MAYA-HO! _{Guatemala, Easter 2003}

Thursday 8 May 2003

We were the sole passengers on the Pana shuttle as we bid fast farewell to Xela, which looked no better leaving than arriving. Soon we were climbing the ridges back to Alaska, and the vertiginous countryside was indeed gorgeous - my fuzzy memory was correct. The piney wood hills gave way to tropical tundra; cumulous clusters brushed our feet and spotted the horizon. Then down again into now-familiar (and non-ominous) Sololá as its market throbbed, and into Pana again.

We'd opted for the Hotel Monterrey in a quiet nook near Gringotenango. Good choice. A slightly tatty 1950s-style motel wrapped around a sultry tropical garden on the shore of limpid Lake Atitlán, like a South Pacific lagoon but less humid and with zero mosquitoes. For a modest price we get a basic but adequate room on a veranda with deck chairs overlooking paradise. I reach off the porch and pluck a fresh lime for my drink as odd birds chide my brigandage. The mist starts to lift - yonder be volcanoes!

Feature-wise, the room is much like our tiny pentouse at Antigua's Posada La Merced, yet different. More space, better views (even from the bathroom). Fewer stairs, foreigners, bells, explosions. Less hot water. Note: must ask for better pillows, these are bricks.

The Monterrey looks to have been built as a *** (three-star) resort - glassed-in dining room surrounded by garden and lake, below a large meeting hall. Thatched shelters on that grassy verge below the now-wobbly tiled patio-dancefloor with its own thatched gazebo. A former snack bar on that verge next to massive stone steps leading to the beach and wobbly jetties. Palms, pines and citrus scattered about, and a double arch of Bougainvilla (4 colors).

The grounds are well-maintained but for the odd beer bottle lying about. A small investment in spiffing-up the place, and marketing it, and it would be a shining star again. But then we couldn't affort to stay a week here.

Thursday Afternoon

We strolled into Pana, browsed the vendors, hit InterNet cafes to do email and upload journal notes, buy some fresh baked refreshments and necessary fluids. And ran into familiar faces.

Here's Russ the Brit again, looking much happier and cooler than on that hot dusty day Sunday ride - he's been out on the Lake a couple days - San Marcos is great and quiet - now he's bound for a week in Antigua, then London. And Madama Doctora popped from her car - she and Maureen chatted about health. Later we re-encounter the Anglo-Yank expat Sandy (from our first day here) with her dogs and husband (nearly indistinguishable) - she invites us for a coffee chat sometime.

Then we went to Toliman Excursions to get a refund. Rufino (who'd made our reservations) called the rathouse owner, read him the riot act, and it was arranged that we'd have our money tomorrow. Ok. Sure.

Some more shop-browsing, then back to the Monterrey to stroll the gardens and sit on the grassy verge above the sandy lakeshore. Young boys fished from the jetty. The day's last northshore lanchas homed on the nearby docks, whacking painfully on the gusty chop. Twilight closed in like the end of an Impressionist movie, lacking only Debussy.

Thursday Evening

We lounged on the veranda again until a visiting kid ramped-up some bad music, then departed for dinner. Beyond the lobby we were intercepted by a Turk who spoke of California, health, and poisoned meat. On that note we strolled down the dark calle to the Hotel Dos Mundos' own Restaurante Lantera for a reasonable and tasty and authentic Italian dinner accompanied by real Italian arias. La dolce focking vita, eh?

Back on the veranda now, looking into the pitchblende night. Wafting in faintly, a slow Hawaiian guitar and Elvis:

Like the river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so it goes
Some things were meant to be...

The sky is clear, village lights visible across the lake, and large bonfires - at this distance, must be REAL infernos - maybe with naked hippies / NewAgers / savages dancing around them, eh? Whatever. G'night.

Friday 9 May 2003

Up early thanks to roosters. Volcano outlines visible through the haze. Hummingbirds flit around the lime trees; bigger, blacker birds hurl themselves from palm to palm. Maureen's hurling too, more noisily; bad lasagne last night? Good thing I had gnocchi with olives, parmesan and basil. We'd shared the salad - we'd had the same lunch - so if she's poisoned again (as she says) I blame the meat. Avoid food that isn't cooked RIGHT NOW.

We're finally able to drag over to Las Chinitas for a belated healing breakfast. Maureen's not feeling well enough to walk further so I cover the 100 yards to Toliman Excursions myself. Rufino sez 'problema' - now the Chichi rathhouse owner won't transfer funds but will pay me cash. In person. In Chichi. Go there, get the cash. Or a load of bullshit. Like I'm gonna leave Maureen alone for the day, sick. Right. Bite me. We'll talk more about this in the afternoon when the manager arrives.

I help Maureen stagger sickly back to the Monterrey, got her laid out. In our 4+ weeks in Guatemala she's felt good for just 6 days, 3 of which *I* was sick. Not a fun time. Now I'm on the shady verandah contemplating the vivid gardens, cerulian lake, faint volcanic outlines, and an uncertain future for travelling.

Friday Noonish etc

I roll down the Monterrey's steps to the playa, walk the lakefront, wander around Pana (details would be redundant). Hit a tienda for cerveza Gallo y slasa-verde Doritos, sat in the Monterrey's patio's thatched hut, contemplated the near and far distance. Then napped.

Mid-afternoon: Arose groggy, stumbled to Las Chinitas for a great espresso, talked with a couple of OLD GUATEMALA HANDS, bearded gringos. I Learnt a very little about farming and weather (see below) and the locals' fascination with bearded gringos. Turns out there's no sinister secret, just that Central American men have little body hair. So especially to folks down from the hills on market day, I'm just an object of humorous fascination, like I was walking around with an arrow through my head or something.

Agricultural factoid: most of Guatemala's huge avacado crop is not consumed as guacamole, but is exported to El Salvador for the manufacture of cosmetics.
Weather factoids: Before the onset of the now-delayed rainy season is the hottest time of year here; this highland mist comes from Pacific air, not from the Atlantic-Carib side.

Suitably recharged, I head to TolimanEx for my meet with el jefe Miguel. Not there. I stumble around Pana, do email, slurp a limonada con soda, then plant myself in front of a TolimanEx terminal, peer at the passing world, watch Rufino squirm.

Miguel appeared after 1 1/2 hours. He repeatedly tried and failed to contact the rathouse owner, listened to my story, told me I should write a book about the troubles. I said, that's exactly what I'm doing, posting a travel journal to the InterNet, telling readers of our experiences and interactions - and I haven't decided yet what to say about TolimanEx. Miguel said he'd shuttle to Chichi Sunday and try to collect the refund. We'll see.

Stop in at the Hotel Regis, cancel our reservation and pick up our stored bag - no charge. Really nice people here, and great room, but only views of garden, no lake. I tote the Mayan duffle back to the Monterrey, nearly blew a piston - it's heavy, my lungs suck, my legs are about worn out. I make it, after only a couple rest stops.

Evening: A long slow walk to Barrio Alto (old town Pana) for supplies for Maureen. Details would be redundant, but I should mention a little 3-wheel taxi covered with tiny flashing lights and big stickers of Che Guevéra and Tweety Pie - rebellious culture heroes here, no doubt.

Then to Guajimbos (Uruguyan paralladas cafe) for a nice tofu-cheezes-olives-veggies salad - they haven't poisoned me before, so here's hoping. Throw excess garlic bread to begging dogs who now adore me. (T-shirt at next table: good girls are bad girls who never get caught) Then stagger in for another session of exhaustive collapse, to catch Maureen finishing her tasty repast of instant oatmeal and warm tea. Sickness sucks. I try to sleep but my leg really hurts, I'm sweating, I keep twitching like a cricket on a hotplate. Some more Aguardiente and I'm out.

Saturday 10 May 2003

More chills and shakes during the night, I have to add a heavy cover although the night is temperate, even warm. In the morning my temp is 100.5°f but I feel cooler now (noonish). Last night's salad was good, hasn't poisoned me, only my lungs are clogged and my muscles are tired. Still don't wanna hear my symptoms? Tough. You'll be glad to know we're less flatulent.

This is definately a take-it-easy day. Up late, the air is warm, the lake is clear, we can see the San Pedro volcano and the village of San Pedro distinctly, 12 miles across the northshore. Lanchas head here and there, as do the raccuous birds. We're hungry.

We ambled to Las Chinitas for the usual, relaxed long in its tranquil garden plaza sipping our bebidos calientes and reading. A woman came in with a handful of printouts, news stories from today's NYTimes and WashPost online. IRAQ: Still no trace of either WMDs (weapons of mass destruction) or Saddam. ECONOMY: Still in the toilet. GUATEMALA: A project started 12 years ago to give homeless or destitute Guáte kids cameras is paying off richly with education, recognition, opportunity. I'll see what else is shaking when I go online to post these notes this evening.

We stagger slowly back to the Monterrey, buying a little chicken bus and otro weaving enroute. We stare at the lake. Now Maureen's reclining, reading. I've moved the room's small table out to the veranda for an open-air text-entry experience. Quiet marimba music drifts in from somewhere. As sometimes happens midday the mist thickens, the air cools, chill breezes blow, ambient temp is down to 75°f - GET THE PARKAS! Or maybe walk to lunch.

Saturday Afternoon

Another non-threatening lunch (Mario's hasn't poisoned us yet); return to read, rest. The midday chill burns off, we walk back sweating; but a couple hours later the clouds and lyrical ambience have returned. More smoke in the air as if some locals need heating fires. More windy chop on the Lake, more scudding lanchas. More tempting limes so close at hand.

Nothing much else is happening to or around us. That is good. Pretty soon I'll have nothing about which to write but the books I'm reading: MEMOIRS OF HADRIAN, by Margeurite Yourcenar, and CANNIBALS AND KINGS: The Origins Of Cultures, by Marvin Harris. The latter at least deals with the Mayas, explains why they and many many other native peoples of Central and North America had cannibal cultures. And why humans have religions of mercy, politics, wars, vegetarianism, infanticide, etc. Y'know, minor stuff - I'm sure you'd be bored...

But what else is there to do today? I should wash some clothes in the sink. We'll dive for dinner, I'll go online with these notes, we'll fend off some more vendors, return to crash, etc. Tomorrow we'll likely walk down the playa to watch the festivities, if any. Beyond that it depends on how fast we heal. If we don't feel good soon, we're outa here early.