.

"Now this is what I call a michelada!" I said.

Being sensible we actually only stayed for one round before leaving and slowly making our way back to the hotel. Of course we stopped again to admire the Arch of Santa Catalina one more time and then also stopped outside the Church of Merced.  

Whilst looking at the ornate facade of the church I was suddenly struck by a thought. It wasn't an epiphany or anything like that. I just remembered that today was actually the International Margarita Day and we hadn't had one!

We continued down sensible street and didn't stop at any other bar, not even for a cheeky margarita. By 10pm we were back in our twin beds.

"That still gives us a good 8 hours sleep" I said justifying our early start tomorrow.