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Published: January 5th 2009
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The placid scenery blows smoke periodically - and no, that's not cloud.Guatemala's simmering internal problems are beautifully mirrored by the restless volcanic bedrock it sits so precariously on. Evidence of its Pacific rim nature is everywhere in the landscape, and the sights surrounding us here tell their own geological story so clearly.
Lago Atitlan is the culmination of much volcanic activity - the lake itself is a wopping big crater, and there is no mistaking the imposing shapes of the many volcanoes surrounding it. Whilst sitting enjoying coffee and good friends, periodically clouds of volcanic debris were billowing out of a crater across the lake from us.
Our first stop was Panajachel, the largest of the towns surrounding the lake. Only a few short hours by 3 changes of Chicken bus from Xela, we could not have been in a more different economy. The main street of 'Pana' hummed with flash restaurants to street food, and textiles for sale in boutique clothing shops next to street stalls. Meanwhile some uncultured git made sure his Hummer was parked prominently on the street each day.
Our day began with the most obnoxious church bells we have ever heard - at 6am a cheerless 50ish times in rapid monotonic succession. The 6:30am
blast was over 120 rings. The message was clear - GET UP YOU LAZY BUM! Having sniffed around this little town, and whilst seated at a restaurant being offered everything from toys to textiles by 12 very persistent independent parties praying on the stationary targets, we were quite ready to depart almost immediately. Unfortunately, Benj took a preference to the insides of a minuscule toilet cubicle directly within 2m of a pleasant Canadian chap trying to enjoy his breakfast, and spent the rest of the day violently ill. Fortunately excluding morning sickness from the diagnostic list, a course of antibiotics curtailed the worst of the bug. So the next day, a very thin and weak Benj was loaded onto the public boat to await departure, sensitised to the stench of raw sewerage as it vented down into the lake from a large drain. Seemingly oblivious, two men with flash snorkelling gear and spear guns were placidly snorkelling their way around the shallows, returning empty handed - probably lucky for them and their families.
What we needed was somewhere away from it all, and San Marcos de la Laguna seemed the choice. The little public ferry boat, heftily overloaded, limped
along keeping in reassuring proximity to the shoreline. The views of the lakeside mansions, with fine stonework terraces giving them flat grassy space to savour it were further evidence of the vast divide in wealth here - and perhaps the stone lakeside castle topped it off.
But always in for more surprises, we offloaded at San Marcos to find a backwater hippy/gringo hangout. While Benj draped himself over the bags while Arlene, Karen and Marcel footed it around the available accommodation, he discovered that the medicinal uses of marijuana (second hand) definitely do not extend to nausea. And in this little hideout, avoiding the fragrant stench was quite a challenge.
But once we accepted the inflated lakeside budget of this spot, we had the pleasure of ferreting out its secrets a little at a time. Maybe hippies have lots of problems, because there were all manner of therapies on offer here from Reiki, yoga, spiritual awareness training, and massage, charged optimistically in international prices converted into local Quetzales. Opting for a wood fired sauna instead, we were given the treat of our Lakeside travels. Being supplied with a packet of course salt (exfoliation material), a candle (ambiance and
He's on the mend
Surely there must be some Mayan magic afoot to help his tummy bug - a dip in the Lake must be therapeutic. illumination), and large slices of aloe vera (hair and skin conditioning), our weedy dreadlocked host hurled the last logs on the fire, and left us in peace and privacy to crawl on hands and knees into the igloo-shaped stone oven. Truly a treat.
Finally drawing enough strength for some full immersion, a relieved Benj toddled off into the lake, earning the stern telling off of our British amiga Karen for pushing it significantly too far. Needing to sleep for 3 hours afterwards, maybe she did have a valid point. Yes - some things don't change.
So one of us arrived at San Marcos unable to carry a pack, but we both departing soft skinned and smiling. With more rest and recuperation in the swanky colonial town of Antigua ahead of us, it was all looking up.
Adios lago bonito. Tal vez tu no es Guatemala, pero tienes algunos actividades y vistas nosotros amamos. Gracias.
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