A dramatic arrival to the shores of Lake Atitlan, yoga and the Chilean witch.
June 14th 2012 I get the bus for Guatemala at 7.30 in the morning – I sit up front again with the driver who has a spiv's moustache and is wearing a pin stripe trilby for some reason. At first I am squashed between him and his teenage son but at the breakfast break I insist on swapping – I have after all – paid for my ticket.
I have been warned about the perils of Guatemala, how dangerous it is for to
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