Guatemala Part 6

I arrived in Xela and went to my old internet cafe and the place where I had lunch last time before leaving. I really am more nostalgic for old places I like than I realised when I set off on this trip. That cafe really does do a great coffee though. I was knackered and a little ill at this point. A sort of sickness in the pit of my stomach. Was not sure if it was food or the pain of departure. I eventually arrived in Panajachel. Lago Atitlan looks spectacular from the top of the hill and is even more breathtaking when you see it up close. That crystal clear water with the volcanoes casting their shadow over the lake. Superb. I see why Lonely Planet says lakes don't come this good that often. I met Cristina (an NGO worker from Peru) and went back to her place. She was living with a woman named Merceded from the Basque region of Spain and we chatted for a bit before hitting a bar. This bar had a game where you rolled dice for a free drink. If you got a double, you doubled your drinks effectively. I'm good at these and got doubles again. Bit like Newcastle wheer I had got free, free, free, two for one and got 5 for 1 or where I called tails successfully 4 times in a row to get a four pint pitcher for 1 dollar in Boulder. Yes, my luck was back. About time too. I was missing coasting through life. I was a little tired so went to bed early. These two days would be spent speaking more Spanish than English for sustained periods.

In the morning we got out of gringo town and Cristina took me across the dry river to an artist's commune on the other side. This was the side of Panajachel they socialised with. We saw a great beach and got a phonecall from Mercedes. She was up in a lakehouse with her Norwegian filmmaking man. He was a short film maker, musician and variety of other things. Very interesting man. We toured back through a Mayan graveyard (multicoloured and they have professional painters who paint a mural illustrating your lifelong profession on your grave) . Would have to be a collage now in western countries. I have had 8 jobs of various types already. Then I met the most prominent feminist journalist in Guatemala and those who work on the local magazine. Aftewards we joined Mercedes and John. The house was owned by a Swedish filmmaker and had spectacular views right on the lakeside but high up. He was back in Nicaragua because he had made a film about the Sadanistas and now with Ortega back in power had been summoned to appear at a trial claiming he was a CIA agent (braver man than me to appear). We chatted for a while and John told me all about his trips and living in the States, climbing in Tibet and working in film. Afterwards I took a boat across the lake accompanied by a couple of Germans who spoke minimal English. It felt weird to have better Spanish command than a European. They usually murder us. Got ripped off on the boat again as normal in Guatemala. In San Pedro I decided to walk around the lake for a while to San Juan de la Laguna as I wanted to do some thinking. Its a very picturesque village. Better than San Pedro. It had many murals and reeds growing along the waterfront. It was only marred by a couple of guys stopping and watching me with motorcycle helmets on as I walked past. All dark and blocked out from light. A little odd for a day over 30 degrees. Hmm but they did nothing. You could probably circumnavigate the lake by bicycle in one day with an early start but I had been told some parts are dangerous, which was why I was wary of the motorcyclists. On the dock to go back I was treated to banal shit from some American hippies. God they piss me off. 'Oh yeah and the energy was like energy, it was so intense, you have to give to receive the energy'. Ah fuck off. I have never heard so many people speak so much, while saying so little. If I had a gun I would have shot them then and there. It did make me realise that it was not a mistake when I ruled out spending some time at the funky pyramid yoga centre on the lake. I think I would have exploded.

Back in the land of the sane I bumped into Mercedes and we went shopping for the remaining stuff needed for dinner that night. Mostly we spoke Spanish which was good, but she is so rapid in movement and speech (typically Spanish ball of energy, which I love) that is was tough and tiring but fun. Afterwards we grabbed some coffee at a local coffee place they have nicknamed 'gringo loco' because it is run by a crazy Yankee from New York. Had fun chatting with him (he has more energy than me) and we agreed to swap writing, as he was heading to South Africa for a bit and going to write it up. We got back to the house and settled down to a nice dinner party, with the food cooked by a Brazilian guy. It was a spruced up version of an old Brazilian slave meal. Very nice. The conversation was mainly in Spanish as the guests were me, John, Mercedes, Cris, the Brazilian, a Cuban artist, the feminist writer and her husband and an eccentric Argentinean from Buenos Aires. Though he had moved to Lago Atitlan 29 years ago and it was interesting listening to his stories of how he had to escape capitalism, how the lake had changed, his disgust as locals no longer dressing traditionally and how he had successfully bread an afghan plant with local stuff to form some ultimate weed. After much eating, drinking and conversation, everyone eventually faded away and myself and Cris stayed chatting until I was knackered and had to turf in. Had to get a bus at 5am to get to Lanquin and I was depriving myself of too much sleep at the moment. One funny thing had been Cristina's prejudice against the English. She had assumed we were all like those English you find in Spain and was not going to host me until Andrea had told her that Pampa had hosted and liked me. Quite amusing. I knew our reputation was as bad in Spain as that of the Americans is in Mexico.