We never would have thought that two 2 and a 1/2 hour flights from the snowy streets of Boston could land you in a place so surreal you would spend the first two days blinking in wonderment at each cobble stoned street you turned on to. Our first impression after swooping over the barrios of Guatemala City was an orderly and clean airport with easily negotiated customs officers and a cadre of waiting taxi drivers willing to whisk us away to any town in Guatemala we desired. Fortunately one driver was holding a sign with the always easily distinguishable SORCHA emblazoned on it. We knew we had found our man.
After a short drive winding our way out of Guatemala city we were laboriously hauled up huge forested hills and in and out of ravines by a tired Mitsubishi mini bus. We immediately noticed the boon in private security here in Central America. Almost every business had a uniformed and formidably armed private security guard, from auto dealers to mini malls and even one dangerous looking ex-guerrilla outside a flower shop.
The mini bus brought us to a small colorful town rimmed by two gargantuan volcanoes. Instead of arriving on a main thoroughfare again the bus began winding through alleys and back streets which we realized were the only kinds of roads in this colonial town. All of the buildings were two stories or less, a reminder that several centuries of earthquakes had leveled all the churches and buildings of any stature. The streets were almost all paved in stone organized in a strictly cardinal fashion. In the center of town, like all typical cities in Latin America was a square originally meant for military processions and now filled with a green park and several fountains. Along the sides were Government offices, a Cathedral which the monks had taken time to rebuild over and over again and shops surprisingly more modern than the buildings that housed them. Spanning several blocks along one side was a mazelike market full of anything you could want (and loads of things you´d never want, such as a truckload of bras) from fresh produce to mayan weavings.
That night we stayed in Casa De Don Ismael, a lovely little inn run by a kindly and dignified man who was as helpful as two newcomers to his home could have hoped. The night air turned cool after watching the sun set immersing Volcan Agua in a blend of purple from it´s lush vegetation mixing with the golden twilight as we sipped Gallo cerveza from a rooftop bar.
After a fitful night´s sleep from the numerous noises of a very unfamiliar place, including the all night raucous from a religious jam fest next door and a rooster at two in the morning, we were delighted to have a desayuno typico de Guatemala of scrambled eggs and black beans with bread and watery instant coffee. Soon after we were loaded into a waiting mini bus and spent the next three hours being jolted around as we enjoyed the views from the narrowest, steepest and switch backing road two cars have ever passed on.
From Antigua the van took us to Panajachel where a boat ushered us into the surreal and mystical realm of grigolandia set in the small Mayan highland village of San Marcos La Laguna. This idyllic bit of jungle surprised us in several ways. For one it´s much smaller, at least the part where tourists like us frequent, than we had expected. It´s also chock full of small hotels, each with its own cafe or restaurant and resident massage therapist set behind bamboo or concrete walls like little gardens of Eden. Living, working and studying amongst town is a cadre of hippies ranging all ages who look as if they ditched the back pack long ago to live here over all the other places they toured in Central America.
There are no roads in this part of town, only stone paved paths that bend through the privately owned plots of land, some being hotels, some holistic healing centers, some locally inhabited and others full of brush and trash. There is a large presence of Europeans and North American expats here that own many of the hotels, restaurants and therapy centers and the only large live music venue in town - a beautiful restaurante up the hill where the locals mostly live. It seems the locals find employment largely amongst the restaurants and hotels.
One of the striking things about this small town is that the locals are always smiling and saying ¨Hola¨ or ¨Buenas¨ every time you pass and it´s truly genuine. We even experienced this in Antigua but wonder if it will last as we travel further from areas so used to tourism. We´ll see. For now we are content with spending the next week holed up in a small pension, El Bosque Encandido, sipping strong coffee grown on the same plot of land and swimming in the crystal water of the lake under a hot Central American sun (San Marcos is known for it´s good swimming, including the 9 meter cliff Jeff launched off of this morning).
