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Tucked away amid groves of corozo palms sits Rancho Corozal, an Indo-Maya retreat along the Rio Tatin.

Guatemala has been tapped by National Geographic asa top tourist spot for 2012. Photographer Al Argueta visits

this unspoiled slice of modern Maya.

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of Izabal, part of the lesser-known face of Guatemala and a land of untrammeled rainforests, Afro-Caribbean cultural influences, balmy sea breezes and pristine jungle rivers.

Rio Dulce, the 19-mile waterway connecting Guate-mala’s Lake Izabal with the Caribbean Sea, is officially pro-tected as part of the 28-square-mile Rio Dulce National Park. Continuing on their way toward the Caribbean, a number of tributaries feed into the Rio Dulce, including the Rio Tatin, a narrow stream bordered by a few simple homes interspersed with more luxurious properties.

Among the latter is Rancho Coro-zal, an impressive jungle compound featuring three open-air edifices topped with soaring thatch roofs and studded with wood, stucco and ceramic accents. The property sits right beside the river on its own sprawling 20-acre forest reserve.

y first day exploring guatemala’s greener side, and I’m already riding a mule. But this mule is no ordinary ani-mal. It runs on gasoline, and instead of clip-clopping down rutted dirt roads,

it careens down them at 20 miles per hour. Manning the all-terrain vehicle is Eugenio Gobbato, owner of Hacienda Tijax, who is showing me around his sprawling 500-acre property’s mahogany and rubber-tree plantation. The former cattle ranch also has more than 100 acres of forest preserve, a network of hanging bridges spanning the lush canopy and an eco-lodge on the shores of the Rio Dulce.

Welcome to the jungle. No casinos. No high-rise hotels. No all-night party bars. Not even much in the way of beaches (with a few exceptions). We’re what seems a million miles away from Guatemala City and the temperate moun-tain climate, colonial towns and well-trod tourist path of the country’s central highlands. This is the wild department

Bienvenidos!From above left: A languid waterfall at Rio las Escobas; Sonya, a Kekchi Maya worker at Lagunita Creek Eco-Lodge; sunset at Villa Weyu.

No casinos. No high-rise hotels. No all-night party bars.Not even much in the way of beaches. This is the wild department

of Izabal, part of the lesser-known face of Guatemala.

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and the grrrkkk-grrrkkk of a nearby toucan. I set off to explore a cave on the shores of the Rio Dulce; in Maya lore, caves served as passages to the underworld. In addi-tion to the usual array of stalagmites and stalactites, the cave offers a novelty: Embedded in the roof of its largest chamber is what appears to be the skeleton of a large land mammal. My guides tell me an anthropologist will soon be on-site to help determine the bones’ origin.

I emerge from the cave and, savoring the fresh air, seek respite from the midday heat under the shade of a large, leafy

tree. I then head down to the river to dip my feet in the cool waters. Tiny fish nibble at my ankles while a neon-blue morpho butterfly flits along, riding the soft breeze. Deep in thought, I pray. I close my eyes and in my ears discern a noise: the haunting yet welcom-ing sounds of the embracing jungle.

Come nightfall, gas lamps provide atmospheric mood lighting (there’s no electricity), and my stylishly rustic bedroom lets in cool river breezes from its open sides. I’m protected from the outside world by the large mosquito net enveloping my bed, cocooonlike, as I drift into a peaceful slumber. All around me is the sound of crickets and frogs — and later the gentle patter of raindrops on the thatch roof. This rain arrives at first as the distant, muffled sound of fall-ing water, which seems to come from the opposite riverbank. In the dark, I picture this curtain of precipitation spreading from one side of the river to the other and then fall asleep to it pelting my rooftop. I’m awakened later by the violent crash of distant thunder, its sound amplified in typical coastal thunderstorm fashion. But I drift right back to my dreams, picturing the storm racing across the vast Caribbean Sea and colliding with the Guatemalan coast only a few miles away.

All traces of the deluge have vanished the following morn-ing, when I awake to the loony chorus of oropendola birds

Savoring the fresh air, I seek

respite from the midday heat under

the shade of a leafy tree. A neon-blue

butterfly flits along, riding the breeze. Deep in thought, I pray.

Hasta Luego!Playa Blanca, one of the area’s few beaches. Opposite: Tapado, a seafood feast; Hacienda Tijax awaits at the end of a hanging bridge.