The pancakes were good, but they were less fluffy and delicious-looking than the pancakes from the closed restaurant, but at least it was light out, and we could see the lake from our seats. Little indigenous girls kept coming up to the rail of the porch to sell keychains with clay animals dangling from them. My friend bought her niece one for something like 25 cents, which she then clutched like a precious jewel for the next couple of hours.
After breakfast, my friend’s aunt and uncle went off to church, and we went with her mother, her niece, and her niece’s grandmother on a trip out on the lake. The Spanish speakers bartered with one of the young men on a price for the boat ride, and they finally worked out that we would get to go to another village and then ride around for a total of one hour on the boat. We had to jump down off the pier into the cheap fiberglass boat since the pier was obviously not meant for mooring, which seemed a little dangerous, but no one broke a leg.
We shot off onto the glassy surface of the lake, pleased that the fog from the day before had cleared, giving us a clear view of the three distant volcanoes, Atitlan, Toliman, and San Pedro. The boat took us a short distance away to the village of Santa Catarina, a town known for its indigenous weavers. The children were already waiting for us at the pier, but we made our way up the hill to where the older women were displaying their wares and using waist looms. The colors of the weaving were bright, in geometric designs. When you offered a price they didn’t like, they’d tell you no with a sad face, as if saying “I’m sorry, but you’re being cheap, and I have no food for dinner tonight if I sell it for that”. If you walked away, they reconsidered.
At the top of the hill, you could see the village stretching away up the hillside. We walked a short distance to peek into a church, but then made our way back down the hill. It was hard to catch the women at their work, because they would immediately remove their looms to try and hawk their goods to you. As we climbed back in the boat, the children followed us down the pier, still trying to convince us to buy something.
After we got in the boat, we found out that we had been conned, and that the boat was taking us right back where we started. No cruise on the lake. The money we paid was for one hour total, including the time we spent on land at the village. Once we got back to Panajachel, the older women wanted to hunt down the young man that had deceived us, but of course he was long gone. We went back up to our hotel room to wait for the churchgoers. My friend’s niece brought out some coconut ice cream that her father had made with the leftovers from the fresh coconuts we had eaten earlier in the week. The ice cream was icy and not very sweet, but still good and refreshing.Once everyone was back, we crowded into the car and wound our way back out of Panajachel. We started climbing back up the hills that we had come down the previous day, with the hairpin turns and everything. At one point we stopped at a waterfall tumbling down a cliff where some indigenous children were playing in the pool below. After a while we made our way through back alleys of towns and empty roads until we reached Chichicastenanga, a town renowned for its market.
We had to park on a steep hill on a road that wasn’t very wide to begin with, so immediately I wondered how much of the vehicle would still be there when we returned. We made our way down the hill and into the outside fringes of the market where things like used shoes and rusted farm tools were spread on blankets. I wasn’t getting a good feeling about the market. The closer we got to the center of the market, the more and more people pushed against us, brushing past you in a way that made you clutch your valuables more tightly.
As we neared the main church, Santo Tomas, the smell of burning incense and smoke was so strong, I choked on the air. The market was very obviously meant for the locals, with a merchant sifting and measuring dry corn in one corner, and another pushing pottery bowls and jugs in another. Even the fabrics were not as bright and well-made as those in the other markets we had visited. It was a bit of a disappointment. The only clue that Chichi was a tourist spot were the numerous vendors with brightly colored masks of grotesque faces for sale.
After we pushed our way through the market, we wound over to a place called the Mayan Inn. From one of the balconies, you could get a clear shot of the graveyard on the edge of the town. The graveyard, not normally a tourist stop in other countries, was a highlight in this area due to the bright colors that each of the sepulchers was painted. It was like a pastel box of crayons on the hill.
Satisfied with our pictures, we wandered back out into the main market only to decide that the dark, quiet dining room in the inn was preferable to the noisy, smoky, quite possibly unsanitary, market eateries. So we came back and proceeded to eat a three course dinner of traditional Mayan favorites while the tame parrots called outside in the courtyard. Finished with lunch, we decided to start making our way back through the market to the car.
We had to park on a steep hill on a road that wasn’t very wide to begin with, so immediately I wondered how much of the vehicle would still be there when we returned. We made our way down the hill and into the outside fringes of the market where things like used shoes and rusted farm tools were spread on blankets. I wasn’t getting a good feeling about the market. The closer we got to the center of the market, the more and more people pushed against us, brushing past you in a way that made you clutch your valuables more tightly.
As we neared the main church, Santo Tomas, the smell of burning incense and smoke was so strong, I choked on the air. The market was very obviously meant for the locals, with a merchant sifting and measuring dry corn in one corner, and another pushing pottery bowls and jugs in another. Even the fabrics were not as bright and well-made as those in the other markets we had visited. It was a bit of a disappointment. The only clue that Chichi was a tourist spot were the numerous vendors with brightly colored masks of grotesque faces for sale.
After we pushed our way through the market, we wound over to a place called the Mayan Inn. From one of the balconies, you could get a clear shot of the graveyard on the edge of the town. The graveyard, not normally a tourist stop in other countries, was a highlight in this area due to the bright colors that each of the sepulchers was painted. It was like a pastel box of crayons on the hill.
Satisfied with our pictures, we wandered back out into the main market only to decide that the dark, quiet dining room in the inn was preferable to the noisy, smoky, quite possibly unsanitary, market eateries. So we came back and proceeded to eat a three course dinner of traditional Mayan favorites while the tame parrots called outside in the courtyard. Finished with lunch, we decided to start making our way back through the market to the car.After a brief interlude which involved numerous exchanges back and forth of prices, and several episodes of walking away, I managed to purchase a handmade runner for about $35 that is probably worth about $100. The women bought some pottery to use in the kitchen, and we got some flannel blankets for another related family group that would likely consider them a luxury. Amazingly the car was still there, and we made it out of Chichi in one piece.
On our way out of town, we stopped at another scenic overlook. Once again children crowded the car selling sodas, but these children were different somehow, more tragically poor, more rundown and sad, with none of the cheerful optimism of youth. I stepped out of the car to get a look at what lay below us, and was startled to see an old woman tending sheep on the cliffside. She had made each of her sheep a bright woven bag for his feed.
In order to get back to Guatemala City, we had to make our way over the mountain range that lies between the two cities. Unfortunately, a dense fog was beginning to roll in just about the time we were cresting the slope. The fog was so dense, we could barely see twenty five feet in front of the bumper. After half an hour of zero visibility, combined with my continued weakness, I fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until we were in a traffic jam in some nowhere town for no reason. I’ve never seen so many cars in the middle of nowhere before. You would have thought it was New York rush hour.
We finally made it back into town around seven at night, and we had to first work on finding an internet connection for me to use. I had classwork due for my online degree. We drove to a mall, and parked in the underground garage in the tiniest parking space I think I have ever seen. We hurried inside and started looking for an internet cafe while all the stores started to close. We finally found a security guard that told us that there might be a cafe in the mall/hotel next door. We left the car where it was and walked over to the next building. Luckily the security guard was right, and we found a still-open internet cafe in a top corner of the place. After fighting with the Spanish keyboard, I finally managed to get my work done.
On our way out of town, we stopped at another scenic overlook. Once again children crowded the car selling sodas, but these children were different somehow, more tragically poor, more rundown and sad, with none of the cheerful optimism of youth. I stepped out of the car to get a look at what lay below us, and was startled to see an old woman tending sheep on the cliffside. She had made each of her sheep a bright woven bag for his feed.
In order to get back to Guatemala City, we had to make our way over the mountain range that lies between the two cities. Unfortunately, a dense fog was beginning to roll in just about the time we were cresting the slope. The fog was so dense, we could barely see twenty five feet in front of the bumper. After half an hour of zero visibility, combined with my continued weakness, I fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until we were in a traffic jam in some nowhere town for no reason. I’ve never seen so many cars in the middle of nowhere before. You would have thought it was New York rush hour. We finally made it back into town around seven at night, and we had to first work on finding an internet connection for me to use. I had classwork due for my online degree. We drove to a mall, and parked in the underground garage in the tiniest parking space I think I have ever seen. We hurried inside and started looking for an internet cafe while all the stores started to close. We finally found a security guard that told us that there might be a cafe in the mall/hotel next door. We left the car where it was and walked over to the next building. Luckily the security guard was right, and we found a still-open internet cafe in a top corner of the place. After fighting with the Spanish keyboard, I finally managed to get my work done.
At that point it was nine o'clock and we still hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so we stopped at a restaurant called La Hacienda for some Mexican food. I got fajitas for the first time in weeks, but the cheese I asked for on the side was some sort of melted monstrosity that quickly solidified and cost about four times what it was worth. When we got back to the house, I was more than happy to fall into bed and sleep, stomach and camera both full.
0 comments:
Post a Comment