Still Kickin´

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Hey all, forgive me for the pure text nature of the following blogs, I have lost (or had stolen), my camera, along with the memory card full of all my photos from the last five months, so for now, these messages will be something like chain letters just to let you all know how I'm doing...it must seem like I've dropped off the face of the earth, but the truth is I just dropped into the lap of some cozy places and decided to snuggle down for a bit. I was about three weeks in Guatemala alone, first in the colonial city of Antigua, which I found a little too touristy. The coolest thing I did there was go on a hike on an active volcano to see lava flowing out. It was incredible to stand right next to glowing baby earth, and feel it's heat through my shoes, and the steam that rose from the rain on the rocks, all in the dusk, so we ended up descending in the night.
Out of Antigua I was quickly on my way to the Lago de Atlitlan, where I stayed for five days. At the time, five days seemed an outrageous amount of time to stay in one place, but writing here on day 17 from the Honduran island of Roatan, five days seems like a blink. But I'm getting ahead of myself, so much catchup. The Lago de Atlitlan, in the Guatemalan highlands, is a pristine volcanic lake in a crater between a ridge of impressive peaks. Can't say I did much there. I stayed in one of the lakeside towns, called San Pedro, which turned out to have an island environment, attracting foreigners from all over the world to live, relax, sell this or sell that, and pretty much just walk around enchanted by the energy of the place. I stayed in a hostel called Trippy's (so you can imagine the atmosphere of that place), and found myself surrounded by a group predominantly of Israelis, cooking elaborate meals, swinging in hammocks in the thatched roof palapa, playing chess, and relaxing. I managed to do some productive activities while I was there, such as renting kayaks and taking them to the middle of the lake with my friends Allie and Bobby from CA, where we jumped out and swam, just as the afternoon storms hit and we were just as wet outside as in the water. Another day, my Scottish friend (named Scott) and I walked over to the base of a peak known as La Nariz del Indio (the nose of the Indian), and scrambled up for three hours to the best views of the lake and surrounding pueblos. I pried myself off the bamboo mats in the palapa another day to visit the small cultural museum, an exhausting hour long activity that all my chess playing and laying around hadn't prepared me for. We spent many hours sitting on the bamboo mats of the Israeli-owned cafe Zoola, waiting for the food which always took no less than an hour to come, playing...you guessed it, chess. As relaxing as it all was, I knew when it was time to leave, and I snuck out one day at 3 o'clock, while everyone was still sleeping from the big bash the night before. I jumped on the last bus heading out to the intersection where I could catch another bus to my next destination.
The local buses are sometimes known as "Chicken Buses", because occasionally you catch a seat next to some livestock. There are no seat assignments, nor limitations to the amount of people who can ride. They are old school buses, from Canada or the US, painted to resemble the Merry Prangster bus, with a driver and an ayudante (helper), who honks the horn around corners, and yells out destinations through the towns, jumping off the run around helping people on or loading luggage on top of the bus. The climb from San Pedro was on hairpin curves outlined by drastic cliffs, and I found myself hoping that the burning engine I smelled would hold on just a little longer. But I had only to look at the sleeping Guatemalan families to realize that my Western-world convenience-oriented mind might be getting the best of me and to just accept what would happen. Fortunately, we made it out without incident, and came to the intersection (called 148, for km 148), where I jumped off, grabbed my bag from the ayudante, and crossed the road to flag down the next bus that would take me to Quetzaltenango (abbreviated Xela, pronounced shayla). Xela was by far the biggest city I had stayed in yet, and coming into town I was a little hasty getting off the bus, and had to ask around for the best and cheapest way to get to the center. And here is where the Guatemalan people won my heart. Every single one so helpful, even the taxi driver, who told me he'd take me to the center for somewhere around $7 and I asked where I could catch public transport, and he directed me to the other side of the roundabout, where another man immediately helped me to find the right van, and upon entering, an old lady moved her seat so I could get in easier with my backpack. The smiles from the people in Guatemala are genuine, unlike some of the fake, snotty smiles you get from the women in Mexico, and you can feel the cultural richness pouring off them, from their traditions to their dress. The women seem to carry so much of the weight, literally (with the baskets on their heads and the children on their back), and figuratively, raising children, working, weaving, and enjoying less rights than the men. At times the culture felt a little heavy, almost a little intoxicating, but overall very impressive.
Upon arrival in the center, I looked up the place I had wanted to stay, called Casa Argentina. The first night there was no space for me, so the owner of Casa Argentina 2, three rooms around a small courtyard, walked over to pick me up and I stayed in a private room for a night. But the place was a little lonely for me, and I switched to the main house the next night (three floors, two kitchens, open air terraces and courtyards, and tons of people from all over). After one night in a three person room, I moved to the big, 24-bed dormitory on the top floor, and there I stayed for 10 days, hanging out with familiar-minded friends from the US, along with others from all over the world, some passing through to do the famous treks of the area, and others long time residents of Xela, participating in volunteer work, or doing nothing in particular. I immediately met another girl from Oregon who went to elementary school with one of my best friends back home and who I felt resembled myself in many ways which caused us to really hit if off. I found myself hanging out with more people from the US than I had since my program in Mexico, including some younsters traveling for the summer and some ex-pats.
I spent a few days learning the waist-loom technique for weaving from some Guatemalan women's collective called Trama. These women offer weaving and spanish classes as a means to support their fair-trade shop and program. The weaving technique is slow and meticulous, but is the traditional craft of most women in the area. I was excited to look out of the bus window on my way out of Xela and see far off in a field a woman weaving a large cloth with her loom set up on a tree. There's some controversy, however, among the Guatemalans about teaching their trade to foreigners, because then the foreigners will take the knowledge and open their own schools abroad. I think their concern is legitimate, but at the same time an understanding of culture it the best means of preserving it. If foreigners understand how much work goes into the crafts, they will most likely be willing to pay reasonable prices.
Another day in Xela, I rented a bike along with my friend Matt from Florida and we rode about three hours to reach the famous hotsprings "Las Fuentas Georginas". The map we obtained from the bike shop led us through the countryside, on dirt roads past farms and then out on a highway way up in the mountains with canyon views, and then up the turnoff from the small pueblo of Zunil, and up up up through a cloud forest and past more farms to the most beautiful hotsprings I have ever seen. Tropical foliage inside mountain mist, and a pool so big that I could swim around, and so hot near where the water trickled down the volcano's wall that I couldn't even get close. All made even better by the soundtrack playing from the small restaurant (Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, and the Beatles covered by the pan flute!, over and over again). After soaking for over an hour, we jumped back on our bikes and coasted downhill the 8 km back to Zunil, where we threw the bikes on top of a Chicken Bus and headed back to Xela.
I finally left Xela after 10 days, got bit again by the travel bug and instantly needed out. Packed up my bag and jumped on a bus back to Antigua. I had thought about using Chicken Buses all the way to Honduras, but the amount of connections and hassle made the price difference (less than a dollar) of the direct shuttles from Antigua well worth it. The only bad thing was the four o'clock AM departure. I had just enough time to buy some more Yerba Mate, get a good dinner, and go to bed early. The next morning I piled into the 12-passenger shuttle with 11 other passengers and we headed out. We made the border crossing by 10 and were in Copan, Honduras by noon.
Copan had a certain relaxed feel about it. That first day I walked around the whole town, without ever attracting much interest from the locals. They went about their business and let me go about mine, which was kind of a relief after so many months of standing out. The external cultural impression that I got was less intense than what I experienced in Guatemala, with a more modern and less "damaged" vibe. Supposedly Honduras is the only Central American country that hasn't experienced a civil war in the last century, possibly because the US has gone to efforts to keep the politics stable out of their own interests. Guatemala was visually and energetically very culturally distinct, while the little I have seen of Honduras leads me to think the indigenous communities are more assimilated into modern society. I can't say much, however, since I spent two days in Copan, saw the ruins, and then took the nine hour bus journey over to La Ceiba, where I stayed for the night before hopping a ferry out to the Caribbean island of Roatan. And from here I still write, almost three weeks later.

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Photos

Antigua
Street in Antigua

Pacaya
Overhead picture of the active volcano we climbed.

Lago de Atlitlan
Not a picture I took (obviously), but the beautiful lake nonetheless.

Fuentas Georginas
Hotsprings out of the volcano.

Comments

[Ruth]

So much travel!
Wow, nice to hear from you again. It seems really exciting to be able to come and go from town (and country) as it suits you. I am jealous of all of the new friends from many places you've met. That seems to be the most amazing part of a trip like this!