Washing Clothes at the LakeYesterday we took a boat trip around the lake. We visited 3 villages, San Pedro La Laguna, Santiago Atitlan, and San Antonio Palopó. It was a very fun day but we still haven't had a clear view of the lake and the surrounding volcanoes. We've seen such awesome photos that we figured it always looked like that, with the volcanes rising from the land all around the lake. Alas! The lake and the volcanoes have been shrouded in fog since we arrived at the lake.
Our traveling companions were 2 fun young women from England who had just completed year long internships in New York, one with a law firm and the other with an investment banker. They are doing a Central America trip before returning to England and back to school. Our other companions were 3 delightful guys from the U.S. Two of them are young doctors from Buffalo, NY, and the other is a lawyer (from Philadelphia I think) who was a school friend of one of the docs. We had some good conversations. The doctors have promised us they will try to change the US medical system, but readily admit that they see the traps that lie in wait for all doctors who want to make changes. Neat guys.
All of the villages are much bigger than we had expected. I think the word village throws us off. Plus we have a hard time truly envisioning the result of rampant poverty and lack of birth control.
San Pedro was much bigger and more congested than we expected. The entire town is built on very steep hills up the side of the mountain. Envision, if you can, the road up to our house in Costa Rica. Then make it 2 or 3 times as steep, and you’ve got the roads in San Pedro. After walking up the first street, we quickly decided that a Tuk Tuk would be a good idea. We hired one to take us on a quick tour of the town and to show us where the Spanish schools were. There was a strong smell of garbage everywhere we went. A rather scrubby and dirty town, it struck us as not particularly interesting. It is a very poor town – poorer than we probably could have envisioned prior to our trip to Guatemala. We are getting over our gringo preconceptions of “charm.” We passed the requisite Catholic church and the diminutive market and found neither to be interesting. San Pedro these days is known as the bohemian center of Guatemala, catering to a young, mainly European counterculture. It is also reputed to have some of the cheapest accommodations in Latin America, as well as inexpensive language schools. We did indeed see a couple of very nice hotels for amazingly low prices ($9 to 13 US) – with lake views, no less. We have had several people along the way tell us what a great little town it is. We don’t get it.
The next village, Santiago, had a substantial market area near the docks with some incredibly beautiful woven things with patterns we had not seen elsewhere. I would like to return another day to do some shopping (yeah, I know, where would I put it in the backpack?) and to take some photos of the amazingly colorful traditional traje, worn by both men and women. This town also was very hilly, but not as steep as San Pedro. Nevertheless, we wisely elected to hire a Tuk Tuk again to take us to the home of Maximón, the evil saint (more on him later when I have time to write more). In verification of one of my rules of travel regarding not taking many fluids, I decided I didn’t really have to use the bathroom after checking out the public facility. You’ll be grateful, I know that I am not going to discuss that particular issue further. But don’t drink too much, always carry toilet paper, wet wipes and antibacterial hand rub with you. I know you’re all saying that advice doesn’t sound like Laurie, and you are right. That’s exactly the point. I wouldn’t give that sort of advice unless it were really needed. So then I decided to try one of my favorite things, a tamal, from a vendor on the foot path. It was my own stupid fault. I could see that the banana leaf was too green and that this stuff had not been cooked. I could also see that it was cold. I also knew that when I asked the woman if it was a tamal, she sort of said yes, but she also gave me one of those paragraphs of explanation. Well, anyhow, it’s biodegradable, we said as we threw it overboard. I really do not know what it was, but it looked like some sort of very dead red meat with a cup of blood poured over it. I hope I didn’t kill any fish.
Our last village was San Antonio. There really was absolutely nothing here that would interest a traveler, in my opinion. All the houses were perched precariously on the side of the mountain. Of course they are built of concrete block and any other material that can be found. To describe them as concrete block really isn’t right. They are shacks that people in other countries would not use to house farm animals. Very ugly. I am being blunt here to make my point. The level of existence of most of the indigenous Maya people is hard to fathom.
We had 45 minutes to see the “town” so we stopped at the “café” for a bite to eat. But they didn’t have any food to offer. So we ordered liquados. I didn’t realize when I asked for a banano liquado that they would run down the street to get some bananas to make it with. So the rest of the group sat at the table waiting for a chance to place an order. San Antonio apparently is the green onion capital. There were whole groups of women and children on the side of the road sorting and bunching the onions, which presumably were to be shipped off to market somewhere. Picturesque? I guess so, but not a job many of us would want. Jeff, one of the doctors, is one of those great guys you meet in life who cannot say No. He also speaks absolutely NO Spanish. He wandered off from the café and when it was time to get back to the boat, we realized he had disappeared. When he Women Sorting Onions didn’t show up in a few minutes we all became worried that he had got lost in the maize of the village and couldn’t ask directions to get out! After 10 minutes or so, he showed up, his arms full of fabrics, saying “I didn’t really want to buy anything!” Turned out that he had asked some woman where he could find a bathroom. She said he could use the bathroom in her home if he would buy the bundle of weavings from her for 200 quetzales ($26 or so). The toilet, he said, was a hole in the floor of the dirt floor of the house, but it had toilet paper, and that was all that he asked! “Anyhow,” he said, “I told my mom I’d bring her some fabrics!”
On the way back on the boat, we noticed how many mansion sized houses there are along the waterfront, not in the Maya villages, of course, but out in their own isolated paradises. There’s the 3rd world and then there’s the rest…
Our traveling companions were 2 fun young women from England who had just completed year long internships in New York, one with a law firm and the other with an investment banker. They are doing a Central America trip before returning to England and back to school. Our other companions were 3 delightful guys from the U.S. Two of them are young doctors from Buffalo, NY, and the other is a lawyer (from Philadelphia I think) who was a school friend of one of the docs. We had some good conversations. The doctors have promised us they will try to change the US medical system, but readily admit that they see the traps that lie in wait for all doctors who want to make changes. Neat guys.
All of the villages are much bigger than we had expected. I think the word village throws us off. Plus we have a hard time truly envisioning the result of rampant poverty and lack of birth control.
San Pedro was much bigger and more congested than we expected. The entire town is built on very steep hills up the side of the mountain. Envision, if you can, the road up to our house in Costa Rica. Then make it 2 or 3 times as steep, and you’ve got the roads in San Pedro. After walking up the first street, we quickly decided that a Tuk Tuk would be a good idea. We hired one to take us on a quick tour of the town and to show us where the Spanish schools were. There was a strong smell of garbage everywhere we went. A rather scrubby and dirty town, it struck us as not particularly interesting. It is a very poor town – poorer than we probably could have envisioned prior to our trip to Guatemala. We are getting over our gringo preconceptions of “charm.” We passed the requisite Catholic church and the diminutive market and found neither to be interesting. San Pedro these days is known as the bohemian center of Guatemala, catering to a young, mainly European counterculture. It is also reputed to have some of the cheapest accommodations in Latin America, as well as inexpensive language schools. We did indeed see a couple of very nice hotels for amazingly low prices ($9 to 13 US) – with lake views, no less. We have had several people along the way tell us what a great little town it is. We don’t get it.
The next village, Santiago, had a substantial market area near the docks with some incredibly beautiful woven things with patterns we had not seen elsewhere. I would like to return another day to do some shopping (yeah, I know, where would I put it in the backpack?) and to take some photos of the amazingly colorful traditional traje, worn by both men and women. This town also was very hilly, but not as steep as San Pedro. Nevertheless, we wisely elected to hire a Tuk Tuk again to take us to the home of Maximón, the evil saint (more on him later when I have time to write more). In verification of one of my rules of travel regarding not taking many fluids, I decided I didn’t really have to use the bathroom after checking out the public facility. You’ll be grateful, I know that I am not going to discuss that particular issue further. But don’t drink too much, always carry toilet paper, wet wipes and antibacterial hand rub with you. I know you’re all saying that advice doesn’t sound like Laurie, and you are right. That’s exactly the point. I wouldn’t give that sort of advice unless it were really needed. So then I decided to try one of my favorite things, a tamal, from a vendor on the foot path. It was my own stupid fault. I could see that the banana leaf was too green and that this stuff had not been cooked. I could also see that it was cold. I also knew that when I asked the woman if it was a tamal, she sort of said yes, but she also gave me one of those paragraphs of explanation. Well, anyhow, it’s biodegradable, we said as we threw it overboard. I really do not know what it was, but it looked like some sort of very dead red meat with a cup of blood poured over it. I hope I didn’t kill any fish.
Our last village was San Antonio. There really was absolutely nothing here that would interest a traveler, in my opinion. All the houses were perched precariously on the side of the mountain. Of course they are built of concrete block and any other material that can be found. To describe them as concrete block really isn’t right. They are shacks that people in other countries would not use to house farm animals. Very ugly. I am being blunt here to make my point. The level of existence of most of the indigenous Maya people is hard to fathom.
We had 45 minutes to see the “town” so we stopped at the “café” for a bite to eat. But they didn’t have any food to offer. So we ordered liquados. I didn’t realize when I asked for a banano liquado that they would run down the street to get some bananas to make it with. So the rest of the group sat at the table waiting for a chance to place an order. San Antonio apparently is the green onion capital. There were whole groups of women and children on the side of the road sorting and bunching the onions, which presumably were to be shipped off to market somewhere. Picturesque? I guess so, but not a job many of us would want. Jeff, one of the doctors, is one of those great guys you meet in life who cannot say No. He also speaks absolutely NO Spanish. He wandered off from the café and when it was time to get back to the boat, we realized he had disappeared. When he Women Sorting Onions didn’t show up in a few minutes we all became worried that he had got lost in the maize of the village and couldn’t ask directions to get out! After 10 minutes or so, he showed up, his arms full of fabrics, saying “I didn’t really want to buy anything!” Turned out that he had asked some woman where he could find a bathroom. She said he could use the bathroom in her home if he would buy the bundle of weavings from her for 200 quetzales ($26 or so). The toilet, he said, was a hole in the floor of the dirt floor of the house, but it had toilet paper, and that was all that he asked! “Anyhow,” he said, “I told my mom I’d bring her some fabrics!”
On the way back on the boat, we noticed how many mansion sized houses there are along the waterfront, not in the Maya villages, of course, but out in their own isolated paradises. There’s the 3rd world and then there’s the rest…
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