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San Marcos
A renowned hippy haven ... yoga retreats, vegetarian food, suspect mushrooms, hippies on rocks legs crossed and meditating, psychic readings. I was psyched about Guatemala - the exotic and unknown - with live volcanos and jungles, the famed chicken buses and Mayan locals in brightly coloured clothing. But, Guatemala got off to a bad start. Within minutes of alighting from the lancha in Livingston a rough Garifuna tout with a gold tooth told me to ´get f-ed´ when I wouldn´t accompany him to his hostel. Things got far worse, before they got better. The coked up, midget manager of the Iguana hostel, Eric, did his best to run my friends and I out of Livingston. Guatemala was an adventure waiting to happen.
Livingston is tropical town set on a hill overlooking the Caribbean - more tropical island, than coastal town. The place looked like it would have copped lots of pirate action way back ... lots of old buildings and shady characters, the place is only accessible by boat. The Garífuna town people are black caribs who are descended from a couple of boatloads of slaves from Nigeria that were shipwrecked in 1635 on the Caribbean island of Saint Vincent. After my unfriendly welcoming at the dock, the five of us (Creagh, Sarah, Sall, Fong and I) trudge past a
Rio Dulce, Guatemala
Further along, the river opened up into a lake covered in lily pads and locals in wooden canoes. basketball court with concrete bleachers, up the steep hill to the immigration office, where a baby sleeps in a cot, and a sign requested that we leave our firearms outside. Re-energised by an average Guatemalan thai curry, we decided to make our way to the Iguana Hostel - the only one that didn´t have a tout that accosted us. Bad move. To cut a long story short, later in the evening, we returned to the hostel to find Eric - the coked up, midget manager had polished off a bottle of tequila and was up for some action. We all knocked back his insistent offer of a tequila shot and a night of partying and the little man took offence, ripping into me personally ... claiming to know my ´independent female traveller type´ and calling me every name under the sun. Everyone in the room was stunned ... he was way out of line, but so off his tree that it was pointless arguing with him. I somehow kept my cool (con carma etc.), got up and said I was going to bed and did I mention I worked for the Lonely Planet? Sarah was not so restrained and fired
Chicken Bus, Antigua
Brightly painted old American school buses, generally with a religious theme! back at him that ´bad world of mouth travels´ - Creagh almost had to drag Sarah out of the room, as Eric threatened to kick us ´arseholes´ all out of the hostel, carrying on with his loud gravelly American voice and loud music well into the early hours. The next morning, every single person in the hostel got up and left.
Eager to hot foot it out of Livingston - Sarah, Sall, Creagh and I jumped on a boat cruising up the Rio Dulce. With muddy water, dense jungle on both sides and jungle homes on stilts - the Rio Dulce felt more Amazon, than Guatemala. The birdlife was prolific - over 600 species apparently and great fishing too. Further along, the river opened up into a lake covered in lily pads and locals in wooden canoes. A little boy came up alongside the boat, proudly displaying his catch of the day! Keen to make it to Antigua in one day, we jumped on a sweaty local bus to Guatemala City with cracked windows and broken seats. We arrived at Guatemala City at nightfall and enjoyed a memorable journey to Antigua crammed into a tiny taxi pumping out a
soundtrack of power ballads.
Antigua´s pretty cobble stone streets and variety of quaint restaurants, all centred around a European style town square, was a refreshing cultural change from Belize. Crammed with gringos learning spanish and frequenting bars like mono loco with dirt cheap mojitos and free internet - it's certainly a backpacker bottle-neck. It was immediately apparent that mainland Guatemala had a few notable and welcome changes after Belize, Cuba and Mexico. For starters, there was always hand-wash available and flushing loos (but you still couldn't flush the loo paper!). The locals themselves also seemed to have more get up and go than the Mexicans from the Yucatan and their Caribbean neighbours. The Mayan people - dressed in a mismatch of coloured clothing, seemed particularly tiny in stature - especially after the tall Belizeans. Whilst their appearance seemed quite flamboyant, the locals themselves were reserved and rarely stared at or hassled gringos, except for the children who were fascinated with my blue- green eyes! The landscape itself also seemed to vary from green mountains, prolific volcanos, dry flats and the jungle of the Rio Dulce. The Guatemalans are the king of markets selling all modes of handicrafts, animals and
Chicken Buses
... the ultimate Guatemalan experience fresh food including the most gigantic avocados I've ever seen.
But ... it's still the chicken bus that's the ultimate Guatemalan experience. Brightly painted old American school buses, generally with a religious theme! Sall and I leave Antigua for Xela and our packs are hauled onto the roof which is already loaded with bags, bundles, and livestock. What looks like a bunch of streamers hanging under the rear-vision mirror is actually a horn which the driver soon turns into a weapon of volume and pitch. Air-conditioning is natural - they have airy windows which provide some relief for Sall who has fallen foul to last nights mojito specials and tightly clutches a snaplock bag for emergencies. The bench seats are brown vinyl and we hold tightly to the rail, whilst our knees get friendly with the iron bars of the seat in front. With 3 to a 2 person bench - the third person only gets one cheek seated - so it's a battle for good seats early on.
The bus interior and exterior decoration is a mixture of jesus and bart simpson ... and boy do they love their slogans. One of my favourites is “Jesus es
Aboard the chicken bus
Enterprising snack food sellers and salesman (see the guy in the cardy) also ply the buses ... selling anything from popcorn, to dried plantain, hot food, health food supplements, to CDs. mi piloto nada me pasaran”. This roughly translates as “Jesus is my pilot and nothing shall pass me”....! The driver quickly proves he is serious and drives like a maniac to Xela. The other decoration of choice are teddy bears and stuffed toys - tired out valentines gifts to show everyone that the driver is indeed Don Juan or a relation of. The driver also acts as DJ - playing a mix of local tunes and with a wink in the rear-view mirror played to us gringos a selection of JT, Rhiana and other western tunes. But the real hero of the chicken bus is the conductor. This clever bloke tracks payment of passengers and their destinations, telling them when to get off and nimbly swinging on and off the rooftop to secure and retrieve parcels ... often on a moving vehicle. He keeps the bus moving, hanging out the doorway, yelling the destination and shuffling the chickens around in their baskets in the overhead racks to make room for just one more bundle.
The entertainment doesn't stop there. The local women in this region wear woven skirts tightly wound around their waists and secured with a thick coloured
San Francisco de Alto Markets
The largest open air market in Central America belt. Their top of choice is generally a silky, lacy number that clashes terribly with the skirt and is often covered with a tizzy apron. Their long black hair often features a headband with woollen pom poms and it's common to see them breastfeeding children or with a child strapped to mum´s back with a brightly coloured blanket. The local men with weathered skin and moustaches, wear cowboy hats and often carry guns. Sall and I are particularly concerned when a guy opposite us sits asleep with a shotgun on his lap, pointed at our side of the bus. There's roadworks on the very bumpy road to Xela and we're worried it might go off! Enterprising snack food sellers and salesman also ply the buses ... selling anything from popcorn, to dried plantain, hot food, health food supplements, to CDs. Our journey to Xela means something like four chicken buses, so we feel quite a sense of achievement when us and our packs make it there in one piece. We're the only gringos we've seen all day, with something like 200 passengers getting on and off the buses.
Xela is unimpressive as a town itself, gloomy, grey and cold,
Bell Tower, San Francisco de Alto
We read in the LP that the view from the top of the church here is spectacular, so after giving our 'donation' to the priest, we climb to the rooftop for some great kodak moments. but a good base for travels to the nearby San Francisco de Alto Markets and the La Fuentes Georginas hot springs. The San Francisco de Alto Market is the largest open air market in Central America - an indigenous market heaving with fresh fruit and veggies, animals (pre and post slaughter), clothing, textiles and agricultural machinery. Sall and I both purchase a traditional Mayan ladies apron, mine's for Grandma Jordan ... but will also get a test run at our hostel dinner ... but more on that later! My favourite part of the market is the animal market - local mayans sell individual pigs, cows, chickens, whatever in a dusty paddock area - often they lead the animals around on a rope like a dog. We read in the LP that the view from the top of the church here is spectacular, so after giving our 'donation' to the priest, we climb to the rooftop for some great kodak moments. The La Fuentes hot springs are the perfect way to relax after a big morning of shopping. Getting there is quite an adventure - standing on the tray of a pick-up, holding tightly, as the driver careers at top speed
San Francisco de Alto Markets
My favourite part of the market is the animal market - local mayans sell individual pigs, cows, chickens, whatever in a dusty paddock area - often they lead the animals around on a rope like a dog. around windy mountain roads. The setting is very mysterious, the thermal heat coming from a nearby volcano creates a steamy effect in the cold air - giving off a jurassic park type vibe. There's a guy standing by with a gun, not sure if this place is dangerous, but it turns out he's with a local tour company, so after a few hours of R&R we catch a lift with him and a handful of other backpackers back to Xela. Our hostel - Don Diego - is perhaps the least friendly hostel in Central America - with a bunch of equally dull-as-dishwater guests. It's saving grace is its camp manager who literally screams in delight when Sall and I appear to cook dinner in the hostel kitchen, tarted up in our Guatemalan aprons. Only about 3 guests, of about 20 who see us, register a reaction at our outrageous outfits as we cook up a culinary feast with the fresh ingredients purchased at the markets.
Our next stop is Lake Atitlan - one of Guatemala's most famous tourist destinations - its the deepest lake in Central America, with an imposing backdrop of three volcanos, set up in the highlands.
La Fuentes Hot Springs near Xela
The setting is very mysterious, the thermal heat coming from a nearby volcano creates a steamy effect in the cold air - giving off a jurassic park type vibe Sall and I are meeting up with Sarah, Creagh and the Irish gang in the lakeside town of San Pedro for a pre-full-moon Saturday night of partying. We arrive in San Pedro by boat across the lake and find it´s backpacker-central - full of fire-twirling bohemian types who never got around to leaving, Israeli's selling beaded jewellery and the pungent smell of coffee beans laid out to dry. We're meeting at Trippy´s hostel ... I suppose the name should have been a clue as to its scene?! We find ourselves a bed (is there even a manager?!) and avail ourselves of the outdoor shower. We have a blast out on the town and we dance til the early hours, bumping into numerous travel friends that we've met before and will no doubt meet again.
Sarah, Sall and I, leave the boys the following day and catch a lancha across to nearby Jaibalito ... a spectacularly classy part of Lake Atitlan which screams ´Lake Como´, rather than Central America. We've heard that the cliff top 'La Casa del Mundo' is the best hotel in Guatemala and after roughing it for weeks, decide we deserve a one night stay there to
La Casa del Mundo
A spectacularly classy part of Lake Atitlan which screams ´Lake Como´, rather than Central America luxuriate in hot showers, beauty treatments and a glass of red as we watch the sunset over the lake. We arrive, a bunch of hung-over, grotty backpackers and leave clean, nourished from a delicious candle-lit dinner and relaxed from hours sunning ourselves on the lake-side decks... which makes San Marcos, our third and final stop on the lake, a nasty shock.
San Marcos is a renowned hippy haven ... yoga retreats, vegetarian food, suspect mushrooms, hippies on rocks legs crossed and meditating, psychic readings. Thinking that perhaps I was finally ready to hold hands with these new age types, I geared myself up for the possibility of some yoga and general maintenance on the old mind-body-soul. Sall and I on arrival are shamelessly ripped off by a little kid who demands payment for escorting us to Unicornios - the shabby hostel we were already walking too. On our last quetzals and with no ATM, or working internet to speak of ... things are looking grim. Until we meet the hostel owner who invites us to a traditional ceremony to mark the beginning of the new Mayan calendar year. What a rare and special experience, to be allowed to watch
these locals performing such an ancient ritual ... or so we think. What we find on arrival is a circle of American hippy types moon-lighting as Mayans, sitting around a campfire in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, giving themselves up to the concept of 'mayan one-ness'. Call me a sceptic, but it was hard to keep a straight face as the hippy contingent threw themselves onto the ground in a fireside spectacle, that involved a little too much hand-holding, chanting and enlightenment on the 'blue star prophecy' for my liking. The final straw was returning to my sarong fireside (after throwing my candle offering into the fire) to find a mangy dog asleep and dribbling in my place... As soon as the bongos kicked off, Sall and I slipped out of there ... The next day I farewelled Sall as I headed up to Earth Lodge, Antigua to begin my Spanish lessons.
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Overlanders
Dave + Suze
Worth the wait!
Great blog Ellen - cracked me up as usual. Take care and looking forward to finally meeting you at EP!