Spiders

Grabbed myself a boat to San Marcos yesterday. Not a lot to see. All sorts of healing practises going on there. If I'd brought along enough quetzals, I might have had my shoulder taken care of with acupuncture.

I didn't stay long. The boat ride was more exciting than the town. Everything was calm the day I arrived in Jaibalito. Those days are gone and the surf is up on the lake with high winds. Boats rise and slap those waves and it's like hitting concrete every time they land. After a few spine jarring clobbers, I learned to raise my bum off the seat whenever I felt that weightless rise.

This will be my last night in Jaibalito. One more bone crushing boat ride back to Panajachel in the morning and then I'll decide to go where next. If Antigua isn't as cold as Xela, maybe there, or maybe Monterrico.

I used to kill those big flat wall climbing spiders on principle just to make sure I would'nt wake up with one climbing up my nose but other people tell me they're benign. They're supposed to keep the bug population under control. They sure look like they eat enough. Now I'm enlightened and I let them crawl. It sure is tempting though. Look at the one I found right above the head of my bed this afternoon. What a beast. Don't you just want to smash it?

I talked to another visitor yesterday typing away on the computer with one hand. His other hand was swollen to three times its normal size. Bad bad spider bite. This guy was in agony even with the heavy pain killers they gave him in Panajachel. Dirty red streaks of sepsis ran all the way up his arm. Prognosis for relief? Twenty days, they told him. He didn't even feel the bite when it happened. The theory is that it happened when he was hiking through the bushes, not while he was sleeping. Whatever it was, I hope the big wall crawlers I've been sparing earn their keep and devour it when it comes creeping into my blankets.

Panajachel to Jaibalito

Life in Panajachel improved as soon as I discovered the restaurant I'd heard so much word of mouth about, Cordon Blue. Best food in town at prices that beat all lesser restaurants. The owner, Tom, and several of his friends and regular customers gave me some great advice. I moved to a beautiful hotel, Villa Lupita, for a third of what I had been paying, well removed from the constant hustle of Santander Street.

Friday I joined the gang for a boat trip to Jabalito, a day trip for the rest and a one way for me. This is the most relaxed place I've been within the borders of Guatemala. No market. No hustlers. Chickens, dogs, happy children and avocadoes dropping from trees.

On Tom's advice, I'm at Posada Jabalito now, a great place run by an easy going German gentleman by the name of Hans and I couldn't have done better. Gourmet food at Cordon Blue prices. I have my own little cottage with electricity in a small yard with a gate, very private, for six bucks. Free internet connection included. I haven't been in a big hurry to move along.

It's so quiet here, except for the sound of coffee beans falling from the trees and rattling on my roof at night.

The only other place open for rooms, down along the lakeside path, is the ornate and beautiful Casa del Mundo with stone balconies perfect for jumping in the lake. It only costs six times what I'm paying here. No exaggeration.




Except for the pictures, this has to be the most boring blog entry ever. Very little happens here. The days drift pleasantly by.

I took a hike over the hill to visit the town of Santa Cruz today, one of the few recommended hikes between towns in terms of safety although I was told that one guest had been robbed on that route. It wouldn't have taken a machete or gun to make me fork everything over. The threat of a quick push on some particularly cliffy corner of the trail would have done the trick for me. It's not like I could have run away, not on that steep hillside. There are some real watch-your-step spots along the way. I didn't meet any trouble.






Reading quietly by my cottage a bit before dinner tonight, I heard a knock on the gate. I called out and then little voices started giggling and tiny feet ran off down the street. Some gags are eternal and universal. There was more to it than that. I heard them talking but I didn't realize they were calling out to me. It could have been Spanish or Mayan. I finally realized their ball had bounced over my wall. I looked up from my book and there was a little 6 year old busting a gut laughing as he tried to let himself safely down in the yard. He got his ball and I let him out the easy way through the door.

Reserva Natural

Carina left for Copan a few mornings ago. She makes me look like such a slacker.

The nasty little hustler that had been hassling me before started stepping over the line. He got mad and stomped after me down the street, telling me how tough he was. "I spent two years in Dallas, Texas. You wanna see my tattoos?"

Panachel was becoming less fun all the time.

On the advice of Mary and Rita from Utah, I visited a great national park nearby called Reserva Natural Atitlan. I arrived late and the trail was losing light so I didn´t try the zip lines. The rickety and rotten suspension bridges made me doubt I would have enjoyed them anyhow.





Saw a very pretty waterfall and some monkeys. At first the monkeys kept a distance but then they gradually started moving in on me. I was the only person on that trail and I had the strange sense they were strategically stalking me.


I moved on to the mariposa garden. The butterflies seemed to be hiding. Found the private beach for the park just as it started to get dark.

http://www.atitlanreserva.com/

Walk Around Panajachel

This blog has a tendency to be just a bit too chatty some days. This entry will be heavier on the pictures. I swear.

I was too lazy to wake up and go on a lake tour with Carina but we took a nice walk around the town and harbors when she got back. It was a great low maintenance day. Did my laundry. Took the walk. Take out food for a picnic dinner on the lake (Carina's brilliant inspiration) and happy hour.

We almost had a brilliant shot of the dog beside me sticking it's head out of a garbage can like a jack in the box but moments like that don't last for long.

Market of Terror II: Escape From Chichitenango

The rain came down hard. We were both soaked before taking a sheltered table in the courtyard of the one beautiful hotel in town where they had hot coffee and yummy food and we could watch the rain pouring on to the lush garden courtyard. I was cold but happy. A marimba band started playing from an upper balcony. A much nicer place to be.



All good things must come to an end and the rain eventually stopped. Back to the market. Carina hadn't seen enough. I didn't try to reason with her. There was only a bit more than an hour left before we had to catch the last bus out of town. I knew I could make it. The rain had driven off a lot of people and it wasn't as jammed as before.

I know Carina must have thought it was totally wimpy but she humored me when I insisted on taking a nice comfy shuttle bus for the return trip.

Those who know me best know what a hardass I can be when it comes to beggars. Back in Toronto, we all know perfectly well that no matter what they say, the money is always going for crack, crystal meth or booze. In places like these, I know parents send their children out looking as pitiful as possible to collect cash and if they do a real good job and turn into little cash machines, that's going to be their career and they'll never have a chance at going to school. Too much kindness from strangers can destroy their futures. But while we waited in the van with the door wide open, I was confronted with the plaintive voice of a small child futilely calling "Una quetzal." I caved.

Please don't judge me too harshly. You had to be there. It was miserable and cold up there. She must have been 7 years old. She had a little five year old brother beside her and a lumpy baby on her back. I knew it had been one long suffering day for the little waifs. No one was giving them anything. We all knew better. Anyone reading this would have done the same. I was leaving in a comfy van. They were staying.

Now, I'm not looking to make anyone cry but I got the sweetest "Gracias." for my pitiful useless offering. She walked away a few steps and then backed up so the little baby could tell me "Gracias." too. I wanted out of there so bad. Later, I saw her still at it, still not having any luck. The quetzal and a half I'd given her had already been spent on a little snack. The baby was taking care of it, pulling it up out of the little fold in the blanket she was wrapped in while the big sister kept trying gently to push it back out of sight until later. No, life isn't fair.

Meanwhile, across the street, an absolutely wretched old beggar woman with no legs wailed helplessly while tickytok cabs kept passing her by. I suppose none of them wanted the job of lifting her into the cab. Eventually a nice young man did. He had no easy job.

We finally made it out of there. It was so good to be back to Panajachel. Our driver stopped at some nice lookout points and we all got much better shots of the lake from high than I did through the dirty wet window of the chicken bus. And then it was dinner and happy hour at the rock 'n' roll bar. A nice end to an interesting day.

Market of Terror

It all started off promising enough. The sun was shining. Yay! Carina and I just stepped on to the main street of Panajachel and the chicken bus was right there waiting for us, raring to whisk us away to the fabulous wonders of the world's largest Mayan market. The road to Chichitenango was a climb up and away from the relative warmth of lake Atitlan. I managed to get our window up for a while but the driver's speedy hammering over potholes shook it down again.

I approached that market with deep dread. It didn't help that I'd read a few excerpts from Carina's guide book warning travellers away from the picturesque traditional graveyard and one other spot as vistors have been robbed by gunpoint too often to ignore and sometimes murdered. We were also warned to watch out for pickpockets. I was way ahead of them on that one.

I tried to keep my paranoia to himself. I was there, as a self-appointed escort, to enjoy the company of my new friend, not to whine and spoil the fun. In we went.


Not too bad at first but, after visiting the cathedral, it became just about impossible to move. I tried to keep within half an inch of Carina but somehow old women managed to push us apart and I thought "Here we go again." My claustrophobia was taking over. I had to remind myself I wasn't carrying anything I couldn't afford to lose. All of the important stuff was locked in a safe back in Panajachel. Still, I kept a sharp eye on everything and everyone, particularly Carina, her bag and the pushy old ladies.




The same kid who had been trying to sell me weed and whores in Panachel was there hawking post cards. He started getting nasty. "I'm sick and tired of these stingy fucking tourists, man."

"Yeah, well, I'm one of them." He and his buddy had flat out asked me for money when I refused their help the day before.

It was "How about something for us? We're broke."

I see him every day now and he's been getting progressively nasty, a creepy little hurdle I have to pass every time I walk the street. But more on him later.

There was such an air of desperation at the world's biggest Mayan market. I didn't belong. This was somebody else's hell. Pointless capitalism in the raw. Outside of the real section of the market, offering food and household goods, everyone competed for the attention of the tourists. No local would be there to buy their jewelry and art objects.

It was interesting alright. So many sights I will never forget, so many deformities, so much diseased skin, so much poverty. Nothing I would have dared to point my camera at. The rough looking dude in the cowboy hat wasn't winking. He only had one eye.

In the end, nothing bad happened. I have Carina to thank for an interesting day that I would never have enjoyed without meeting her. It was an adventure from start to finish. No regrets.

Mission Complete

It took the entire bus ride from Xela to Panachel for the adrenaline and paranoia to settle down after the market incident. Beck wanted to step off the bus for a cigarette and asked me to watch his bags. I didn't take my eye off them for a second. People kept pouring on to the bus selling snacks. One boy set his load down on the empty seat beside Beck's bags and stood there causing a jam in the traffic flow while two others joined him, intentionally or not, obscuring my view to the best of their abilities. Already on red alert, I thought this might be a classic shoplifting ploy and I blatantly craned my head to peer through them until they left.

I felt the negativity finally lift when I caught my first peek of the lake. Things were looking up. Panajachel is no paradise but the lake is an impressive sight. Street hustlers hassle me for boat trips they're not connected to. They want to help with everything. Very friendly guys. If you're incapable of walking up to a hotel desk on your own and asking the price, they're happy to help. If you don't need them, they'll be glad to hook you up with weed, cocaine, prostitutes or all of the above.



I met a new friend, Carina, a brave young lady from Austria travelling on her own, within ten minutes of checking into my hotel. She had landed in Guatamela City and lost her camera in the hotel. I was off on a quest to find Becky's Bar and I invited her along.

It didn't take us long. We poked our heads in the door and there was Gary, late of Zipolite. What a welcome sight. He managed to cross the border from Mexico with virtually no hassles and things are looking up for him.


Lonny was there and I passed the big bottle of Mexican mezcal to its rightful owner. He seemed happy and shared a drink. It was too early for me and my stomach was empty but how could I refuse?
Lonny and I aren't really giants. Karen was sitting down when she took the shot.

We stayed there for a bit, trading stories. It felt like being back at the hostel in Xela, very relaxed. Eventually Carina and I headed down to the lake to find a restaurant for dinner. I think we were the only customers for about 7 restaurants. Hard to tell how long the slump had been going on so I didn't order chicken. We had a nice view of the lake with the lights from the other towns on the dark horizon. Then it was happy hour back in town where we ran into my travelling Irish friends again until a sleepy end to another big day.

Carina had already decided to visit the world's biggest Mayan market, Chichitenango, the next day. It didn't sound like anything I would want to do after the market in Xela but I didn't like the idea of her going alone so I invited myself along. Um, no regrets.