GUATEMALA – Land of Eternal Spring…and Volcanoes – Part III

(PART THREE OF THREE PARTS / For part one click HERE; for part two click HERE)

ATITLAN
On my second Friday of school I skip classes, and Amanda and I board a group shuttle bound for Lake Atitlán. An hour later, after our humorless driver finally fills 15 of the 14 seats in the van, we actually get out of Antigua for the two-plus-hour drive west-northwest to the lake.

Lago Atitlán, widely recognized as one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, does not disappoint. Formed in the caldera of a mega-volcano that erupted 84,000 years ago, the 56-square-mile, 1,100-foot-deep lake is flanked by several 10,000-foot classic, cone-shaped volcanoes.

People are drawn to Atitlán not just by its stunning beauty, but also by the area’s reputation as an energy vortex, said to be one of just three such spiritual hotbeds in the world—along with Peru’s Machu Picchu and Egypt’s Pyramids of Giza.

  More than any "point of interest," any tour,
  any photo op, this is the kind of magic that
  defines travel for me.

The lake is surrounded by eleven towns and villages, each with its own distinct flavor. Panajachel is the largest, busiest and grittiest, serving as the main road terminus for all the rest. From there, a busy network of water taxis connects them all.

San Pedro is known as the backpacker’s mecca, with lots of hostels, clubs and bars and a lively party atmosphere.

San Marcos has a new-age, hippie vibe, with shamans of every stripe, and lots of touchy-feely offerings like yoga, naturopathic foods and drink, healing centers and Reiki and massage parlors.



San Juan is one of the most colorful villages on the lake, with vibrant murals and other public art. Here the Mayan descendants and their Tz’utujil and Kaqchikel cultures are more obvious than in the other villages.

Santa Cruz is a relatively quiet alternative with few conveniences, but superb views of the volcanoes. (This is where Amanda and I stay--at La Arca de Noé, Noah’s Arc, a collection of rooms and separate casitas stair-stepping up the steep hill, some with nice decks overlooking the lake.)

                               

Our last night in Santa Cruz, we tuk-tuk a ways up the steep main street to a small restaurant that someone's recommended. Besides the family that owns it, we have the place to ourselves. Just as we're finishing our meal, we hear the happy birthday song from the other room.

Peeking through the doorway, we see a little girl sitting at the counter with a birthday cake in front of her and the whole family gathered around singing to her. She's eight.

We join in and offer our best wishes to the cumpleañera, and then return to our table. Just as we're asking for the check, one of the kids comes out and shares slices of the birthday cake with us.

More than any "point of interest," any tour, any photo op, this is the kind of magic that defines travel for me.

(I wish I’d spent more time researching the other villages. If I had, we’d have known that the gauntlet of commercialism we encounter right off the boat dock is not the town. To see slices of life like that sweet little birthday party, or public markets, or church services, one has to walk or tuk-tuk a ways, in some cases nearly a mile, up the steep flank of the caldera where most Guatemaltecos—and real life—reside. Maybe next time.)

    Many people, while chatting within their
    families or with fellow workers, speak their
    indigenous languages.

MEXICO IT IS NOT
It’s hard for me, a frequent traveler to Mexico, not to compare Guatemalan life and culture. The first difference that strikes me is that Guatemalan culture is far more indigenous. Around 43 percent of the Guatemalan people are indigenous, while just over 15 percent of Mexicans are.

While most of Mexico’s pre-colonial roots are Aztec, a warrior civilization with strong religious and mythological aspects, Guatemala’s are Mayan, an older, more peaceful, more intellectual culture.

The currency of these ancient traditions is obvious in people’s dress. At first I think it’s just the street vendors who wear the intensely-colored trajes / clothing. But I see many others, including whole families, wearing the striking woven and embroidered cortes / skirts and huipiles / blouses as they walk around town.

PHOTO: Trama Textiles

The colors are amazing. Intense. Each hue and each design element symbolic. The artisans’ markets are full of the fabrics, fashioned into every imaginable item, from clothing to table runners to tea cozies to men’s ties.

Another difference is the language, which I find quite easy to understand, even when talking with folks on the street. They speak more slowly and enunciate more clearly than the average José in Mexico. That said, I observe that many people, while chatting within their families or with fellow workers, choose to speak their indigenous languages.

Of course, there are quite a few Spanish words that differ from those used in Mexico for the same things. Enough for a language learner like me to get into trouble if he's not careful. But I get through my visit to this enchanting country without exclaiming to anyone that I’m pregnant (embarazado), as I once did in Mexico.

    Pretending to understand any culture
    based on seeing just small parts of it is
    pure hubris.

JUST A TASTE
I'll never forget a friend's slide show I once viewed. He'd just returned from a ten-day trip to Kenya. His narration was full of conclusions like, "Africa is..." and "Africans are this or that." And it struck me as so presumptuous.

Pretending to understand any country, any culture, based on a vacation, or on seeing just small parts of it, is pure hubris. 

So, as I continue chipping away at my goal of visiting every Spanish-speaking corner of Latin America, I’m glad to check off Guatemala. The places I saw are lovely; the people I met are kind and generous.  But all I can really say is that I've tasted it; I've sampled a few of its many flavors; and I leave hungry for more.

(FOR SLIDE SHOW CLICK HERE)

GUATEMALA – Land of Eternal Spring…and Volcanoes – Part II

(PART TWO OF THREE PARTS / For part one click HERE)

FOLLOWING MY NOSE
After each weekday morning session at school, I walk back toward the center of town, thinking along the way about a point of interest I might set as my destination that afternoon.

One day I just happen upon the bustling fresh produce market, a ramshackle assortment of impermanent stalls peddling photogenic piles of fruits and vegetables. Some have umbrellas or tarps to keep the drizzle off. A few have tables, but most just lay out their goods on the ground in plastic bowls and bins.

Another day, I head up to Cerro Santa Cruz, a scenic overlook with wonderful views of the city with Volcan El Agua looming in the background. When I get there with Amanda, the volcano still hasn’t shed its hat of clouds, but we wait an hour or so, and finally we can see the whole classic, conical shape, right up to its dimpled crest.

    "Funny, it doesn't look very active to me,"
    she says. At that very instant, it erupts.

On our way down, Amanda catches a glimpse of what she thinks might be the other of Antigua's best known volcanoes, El Fuego, The Fire, which we've heard is active. "Funny, it doesn't look very active to me," she says. At that very instant, right when we're looking at it, it erupts. 

There's just the one thick, black plume, and soon it dissipates. I guess these brief emissions, maybe a couple every hour, are why El Fuego is not considered dangerous. Instead of building up true explosive power, it lets off steam gradually, in these "burps."

I easily take in the best-known photo ops around the city: the Santa Catalina Arch, La Iglesia de la Merced, the Colonial Art Museum, several colonial-era ruins, and of course Plaza Mayor, where a convivial blend of locals and visitors enjoy themselves and their loved ones, and vendors of everything under the sun deliver their best—often quite persistent—pitches.

(Throwing off my navigation for the first few days is the fact that the park, this obvious hub of city life, is not the nucleus of its street numbering system. “Central” Park lies at the intersection, not of First Avenue and First Street, but Fifth and Fifth.)

  Before we know it, we’re inside, tequila shots
  in hand, feeling like part of the family.

HAPPY HAPPENSTANCE
Wherever I travel I often stumble upon some of my most interesting and memorable experiences when I have absolutely no destination in mind, simply walking in any given direction until something catches my eye, ear or nose. In La Antigua these gems include off-the-beaten-path art workshops and studios; Santa Ana, a neighborhood sprinkled with very nice, high-end boutique hotels; serene inner courtyards; some nice restaurants; birthday parties, weddings and quinceañeras.

   

Another of my tricks for witnessing real life and connecting with the locals is to simply sit in one place and wait for the opportunities to come to me. Several vendors in Plaza Mayor, realizing after a few minutes of hard sell that I’m really not going to buy anything, strike up conversations with me, and soon we’re on a first-name basis.

By the way, I ask them and other Guatemalans—shop owners, tuk-tuk drivers, my teacher—what they think about the political situation. None of them can stand the current president. They support the protests, but say they’re resigned to living under a corrupt, oppressive government. I realize how lucky we are in the U.S. to still have—however tenuously—the apparatus to maintain free and fair elections.
 
THE INNER SANCTUM

One evening, as Amanda and I explore some back street, we happen past the open door to a tiny pub—by tiny I mean about the size of smallish bedroom. Inside, a group of locals—five or six men and one woman, all in their 30s—huddle around the bar, boisterously gabbing and laughing. They’ve obviously had a few.

One guy spots us in the doorway and cheerfully waves us in. Amanda, God bless her, is always up for an adventure. Before we know it, we’re inside, tequila shots in hand, feeling like part of the family. It’s one of those situations where it feels like my Spanish opens some doors. Everyone wants to know where we’re from, how we’re liking their country…and how I learned their language.

     The many dining options around town
     make the place feel more cosmopolitan
     than I’d expected.

MORE THAN RICE AND BEANS
My Guatemala dining experience spans many cuisines. My first night, too tired to be searching for a good dinner, I settle for the nearby Pollo Campero, Guatemala’s version of KFC. But, with big, tender, juicy pieces wrapped in a delicious, crispy, non-greasy coating, it turns out to be some of the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.

Other days I seek out restaurants touting comida típica—typical food. There I find those good old Central American staples, rice, beans, a few tidbits of meat and perhaps a few spears of grilled plantain. Unlike some of the neighboring countries, though, I find potatoes in or around many dishes (a blessing to one who--blasphemy alert--doesn't care for tortillas).

I also discover pepian, one of the oldest dishes in Guatemalan food heritage, borne out of the fusion of Spanish and Mayan cultures. It’s a savory soup/stew whose rich, complex broth reminds me a bit of Mexican moles. (I don’t know if there’s an etiquette for eating pepian, but the chunks of beef or chicken, carrot, squash and potato are so big I have to move them to the plate to cut them up.)

I find a nice paella at one restaurant, some Mexican-style chilaquiles at another, and a wonderful Japanese meal at a third. Still more dining options around town make the place feel more cosmopolitan than I’d expected.

On the other hand, the presence of many American fast food chains is a disappointment: Domino’s, Wendy’s, Subway, Starbuck’s…and, yes, McDonald’s. I have to avert my eyes to sustain the reality that I’m in another country nearly 3,000 miles away from home.

One of my favorite dinner places—and Amanda’s too—ends up being Hector’s Bistro, whose varied, international menu, superb food quality, excellent service and beautiful courtyard setting earn four visits.

I can’t talk about food without mentioning the sixth basic food group: coffee. Both Amanda and I note that most of the brewed java we’re served is nothing to rave about. I am, however, able to wrangle pretty decent lattes from a couple of shops. (I wonder if Guatemala, like Costa Rica, saves its best grades of coffee for export, leaving citizens with something less.)

(FOR PART III CLICK HERE)

(FOR SLIDE SHOW CLICK HERE)

GUATEMALA – Land of Eternal Spring…and Volcanoes – Part I

(PART ONE OF THREE PARTS)

It’s November and once again the cold and gray here in Minnesota, USA have rekindled the wanderlust. So I’m off to Guatemala—for no better reason than that I’ve heard it’s beautiful and I know several people who’ve been there—and loved it.

This region, much of it forested and lying at elevations above 5,000 feet, has an ideal, spring-like climate all year round. That’s why Guatemala’s known as “The Land of Eternal Spring.” And why it’s ideal for travel.

Oh, and I hear the way Guatemalans speak Spanish is relatively easy for a Spanish learner to understand.

You see I’m sticking to the tried-and-true format I’ve used for most of my Latin American adventures. I find what looks like a good language school; I sign up for a couple weeks of intense one-on-one classes; and then I see if I can find decent lodging and flights.

This affords me a ready-made home base, a circle of potential friends, and a focus for days that otherwise might overwhelm me with options.

An unexpected highlight of this trip is that my daughter, Amanda, has decided to fly down from Boston and join me for a week.

 I’m easily disoriented. Until I realize that
 El Agua, the most prominent of the volcanoes
 surrounding the city, lies due south.

POLITICAL INTRIGUE
As late as two weeks before I leave home, I’m unsure if it’s really wise to go. Not for concern with my and Amanda’s safety as much as with our ability to get around—even from the airport in Guatemala City to Antigua, the town where we’ll spend most of our time.

The problem is that, since last June’s general election in which the progressive, anti-corruption candidate for president easily prevailed and the sitting president seeks to invalidate the results, working Guatemalans, led by several well-organized indigenous groups, have been protesting by, among other tactics, setting up roadblocks around the country—as many as 70 at one time. 

Fortunately, one of my neighbors works for a local college’s international program, which sends student groups to Guatemala. She’s been able to get up-to-date, first-hand information, and informs me that the protest organizers, seeing that the current government plans to come down hard on them, has switched its focus from rural highways to Guatemala City’s government-buildings zone.

As it turns out, we encounter no protesting of any kind, anywhere we go.

GETTING MY BEARINGS
I arrive in Guatemala City just after dark in about as good shape as one could expect after a 12-hour day of travel. My destination—where my Spanish school is located—will be the former colonial capital, La Antigua Guatemala, a mile-high city of 50,000 surrounded by volcanoes just west of Guatemala City.

My ride, a private shuttle arranged by my Antigua hotel, is right where he said he’d be, and after nearly an hour in surprisingly slow traffic for that time of day, we pull up to my home for the next two weeks, the Posada de la Luna, a lovely, unpretentious little hotel with just seven rooms less than a mile from the town’s Plaza Mayor or central park.

(It’s nice arriving on a Friday, leaving me the whole weekend to explore and get oriented before my classes begin Monday morning.)

La Antigua, at least size-wise, is a wonderfully walkable town. Stroll about a mile in any direction and you’re in the suburbs. So, making Plaza Mayor the hub of my wanderings, I trace “spokes” out from there in the four cardinal directions.

At first, what with all there is to see and photograph, I’m easily disoriented. Until I realize that El Agua, the most prominent of the several volcanoes surrounding the city, lies due south. 

Speaking of the volcanoes, I’m disappointed not to actually see any of them in its entirety for the first four days of my visit. The rainy season here should be over by now, so I’d expected more sun. Locals explain that the cool (mid- to upper-60’s) temperatures, low cloud cover and frequent drizzles and mists are due to an unusual cold front affecting all of Central America.

    We walk to El Jardin, a botanical garden
    where all the school’s classes take place.

BREAK A LEG
As easy as it is to reach any corner of Antigua walking, that’s how treacherous the footing is. Every single street and many of the sidewalks are paved in cobblestones, and, with the frequent light precipitation, they’re wet. 

A tourist gawking and taking pictures on that terrain is a recipe for a turned-ankle disaster. So I’m constantly reminding myself: Want to look? Stop! Want to snap a photo? Stop! (Turns out that’s impossible, so it’s just pure dumb luck that I avoid a sprain.)

ANTIGUEÑA SPANISH ACADEMY
My first Monday of language school I head to the address where I think my classes will be held. Instead, I find a cramped little second-floor office with a line of about 50 Guatemalan women—and a few men—winding down the stairs and out to the street.

Turns out this is just the administrative office, and these are the teachers, waiting to be assigned their students for that week. I pay my tuition for the first week and then meet my teacher, Sheny. She takes me back down the stairs and we walk nearly a mile through the back streets of Antigua’s northwest corner to what they call El Jardin, The Garden, where all the school’s classes take place.

It’s kind of a small, enclosed park, a bit like a botanical garden. Not one with identified plant species, but it’s lush with tropical foliage and flowers: palms, bromeliads, orchids and other gorgeous flowers. And there are a couple of two-story buildings with broad, open-air, tile-floored galleries.

During breaks students and teachers gather in groups, stroll around the gardens or climb a spiral staircase to a rooftop terrace. There's also a snack bar.

Every Spanish school I’ve ever attended offered both group and individual classes. But every school in Guatemala, it seems, provides only one-on-one instruction. Also, those other schools have usually had somewhere between ten and 20 students. So I was surprised to find El Jardin’s buildings and paths lined with at least 60 card tables, a student and a teacher at each one.

Sheny is a fabulous teacher. By the time we get to El Jardin that first day, she’s already identified my weaknesses, and devises lessons and drills to nudge me closer to my goal of fluency…whatever that is.

We also hit it off personally, sharing loves for sports, Nature, pets and of course language. (She has several dogs, a couple of cats and a charismatic, blue-eyed tortoise named Tuguis.)

Sheny’s skill and easy manner make conversation quite easy, but four consecutive hours of one-on-one language learning is still exhausting. So, toward the end of each morning’s work, we unwind with a game of Scrabble—in Spanish, of course. I don’t mean to brag—okay, I actually do—but I beat her like six out of eight times! She says I have a good vocabulary.

(FOR PART II CLICK HERE)

(FOR SLIDE SHOW CLICK HERE)