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Published: February 6th 2006
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As a break from Spanish lessons in San Pedro I decided to take a couple of excursions. First off I climbed to the peak of the hill that towers above San Juan. I started early that morning. Walking along the road between San Pedro and San Juan several guides offered up their services while older men armed with machetes ventured off in search of firewood. The morning light and low lying mist created a beautiful vista over the lake, showing it at it´s best and most peaceful.
San Juan lacks much of obvious and immediate interest in comparison to it´s neighbours, and subsquently has few visitors. However the town seemed a little more awake there with people bashing away in workshops, shops open, kids selling things in the streets and many people just hanging around with no obvious purpose. Still guideless I walked as best as I could towards my target expecting someone to offer up the services, they didn´t, so I asked for directions to the track instead.
You soon realise here that everyone is potentially a guide, every car is potentially a taxi and everyone is potentially a professional model for a couple of Quetzales. This of course
meant I choose the person I was asking carefully and sure enough he offered up his expertise. After a little negotiating over the price his 14 and 15yr old brothers ended up being employed, the younger one entrusted with the machete. I quickly gained the impression they had little interest in doing the trip and thus we moved quickly, however the heat and altitude were not being my friends and I had to stop several times as they waited semi-impatiently.
The hill was much bearer than the Volcanoe and as a result superb views of the lake were frequently possible. Overall it wasn´t too challenging, at the top the boys chatted with another local in Tz'utujil while I spoke with an Austrian guy in Spanish. The boys seemed a bit more chilled now and suggested walking down the other side and using pick-up trucks to get back. I agreed and we descended to Santa Clara and through a colourful market. Obviously not too accustomed to 'extranjeros', some stopped and starred others said hello with large grins across their faces.
Around 20 of us crammed onto the first pick-up truck, a local women carried a live chicken in her arms, others carried chopped wood and market goods. Between towns the pick-up eventually gave in tackling a steep incline and we had to get out. The driver fiddled about underneath a bit and we were soon on our way again. Being one of the last back on meant I was standing on the bar off the back as we descended steep, windy roads. This was a little unnerving at first although much more comfortable.
The next day I toke the shuttle bus to Chichi. The initial roads were missing various chunks, probably from when ´Stan´devastated certain areas around the lake a few months back, but good company and empty seats for stretching out made up for it. Of course empty seats are rare and it wasn´t long before we were picking up every man, women and child we could squeeze in, any direction possible.
We arrived in Chichi with perfect timing for the beginning of an eerie religious procession through the main market. Some men banged drums, others carried glass-cased statues of Saints upon their shoulders while others sent sent smoke into the air. A strong tourist presence ensured a pressured Q1 donation per photo, although this made me feel more comfortable about taking photos, so I was happy to pay.
Every now and then they would stop and set off fireworks in the middle of the market, along the line, with little fore-warning to the unsuspecting gringo. At the last moment a Gringo would nonchantly wonder in the open space, bemused at it´s sudden appearance, before a local snatched them back just in time. I followed them along taking more photos and using up all my loose change in the process. They eventually entered the main church and I started shopping.
The market was filled with locals and tourists alike. The tourists, mostly middle-aged Americans, attempted to bargain in awful Spanish over jade style goods, traditional costumes and hand-made crafts, while the locals bought day to day goods. I didn´t buy much. Despite the masses of tourists the place seems to retain a certain mystic feeling to it, which makes it well worth the visit.
Later I got chatting to a Mexican guy who had got some decent deals, probably from being relatively local, although he was evidently far wealthier than me, possessing over $1000 worth of camera equipment for one of his pastimes. Showing the pre-made assumptions about wealth aren´t always true, although maybe this is the exception that proves the rule?
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