I wake up feeling settled inside.
Every day here, at one point, I look at my roomie Sarah and say, "I am soooo happy!" And Sarah replies back, "I am sooo happy!"
When I get home I am going to say that more often.
"I am sooooo happy!"
Today is for me!
We--Sarah, Margaurite, Joe, Marg and I take the ferry (which is really just an old boat with benches for seats) across Lake Atitlan to Panajachel. Sarah and Joe have plans to go paragliding. They have called a guide and he will meet them at the dock at noon. It is 9am when we climb into the boat. It is filled to capacity and beyond with a mixed motley crew of gringos (us), traditionally-attired women, a dog, and a relocated American restrauteur sporting army shorts and a pony tail.
Panajachel is the busiest and most built up of the lakeside settlements with a population hovering around 20,000.
Let's start from the beginning.
Boarding the "ferry" is an unceremonious challenge. It is more a climb down that a step in or a hop up. I amaze myself. I am almost agile in the way I sneak my body,head down and numb leg first, over a bench and past the seated folks who stare forward and move to the side only ever so slightly. (In my brain I am repeating over and over, "You can do this! You can do this!")
Margaurite is sitting in front of me, next to Mr. Ponytail. In no particular order, here is the local gossip Mr. Ponytail shares with ourinquisitive but friendly Margaurite:
1.The water level in The Lake is a good 10 feet higher than last year, a precarious position to be in considering that this is the end of the dry season and the start of the rainy season is only weeks away.
2. Guatemala is overdo for an earthquake. This is the calm before the storm.
3. The white elephant spotted from the shore, on the left as we approach Panajachel, is the definition of stupidity. "The next earthquake will take care of that," he says while pointing to the most ludicous of sights --three towers on the edge of The Lake. (A more out of place picture I've rarely seen. Apparently, only one tower has ever been opened and its occupancy rate is about five percent. Guatemala doesn't have anywhere near the tourist draw that would be needed to make a place like that profitable. To attract average tourists this country would need to do some serious road upgrading, clean up the mounds of garbage, deal with the drinking water issue and fix the plumbing problems.)
I need a teensy weensy bit of help off the boat, up onto the dock. (It was high up for this old body! Margaurite did it without assistence and she's only a slight 15 years my senior, but who's counting)
We stroll towards the centre of the village. Narrow sidewalks, cobblestone roads and tienda's behind bars selling pop and junk food make it look like so many of the other villages we have been in. There are lots of Tuk Tuk's. Everyone uses them. But we walk to get a feel for the place. And because Sarah is looking for an ATM. The closer we get to the action the worst the air quality becomes. Guatemalan's like to stop their cars and leave them running. The exhaust from the chicken buses is black. Coming to Guatemala with any type of serious respitory issue-- even to lakeside villages like San Pedro, San Jaun, San Marcos or Panajchel -- might require a sobre second thought.
The ATM we find is a "Cajero 5B". I stand guard while Sarah has a look. ATM's in this country are in little rooms with doors. They might be next to a bank but are rarely in the bank. Banks have armed guards. The guards check you out as you enter. We have been warned to avoid 5B machines because they are often the target of thieves. This one has obviously been tampered with. So we do what all good Canadians do when faced with making a decision...we go across the street to a very civilized looking coffee shop.
The Coffee Shop is a big room with a bookstore called Bus Station Books. I haven't a clue why that name. It wasn't a bus station. And I suppose I will never know because it was closed. Sarah and Marg order coffee. It takes a while to get because the place is really busy with folks having breakfast it seems. Most of the pattrons appear to speak English of one form or another. The two women sitting on wicker chair arrangement next to me are likely American. Marg's guy at the bar is from Texas. The guy I speak to outside in front is from New Zealand. Across from us I hear snippets of the witty banter between a couple that are likely from the UK. Travel is like that. Lots of different people from all over the world having similar experiences at the same time.
Today our experience...this morning at least...is in the colourful village of Panjachel.
It doesn't take long before a pausy of shoe shine boys enters. They can sniff out gringos. And the word gringo in Guatemala is synonomus with money. They walk in peering at shoes. If you are wearing a pair that might hold a lick of polish they are on you like flies to raw meat. Thankfully, men are more often targets.
But we're not off the hook. The old lady and child hawkers are only minutes behind. I say "no gracies" to the old lady. Marg, on the other hand wants to take her pic so she asks the woman. No stranger to this game the old lady requests 5Q for the photo op. Marg pays and gets a pic. I try to sneak in on the deal (shameful, I know) but don't succeed.
I have to contend with a young man who has scarves and braided bracelets to sell. It's the same stuff we have been approaced to buy every day. I feel for this kid though. It is early Saturday morning and he is out on the street approaching tourists trying to make a buck. I figure he is about 11 years old. He tells me that he goes to school and is in grade six. Marg has a theory that they all say they are in grade six. Turns out this kid is 16 years old. I buy two bracelets and give him a few extra Q. He lets me take his pic.
There are way too many disco bars here. It's a flashback to Hull in the early 80's!
We see Mr. Ponytail working behind a big square open air bar. He's doing a BBQ. People are beginning to trickle in with hungry looks in their eyes. We don't have time or the inclination to eat his meat. Afterall, we know that his food came across The Lake in coolers...becuase we were sitting next to them.
We take lots of pics. In fact, we stumble upon a wedding about to start. We also find a grocery-type store run by a British woman that promises "all the things you miss from home". There must be a lot of relocated Americans etc here. We wander the isles. I buy four oatmeal/raisin/molassas cookies that the British lady tells me are baked fresh every day...oh, and a cinniman bun. This food seems "safe" and "safe" food is not always easy to come by.
Marg and I make it to the boat just as it is readying to depart the dock.A handsome young backpacker from San Fransisco offers me his hand as I, even more confidently than before, hop over one bench to get to another further back. He is a Spanish major and a restaurant manager back home. This is more of a week getaway than an extended adventure. He is going to Santa Cruz to take in some sort of celebration scheduled for the evening.
We, on the other hand, are headed to Jaibalito. Well, not the Jaibalito dock. Our stop is the private dock owned by La Casa del Mundo Hotel.
And here is where I fall in love!
No, not with a man! (I've nearly given up on that.) I fall in love with a place; this place drizzling with old world charm and new world personality, with Latin flavour and an international vibe. I fall in love with the possibility of relaxation. Here is where I give myself permission to stop working and thinking. I enjoy.
Margaurite knows this place because she stayed here a few years ago. She has been talking about it, trying to describe it. I figured I would tag along and see what all the fuss was about. She's travelled the world and has high standards so I knew that any place she raves about would have to be pretty special.
At Casa del Mundo I eat lavishly simple. I climb a man-made rock face, steps meandering sideways and upwards to a heavenly view. I occupy my first-ever hammock next to the water, near the sun but out of it. I sleep. I eat homemade Guatemalan chocolate. I sleep.
I am at peace on the boat ride home around 5pm. Even squishing my baby finger between the boat and the dock doesn't take the glow off the day.
Amen!
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