BLISS IS SPELLED “A-T-I-T-L-A-N”

 

I am sitting in a waterside café in Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, staring at three volcanoes (one of them steaming) ringing a bluest of blue lakes that reminds me of Crater Lake in Oregon.  Surely this is one of the greatest sights in the world.  I am armed with a huge beer, and a caipirinha (Brazilian national drink, made of cane sugar – just wrote a little ode about this wonderful bebida a couple days ago) and a plate of ceviche.  It is my favorite drink, when not imbibing the new elixir of choice, The Hemingway Daiquiri (sans sugar).  Ambition does not move me.  I have no desire for once to “see it all and do it all.”  The site – and the moment, well past the time darkness falls – are perfect unto themselves.

 

A good portion of my day is taken up exploring the primary commercial street around the corner from my hotel, Avenida Santander.  It is perhaps a mile to the embarcadero or boat harbor that takes both locals and tourists to the small village enclaves that surround the lake.  The locals away from Panajachel are dependent primarily on fishing to make a living, harvesting both fish and freshwater crab from the lake.  They are also skilled farmers, cultivating on very vertical and at times remote plots corn, coffee, beans, onions, potatoes, oranges, avocados, pitayas, and bananas.  They also grow flowers, maguey and rule (or cactus).

 

Many of these villages (which have changed very little over the centuries) are only accessible by water taxi.  Traditional Mayan life prevails here.  Some of these outposts have no electricity, and no water.  At night, most stand out though on the opposite shore like firefly clusters, with the dark brooding hulk of the three volcanoes – Atitlan, the tallest at 3535 meters, adjacent Toliman at 3158 meters, and nearby Volcan San Pedro at 3020 meters – forming a contrasting backdrop.

 

Several theories arise as to how the lake was formed.  One is that as the three volcanoes grew, their mass blocked local rivers and turned the basin they flowed through into a 1000 foot deep lake.  The more prevailing view is that molten lava eruptions in the Pliocene era spread widely and then cooled, leaving a vast circular depression of approximately 140 square miles and nearly ten miles in diameter.  The level of the lake has risen and fallen about twenty five feet in recent years, a number attributed by some to vast deforestation in nearby ecosystems.

 

Avendia Santander  has every imaginable item available on the tourist circuit.  I am particularly interested in the hand-crafted shirts, leather goods, and Guatemalan food.  But plenty of American, Mexican, and European dishes are available also.  Whatever you want is available in Atitlan.  Including drugs.  I am offered marijuana or whatever I want” eight times within 15 minutes down by the waterfront.  It is easy to laugh off.  Especially when two adjacent buds offering buds, are oblivious of each other and as if in echo mode offer up within seconds of each other: “So you want some weed, man?”

 

While I never tire of the variety of goods available and do not mind seeing them over and over, what does become tiresome is the constant in-your-face near assault from local vendadores pushing worthless trinkets at you while waiting to eat, have a drink, or sidewalk browse.  The language is always the same.  “Something special, Meester?  I have good price for you.  But only for right now.”  It is the catechism of the streetwalking peddler.  One woman who would not take no for an answer and actually leaned into my table and then plate during dinner, nearly got a cross-body block and her oranges dumped into the ocean.  Luckily, cooler heads (the waiter) prevailed.

 

Dinner is taken late with Andrew at a restaurant featuring Guatemalan highland flute players.  During the meal, he regales me with tales of previous visits to Atitlan.  On one of those occasions, he went into business with another fellow at a combination disco bar and nightclub.  He eventually left to return to Mexico when his partner threw an all night rave, everybody got stoned, nobody ordered food or drinks, and their building  was trashed.  Later, his partner went into drug distribution, and then became … of course … a priest.

 

My second full-day on the Lake is spent exploring surrounding villages.  First geographically is Santa Catarina Polopo, a small settlement four kilometers away by tuk-tuk three-wheeled motorcycle taxi (which only costs ten quetzales).  The primary industry here seems to be female crafted and merchandised indigo huipice tunics often seen around the lake.  Five kilometers further on, is San Antonio Palopo.  Here pottery is the specialty.  Traditional Mayan clothing is worn in both villages.

 

The streets are steep, rough, largely cobbled, dusty and it is hard to imagine the homes can actually conform to the slopes here without collapsing.  Most are not made with re-bar metal reinforcement.  All around, the casual visitor sees fish drying in the sun, scallions being cleaned, corn being shucked and turned into tortilla meal, weaving looms, and industrious women much in evidence.  The men are largely not in evidence, except for the local potter.

 

The children do not appear to attend school much.  Many of them are on the street, selling and promoting.  They do this from a very early age.  Some of them are very, very good at it.  One young man latches on to me and guides me to the uphill pottery barn.  I hand him a coin.  Within seconds, about ten other street urchins surround me out of nowhere, looking for some obsequious chore to perform or for a pure handout.  I gladly hand out the coins, and can barely escape later in my tuk-tuk with the weight of collective children holding the small taxi back.  For awhile at least, I am indeed the Pied Piper of San Antonio Palopo.

 

A third village – Santa Cruz – is visited shortly afterward by water taxi from Panajachel.  Upon arrival, it is a long walk up a very steep road to the village itself.  To say that this rather primitive settlement is steep, is like saying “Everest is large.”  Given the exertion required to get around locally, there are no fat children or adults to be found here.   I delight in watching a number of very young boys play soccer with an undersized plastic ball, flip flops, or bare feet on a concrete platform adjacent to the local church. 

 

Just slightly down the hill is a most unusual restaurant called Café Sabor Crucerno.  It is both a vocational cooking school, and weaving class to enable young men and women to attain life skills that might help them earn and then keep jobs with sustainable incomes.  The view straight across to the twin volcanoes of Atitlan and Toliman is awe inspiring.  Even better is the food.  It is the finest meal I have had so far in over 24 days on the road, be it Mexican, Cuban, Belizean, or Guatemalan.  And based on previous descriptions here, that says a lot.

 

My selection consists of two typical dishes of Guatemala.  The first is Pepian con tortillas – a stew of vegetables, ground seeds, cacao, chiles and spices, served with chicken.  It is followed by three tostadas – three crisp friend tortilla shells, mounded with black beans, hard cheese, salsa, and mixed organic salad with a vinegar based dressing.

 

Dinner finds me along the waterfront snacking only on guacamole and the usual caipirinhas.  Or an occasional daiquiri.  I am awaiting the sunset.  Once arrived, it is most disappointing.  But as Ron Popile used to say about his famous Pocket Fisherman, “Wait … there’s more!”  The greater time that elapses between disappearance of the sun behind the volcanoes, the better it gets.  Suddenly the whole sky is crimson and orange and blackened smoke like hard-core diesel exhaust and magenta and slices of powder blue.  It appears as if flames are tearing at you from some distant forest fire, and the lead tendrils beckon menacingly from behind the volcanoes.  It is one of the most unusual sunsets I have ever seen.

 

Andrew lends his enjoyable company afterward for drinks at a crooner’s bar simply known as “Circus Bar.”  It is happily populated by locals, many of them musicians taking turns watching fellow musicians perform.  I listen to a trio of Spanish guitar players, and then an Italian Argentine woman who had lived for awhile in Germany who wore a spotted cowskin jacket sing in both English and Spanish.  This is a great way to spend the evening, when one can’t sightsee, is tired of blogging, and wants to expand their cultural awareness.

 

My third and final day in Panajachel and Lago Atitlan begins with an early tour of the villages on the far side of the lake.  These include San Marcos La Laguna, San Juan La Laguna, San Pedro, and Santiago.  We are promised one and one-half hours at each village between stops, but because of a late start and then chop on the lake making transit time slower than anticipated, our time at each is cut short.

 

Only 45 minutes is allowed for San Marcos, with its population of 3000 people.  This little burgh has the reputation of being a “hippie community.”  It is also the prettiest of the four villages visited this day.  There is rumored to be much spiritual energy present, and many alternative healing practitioners make their homes and offices here.  I notice the local school is of excellent quality (and actually has children in attendance), and the local church is made of modern stone and protected against earthquakes which have devastated so many of Guatemala’s historic churches.  But really, only half an hour is needed to get a fairly representative look at this spot.

 

San Juan is my favorite village.  It is a mini-model of places like Cuzco, Merida, and Old San Juan in Puerto Rico.  Which is to say, clean, every cobblestone in place, trash is not allowed, the citizens are friendly, and the buildings are mostly colorful.  Both a women’s weaving co-op and a coffee co-op operate here and dominate the local economy.

 

While the women’s group provides a free tour and explanation of their beautifully crafted products, the male coffee guides manipulate tourists into paying a fee for their visit, and add insult to injury by inferring samples are free – then charge 15 quetzales for tasting.  I had already taken in hand a pound of local coffee and paid for it, but upon finding the deceitful charge for samples being added to my bill, demanded a refund and left the coffee behind.

 

San Pedro and its population of 10,000 is supposed to be the beauty setting on the opposite side of the lake.  I did not find it so.  I found the town steep, dirty, crowded, less traditional in its Mayan influences than the other more authentic shoreline habitations on Atitlan, and full of largely cheap and useless products.  It does however have an attractive central farmers market which showcases local agricultural products daily.  It also offers an excellent base for hiking Volcan San Pedro.

 

Final stop of the day before returning to Panajachel is Santiago.  It is located on a narrow lagoon, flanked by San Pedro on one side, and Toliman and Atitlan on the other.  This seems to be the largest and busiest of all the lake settlements after Panajachel, with over 15,000 inhabitants.  I am lucky to be present for its large public market on a Friday (also held Sundays).  This local display of elements of the Mayan culture is remarkable for its variety of food goods, huge quantities, lack of trash and lack of odor.