As a child who frequently rode school buses, I would often groan at the bus driver’s announcement, “Three to a seat! Triple up, kids!” Well, the chicken bus ride to Lake Atitlan consisted of families of four or five packed into similar seats. With faith, my two travel buddies and I had to hand over our big backpacks that were then tossed up on the roof like coins. About three and a half sweaty, bumpy, crowded hours later, we arrived in Panajachel (a.k.a. Hippyville meets Modernity). Italian restaurants, cell phone kiosks, “tuk-tuk” 3-wheel bicycle taxis, traditional weaving and handicraft stores, and endless bochilleros (backpackers) sprinkled this lakeside town and main dock on el lago. We ate cheese and bread sandwiches and waited for the next lancha (a small, fast boat) to transport us to Jaibalito, one of the smaller pueblos hugging the lake.
The next day, I met up with my sister Karen who was attending a yoga retreat at Villa Sumaya in Santa Cruz. I hiked the 45 minute trail from my four dollar a night hotel to her….not four dollar a night hotel. Villa Sumaya is just as it sounds. Can you see the fresh papaya juice in curvy blue-rimmed glasses? The hammocks overlooking the lake and surrounding volcanoes? I spent the day with Karen and the other yogis. Swimming in hot springs near the village of San Antonio…buying traditional scarves…and snapping a million pictures. We filled the rest of the week in similar ways….we even treated ourselves to massages ($24 an hour!) and I got a hummus and pita platter in San Marcos (a.k.a. Hippyville minus Modernity). It is very…New Age…as in, they have chocolate meditation sessions and a wide selection of acupuncture, reflexology, and other natural remedies. The most popular café there, Moonfish, has some special bathrooms. I’ll post pictures of them. Unlike many of the world’s bathrooms, they are not divided by gender, let’s just put it that way.
Riding the lanchas between the lakeside villages, feeling the occasional splash on my face, and wanting to devour the views of the volcanoes and sky with all my spirit, is my idea of a vacation (from this vacation of course). But that’s the thing. This is not a vacation --exactly. I have to keep remembering that, you know, to not downplay why I am here. Yes, I am here for several personal reasons, but mainly I am here to commit to my writing in a serious way. I am sort of “over” answering those questions though…but I know that this is part of the journey…I know it is a huuuuuge privilege to take six months of my life—to push pause on the conveyer belt—and do this. And I know it is something that never would have been possible without my hardworking parents. So meeting up with them in Guatemala City on March 15th (and Mama Chata, my grandmother) was joy on top of joy.
We spent Semana Santa (Easter Week) in the capital mostly, and visited Antigua a couple times (the original capital, now cobblestone streets, ancient architecture, and a whole lotta internet cafes). The dozens of processionals dazzled us day and night, and the flower rugs that folks assemble in record time are amazing.
Although, the favorite part of my family’s visit was being able to show them Quetzaltenango. We did touristy things like ride the trolley around the city, eat traditional candy and drink atole in the markets. We visited Fuentes Georginas, a natural spring spa located on the slopes of Volcan Pico Zunil. On our drive along the world’s most narrow road which curves up and around the green hills and clouds to the pools, we saw what I still think was a white unicorn. Anyway, driving through the clouds was fun.
We also did some, not so touristy things…like…eat at a family friends’ house (which took two hours and fifteen minutes to find but who is counting) where the husband shared stories of how he killed an ox with his bare hands and the wife shared a recipe for tamarindo juice. Your average dinner date. My host mother in Xela also hosted us for a long lunch and we gave gifts of Aveena body lotion, a new pink shower curtain, a jewelry making kit from Michael’s, and a Lane Bryant shirt (all specific requests except for the shirt). Blanca’s cooking is absolutely delicious. We rolled out of there and drove back to the capital.
The countryside is a story in and of itself in Guatemala. Deforestation fires a-blazing, small children juggling hackey sacks for quetzales at intersections, black clouds, white clouds, cows, sheep, acres and acres of just green and green, women washing clothes along riverbeds, couples flirting by street side vendors, the litter interspersed on otherwise lush rolling hills, and the women carrying the country on their heads—mangoes, coconuts, sugarcane, tamales, zapotes, platanos. Although the views may have changed since my road trips as a child to Texas and Florida, the inside of the car was the same—laughing, telling stories, reminiscing, my Dad not wanting to stop so I could use the bathroom. Yup, all the same, and for that I am actually grateful. I thought about the whole ‘family of four squished into one chicken bus’ and how I may have been looking at that with an ethnocentric point of view. Of course, things are not always what they seem on first judgment, as is the case for so much here in Guatemala.
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