Exploring San Pedro

Why do we travel?  Another sola woman and I were talking about how many folks ask:  "What are you going to DO there?"  (Usually followed by some version of "That is so brave/ Aren't you afraid?")  The answer to what do you DO is:  the same thing you do at home. Eat. Sleep.  Look.  Ponder. Do. Learn.  Notice.  Sit. Walk.  Think.

Sitting in the central park or wandering the town are some of my most favorite activities, especially because you never know what you are going to find. San Pedro is a town divided.  Along the waterfront are all the tourists, and all the tourist attractors (bars, hotels, activities, language schools).  Altho this part of town was pretty because it was near the lake, it was kind of boring to me (or cringe-worthy, watching gringos in teensy, skimpy outfits [Guatemalans dress conservatively] walking barefoot down the main street bellowing in English, often drunkenly).   The local folks all live uphill, centered around the traditional park.  A few tourists wandered this far, and none of the drunk ones (maybe the climb was too steep?  Or the bars too far away?)  My family lived just beyond the park.    The town is set on a very steep hill, so every day was a workout!

Lighting the City on Fire:  New Year's in San Pedro

So, I feel like I can attest that Guatemalans LOVE their bombas colores (fireworks--altho bombs would also be an apt description, as people seemed to especially love the big boomers).  It is socially acceptable / tolerated to set off bombas night or day, "day" being defined loosely, with 4 in the morning definitely included.  However, I have to say that if every citizen of every town along an entire lake buys bagfuls of fireworks and exuberantly sets them off at midnight, the display is out of this world!!!  Marblemount should really try this, given our paltry "city" display.  

I had plans to get up early for a volcano climb the next morning, and thought I might "cheat" as I sometimes do and just celebrate New Year's on the East Coast so I could go to bed earlier, but it hardly seemed worthwhile, what with the town armed to the teeth with explosives, so I stayed up.  Earlier in the day I'd had the traditional New Year's meal with my family (empanadas served in banana leaves, and a huge piece of cake!)  I wandered in the park and listened to the bands, until midnight seemed imminent.  I was slowly making my way back to my house as the clock ticked down, but I suddenly realized I needed to pick up the pace, as small, thoroughly unsupervised children were starting to fling firecrackers into the street, screeching with delight, and I thought I might be in danger of catching on fire or loosing my hearing, so I sped back to my gate.   

I joined my family in their top-floor room, with the window open.  We could see the entire town spread below us, and the towns all around the lake, too!  And every house, every town, every hillside, was bursting in color as explosive-happy citizens torched their stash.  Good thing for metal roofs! As the spectacle wound down, we had a moment of meditation / praying / wishing for the New Year [which for Felix and Francela poured out as a mix of Mayan and Spanish].  Then the family pulled out their own bag of firecrackers (naturally), and we all lit sparklers and threw mini-poppers until we had burned up everything we could. It was a great New Years, and probably the best fireworks display since the year Bonnie and I were in Times Square in New York City! 

View of town and lake beyond.  There is coffee drying just past the tops of the banana trees.

Luis and his coffee crop:  grading and drying your coffee!

This scene sums up a lot about local life in San Pedro:  Lots of Jesus signs ("Only Jesus can change your life"), lots of motos, and happy dogs.

A cat's life, San Pedro:  finding a rooftop lounge.  Each night there would be an incredible caterwauling that I could hear from my room.  It didn't keep me up, tho.  There is so much noise in Latin cities that if you can't sleep thru a cat fight you are doomed.

A chicken's life, San Pedro. Fresh to market, in their little baskets.

This wash station was right below my school, so I passed it every day. And every day there were women washing here. They use a lot of soap, which is obviously not good, and there is a good amount of detritus in the lake, but overall it is a pretty clean lake. Relatively speaking. 

Tuk-tuks lining the street, waiting for business.

The main park and cathedral at dusk.  Note the flank of Volcan San Pedro (which I later climbed) on the right of the pic. This park also had singing lights.  So I would be sitting there as the lights came on, and a tinny, electronic cacaphony of Christmas songs would emerge from the bushes.  It was really bizarre at first.  But by the end, I had gotten used to the singing lights, and it was almost like little friends greeting me each evening as the sun set. 

I'm not sure who this saint is, but I like the giant rooster standing there with him.

Color in the park.

Preparing for New Year's Eve festivities. These boys were all playing soccer on this basketball court that also serves as dance floor. Masked dancers were parading out, soon to perform while the band played.

More folks coming to watch the dancers, including the cotton candy man.  Note all the women in traditional Mayan dress--very common.  I love how they mix and match prints and stripes and colors.  

Waiting for action in the park.  I could tell folks were dressed up for New Year's because everyone had their fancy shoes on--like these girls next to me with their pretty sandals.  I could not tell  "dressy" Mayan clothing from "everyday' Mayan clothing--it all looked beautiful to me--but the shoes I could tell were the party shoes.

San Pedro La Laguna, Lake Atitlan

To San Pedro, Dec. 28 - Jan. 5

I took the tourist shuttle from Antigua, as I was not ready to face the infamous "chicken bus" (more on them later) just quite yet. The "faster, more comfortable" tourist shuttle is slow and uncomfortable enough.  We drove in circles, quite literally, through Antigua's busy Sunday streets, collecting tourists.  It was kind of like the scene from National Lampoon's European Vacation where they go round and round past Big Ben (linked to here for your viewing pleasure).  Only for us it was the Yellow Church, which was only 2 blocks from my hotel to begin with.  Like Chevy Chase in the movie, the only thing you can do is laugh. Actually, I was struck by what a tolerant group of people "off the beaten path" travellers tend to be.  High maintenance folks would not last long around here.  Anyway, we finally found the last flustered couple (who undoubtedly thought they were being left behind... more on that later, too), and then we were off!  Like a herd of turtles, as Dad would say. 

The 3 hour drive (not counting the 1.5 hours circling Antigua) was mostly uneventful, until we finally crept over the caldera wall that bounds Lake Atitlan and began to inch our way downhill.  Dusk was falling.  Lonely roads at dusk are generally something one wants to avoid in Guatemala. We passed a police truck sitting mid-hill, several officers idling around it.  Police are also something you generally want to avoid in Guatemala. Our driver gave a friendly toot, though, and later we passed another police truck and did the same thing. Like we were saying, "yup, this tourist van made it through, thanks!"  Finally we could see lights below us, and the gray outlines of the lake in the dimming light. But it was dark when we finally rumbled onto the main street of town and we all tumbled out of the van onto the festering main street of San Pedro.  Fortunately my school was close by, and I found it with only 3 asks (walking around new cities in the dark also being a non-recommended activity!!).  My host family father Felix was patiently waiting for me at the school, bless him. He promptly put me in a tuk-tuk (motor scooter with a covered, double-wide back seat), gave the driver directions and sent me off!  The tuk-tuk labored straight up hill, away from the lake and its tourist masses, up little side streets, until we stopped at an alley way,  and Francela and Felix Jr. were magically standing there to welcome me.   Later that night as Felix was giving me the tour, I asked if anyone else lived there. Felix said no, just us four:  Felix, Francela, Junior, and me!  Home at last!

My room, carefully decorated with about six crosses of various size and vintage, one Jesus picture, and a saint of some kind. Did I mention San Pedro is a very religious town?

In an unusual twist, Felix and Francela shared the cooking. Felix Jr. also liked to cook, and would blend up the lunch-time juice (pineapple today) or scramble the eggs.  He is 11 and a good kid.  One night he made us all a special hot beverage made from plantains and cinnamon, so that I could sample it.  It was quite good!  Note the two stoves--Francela is at the traditional wood stove, which is very common here. It has a steel-plate top where one can cook tortillas, as she is doing now, and more.  We had fresh tortillas at every dinner and lunch.  My family also has a gas stove, which Felix estimated about 2-3 homes in 10 might have.  Also notice there is no:  fridge (downstairs in the entry room), sink (also downstairs) or pantry.  There is some food on the shelves there, but that was it. I think it's just so easy to pick up whatever you need for the day from a market stall or street vendor, that they just do not "store" food the way we do. 

Family dining--we always ate lunch and dinner together. Felix would make me breakfast and sit with me while I ate.  Note how my plate has the most food.  I'm not particularly tall, but I did stand about a head over Felix, and more over Francela, and I have to say I was hungry and always ate all they gave me!  They did not eat much meat themselves, so we all ate the same meals, except one lunch when Francela made chicken soup.  This was quite clear because there were chicken feet in Francela's bowl.  And she was eating the skin off them.  I was quite happy to be eating my tortillas, thank you. 

The sink set up fascinated me. There is a cistern under the stairs, where they get water twice a week or so (pumped to the whole town from the lake). Then they use a series of bowls to dip clean water from the cistern and wash, brush teeth, etc over the sink and drain side.

Felix and Francela both are artists by vocation. They paint in the traditional style of the region, which are unique views from above of traditional scenes (such as coffee fields, the market, flower picking etc, but all from a bird's -eye view).  Felix is posing for me--he does not normally paint 14 paintings at once!

Close up of two of Felix's paintings. The one on the left is two women picking coffee, one has the bowl of coffee beans on her head.  See her hands?  The other is two women picking calla lilies--which do grow all around this area. 

My school was a 10 minute walk straight downhill in the morning, to this lakefront setting. The school had 5 levels, and my study area was on the top, with a lovely lake view. 

My young teacher Eduardo.  He did a good job, and I liked him.  He had a bird book that a former student had left with him, and one day I brought down my binoculars to share, and he was so pleased. He also liked to run on the paths around town, and play soccer with his friends.  His family lived right behind the school, and one day we went for a walk during class and I got to meet some of them.  Family does not stray far.  Eduardo had aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews, all clustered in the same set of houses. 

Break time!  About when you thought your head was going to pop off if another new verb was introduced, there was a mid-morning break with real coffee and some kind of treat.  The teachers (always the women) brought up the food and gabbled loudly [usually in Mayan] while we rejuvenated.  This is Martin, a vet from England on an extended leave, travelling slowly thru Central America,  studying Spanish along the way. We got along splendidly, as we quickly discovered that most of our fellow students and indeed the vast majority of the tourists in town were here for the partying, easy drugs, cheap beer, and general buffoonery.  Martin and I actually liked to hike, and do things around the area! 

Lake view from the school.  The swarm of boats you see is one of two main town docks.  There are many small towns dotting the shore of Lake Atitlan, as you can see across the lake, and a little army of small boats connect the towns with frequent shuttle service.  It also makes for a nice excursion.

    

Lessons from Acatenango

Acatenango Part 1:  What Just Happened?

 Climbing one of the volcanoes near Antigua was one of the attractions of visiting this area, and indeed of the Guatemalan highlands in general.  I was here in the days right after Christmas, so things were busy and all of my top choice companies for climbing trips were booked.  When my helpful hotel travel agency found a willing seller on the other end of the phone line, I happily signed up with who-knows-who and figured what the heck, it's all the same volcano, eh?

These trips all start early. Yesterday at this time I was asleep in WA, now at 345 I am wide awake and waiting at my hostel with my hotel guy (every place has a hotel guy at night), peering thru a little wooden hatch, listening for the inevitable rattle of tourist shuttle van tires on cobblestone.  We lurch off in the darkness, picking up two here, three there, until our little van is full.  I have to laugh when at one corner we nearly collide with another identical tourist shuttle, also careening from hotel to hotel--the only rigs out at this hour! With a van full of Aussies, several Americans, couple of Canadians and two Costa Ricans, we head out of town, merengue playing on the radio. The drive is at least an hour and a half, up windy mountain roads, so we all drift off.

I awake as I feel the van stopping, now turning around mid-street:  oh great, lost before we even get to the mountain!  It's still pitch black, and my breakfast sits waiting on my lap, for when we get closer to our start.  The van door slides open, and cold night mountain air rushes in.  In the darkness outside, we see two hooded and bundled men standing, and we hear dogs snarling and fighting in the darkness.  Who on earth are we picking up here?  My mind is not registering, even as the driver is pointing at us to get out, go with these men, this is the start of our hike, we are getting out now, good-bye!  I barely have enough wits to take my breakfast bag with me, and then we are standing on the street, in a sort of town, maybe, but we can't tell, and the van is gone. The men gesture, and we immediately start hiking, stumbling.  It's straight up, and the soil is loose and slippery. A few of us have cell phones for lights, but otherwise our group of 10 is spread between the two men, feeling our way in the darkness.  We must be at 8000 feet and I feel it immediately, gasping as I stagger uphill, trying to follow the cell phone light of the Costa Rican man. In the darkness to our sides, dead corn leaves rattle against each other. The snarling dogs yip in the night, herding.

It totally feels like we have all just been kidnapped. 

Sunrise comes just as we are reaching the upper limits of the corn fields.

We enter the forest at last, where the trail gets easier mainly because it's not as loose and eroded.  We are cold as we hike and colder when we stop.  I manage to woof down 4 breakfast bananas during breaks. 

The sunshine, when we reach more than halfway up, is welcome indeed!  Here we've entered the third mountain zone, the pine forest,probably around 10,000 feet. The soil is loose granular pumice again, and the dust rises in billows from our herd of 10. Volcan Agua rises now to our south. 

The final summit push. We're above 12,000 feet now and our group is dropping back like flies.  One girl vomits, and cheerfully proclaims this to be the cure for altitude sickness. "You just have to vomit, then you feel much better."  One girl, who we've been waiting for constantly, ends  up fainting, and the guide short-ropes her for a while, but she's the only one who does not make it.  The rest--wildly unprepared but gung-ho--soldier upward thru this last and deepest pumice section.  I'm feeling surprising good.  Behind me comes the Costa Rican guy, who was probably the next best prepared (aka he had a jacket, water, hat etc.)  Some of the Aussies were wearing tank tops and shorts, no other layers, and carrying a one L water bottle. 

Summit panorama to the south, Volcan Agua with Antigua at its foot.  See our trail coming up the ridge on the left. The summit is a broad, shallow bowl, edged by the ancient caldera ring. 

At last!  Volcan Fuego to the west! This active volcano belches out black smoke and gas every 20 minutes or so, causing quite the spectacle. As we were ascending and could not yet see it, Fuego let out a tremendous blast that shook our mountain.  We are coming, Fuego, we are coming! 

Me and Volcan Agua behind.  From the summit we could see a line of volcanoes marching south, and in the other direction they extended north as well.  As I headed to Lake Atitlan and then Xela, I would essentially be following this line of volcanoes north. 

Good one, Fuego!

Me and an active volcano, standing at 13, 043 feet and the highest I have ever stood on this fair planet. 

The broad bowl of Acatenango's summit --you can even camp up here!  Note the horses and mule on the skyline:  a group of about 14 local  Guatemalans were packing up (via horse and human) the gear and equipment needed to leap from the summit in para- and hang-gliders. They were very nice, and it was one of these guys who took the nice summit photos of me.

Acatenango Part 2:  It's True What They Say

Yup, all's well that ends well.  We slid and slithered down the pumice cone, with much hullabaloo and falling.  But everyone was happy (OK, except the one woman who fainted and never made it to the top and we waited FOREVER for her on the way up and FOREVER for her on the way down and I have no idea why why she didn't turn around at, oh, 9000 feet and call it good).    Our two guides (who didn't speak a lick of English) got us up and down the volcano just fine, thank you, and with plenty of expertise.  I got to practice real-live wilderness medicine when one of the Aussie's slipped and torqued her shoulder just a bit, probably a minor strain, and I got to make a real-live actual sling and swath out of a sweatshirt, just like I learned at my Wilderness EMT class, when you have to improvise your medical supplies because you are so remote (or so unprepared)!

And yes, here is one of our little dog companions, who actually followed us all the way up, from van to summit and back again.  I think she was actually looking after us.

Waiting for our van to pick us up again at the end of the day. We all rested on this cement wall, shaking dirt and grit out of our shoes. Even the little dog was whooped.  I was so hungry when I got back to town.  I was first off the bus (bonus!).  I am certain I was showered, changed, and out the door to dinner before the last person was dropped off.  I had crepes at my favorite restaurant with the view of Acatenango, and a big ice cream to celebrate. 

The Charms of Antigua

Antigua is a fun city to stroll, despite the rough cobblestone streets.  Drivers move slowly, there are actually sidewalks, and best of all is the main pedestrian stroll, lined with markets, shops and eateries, that links the Yellow Church plaza to the main Parque Central, the heart of every Latin city.

Antigua's main pedestrian walkway.  Volcan Agua, hazy in the distance, dominates the town.

View from the Yellow Church plaza, toward Volcan Agua.

On Sundays the pedestrian thoroughfare fills with street performers, vendors, artists painting cityscapes or portraits, and folks selling everything from bubbles to foam toys, scarves,  jewelry, and fruit or sweets.

Colorful touches that add charm to the city.

Check 'em out, Dad! This street must be reserved for motorcycles, or motos as they are called here, which seem to be more popular  (and would be more affordable) than cars. Helmets optional.

Colorful Antigua buildings.

Bougainvillea, always a lovely city sight.

Vibrant mixed pinks of the bougainvillea.

Inside one of the handicraft markets in Antigua.  The market is divided into a myriad of small areas, each crammed full of colorful woven items and other fun stuff and staffed by eager vendors.  The first words you need to learn are "no gracias" and "solo mirando, gracias"  (no thanks, just looking thanks).

Common street commerce.  Sit on the church steps, see who walks by and needs a hackey sack.  Hey, you never know.

Fun story about the picture above,  a vendor scene on the church steps just off the main park.  I was lolling here watching the world go by, and I noticed that the woman in the white shirt (far left in pic) with the green bowl of sweets was not selling anything. And she looked out of place--nicely but impractically dressed in heels and print pants--and like she was not used to selling.  Small boys were passing by, yelling out their wares, selling doughnuts at a brisk clip, and she made nary a peep, and no sales.

First I felt bad for her.  Then I began to worry for her, as the day slowly ticked by and people filed out of the church, and no one bought anything. I pictured her starting the day, laboring over her little confections, dusting on cinammon and sprinkles, inserting the tiny spoons, with so much hope for her day's labors...  Maybe if I bought one, "seeded the pot" so to speak, others would see that her wares were going fast and they'd better get in on the action, no?  Like I could single-handedly launch her into small entrepreneurship!  I approached her and asked what she was selling, but this seemed to fluster her and me, and did not enlighten me as to her product.  No matter, I bought one anyway, dusted with canela (mainly because I know that word--cinnamon) for 5Q (about $0.65).  As I headed to the park to enjoy my treat, I brought the tiny spoon to my lips in anticipation and...Oh hideousness!  Oh inedible grossness!  It was a cup of pure, unadulterated marshmallow fluff, squirted into a plastic cup (splat!) and decorated with chemicals.  Purely disgusting!  I fake-ate until I thought I was far enough away to be well out of view, and then I hid it deep in a trash barrel, where I hoped even the opportunistic dogs would not be able to find it.  Two blocks later, I passed another woman, selling the exact same thing.  She was down to three cups left, and energetically calling out "merengue, merengue!" to the kids who passed by.   I was not tempted.  

This enterprising child darted over to stand in my photo and request a Quetzal for her services.  Who doesn't need a cute kid standing on their tapestry pictures, duh?  (Yes, I paid, 1Q= $ 0.13)

Detail of a wall hanging quilt I enjoyed.

View of the Parque Central and the main cathedral.

Guatemalan flag flying high over the Parque Central.

There was a lovely walk to a viewpoint of town. Looking down on the striking Yellow Church and it's attendant plaza.

Many of the old buildings in Antigua are in various stages of disrepair, after the numerous earthquakes, but the lovely Yellow Church is still in use and looking good.

This church, on the other hand, is not looking so great. Note how all the saints are missing their heads, and the columns don't line up!

You can see the cracks and attempts to repair them. This building is not in use, fortunately, but it still tells the city's story.

In further states of decline, but beautiful...

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One attraction of Antigua, but also a source of its past destruction, are the volcanoes that ring the city.
This is a view from Cerro de la Cruz, a hill above town.

Volcan Agua dominates town to the left.  On the right, you can see Volcan Feugo, which is active and puts up an impressive column of smoke every 20 minutes or so. Just to the right of that you can see Volcan Acatenango, which at 13,041 feet was the tallest of the three and the one that I climbed.

Watching the sun drop between Volcans Fuego and Acatenango, from my rooftop dinner place.  Note the double summit of Acatenango.  When I climbed, we reached that saddle after a long, pumice-y ascent.  It was another 45 minutes of "step up one, slide back half one" from there to the broad, football field of a summit.