What's What

Sleeping was rough because of getting used to a new bed in a new house in a new city. Also, there was a storm. Sally mentioned the wall of windows facing the east might leak so I got up in the night to check but all was well. Needless to say, Chris slept on.

Today was long and good. We were up and out by 9 a.m. and wandering around San Miguel. There is a pedestrian path that cuts through several blocks towards the center of town which we took and then continued farther than we did last night. The first church in which we stopped was more European in style--more gilt and chandelier praise rather than the wax and wood worship we've seen in other parts of Mexico. Beautiful cupolas. Chris mentioned the Mexican tendency towards mannequin-like statues. Of course, I've noticed that in this area they do not use stone or marble, but now I'm stuck thinking about Jesus in multiple parts, arms and legs all akimbo in a back storeroom at the Macy's. Beyond the church was the remnants of the convent, cells around a lovely and lush courtyard. Now each cell is used as an artist's studio--weaving, music, painting, ceramics. We had breakfast in a little cafe on the first floor and there was decaf which was a great treat for me since Guatemala offered none, even in the nicer hotel restaurants we visited. In addition to the good cup of coffee, there was a mural on the wall of vaqueros with lassos trying to capture a vampire bat up in the sky above them that was at least as big as the horses the men rode. A little light art to accompany your meal.

We went to church after church, making me think it would be hard to decide where to worship in this town with such an abundance of choice, and we saw two things of particular interest. When we were in Guatemala last year, we went to a church whose patron was Judas. We couldn't recall another time either of us had even seen iconography of Judas in a church, but today we did again and this time with an explanation. Because of his most vile act, Judas suffered the greatest anguish man could and thus is the patron of those most desperate and sad among us. I guess it makes sense to see more of him in second and third world countries than we do at home and in Europe.

Later, we went to another church which had a huge landscape painted on the wall in dark grays and black. You could just make out mountains in the background and people in the foreground. Hanging on the wall with the mural as it's backdrop were three crucifixes: Jesus in the middle flanked by the two criminals with whom he was crucified. The churches here may be more fire and brimstone.

We made it to the Jardin Principal which is lovely, with iron benches all about and shaded by sculpted trees circling a gazebo. It reminded me of Antigua, in part because the square is surrounded by colonial archways on three sides and a church on the fourth.

We spent a chunk of the day finding out what's what. We discovered an abundance of things to do from classical guitar recitals to plays to the film festival later this month. We went to the tourism office to investigate day trips and to the Institute Allende to find out about Spanish classes for Chris and to the public library to learn about what seemed like any and every other thing going on in this joint. We took a bus to figure that out and kind of did, although in a stroke of remarkable fortune the bus simply stopped in front of where we were standing. It isn't really clear if we were at a bus stop. We found the open air market closest to us and it was full of things we'll go back and look at more closely and then buy and then eat.

We stopped at home to empty our bags and head out in search of a supermercado when we happened on a shriveled woman on our doorstep, who was anxious to find the part-time housekeeper, Lupe. Her name was Patricia and she stayed in the unit upstairs from ours last year and made great friends with Lupe. Not so great, apparently, that she knew how to get in touch with her but good enough that she wanted to, I guess. She's been here several summers in a row and began to tell us all sorts of things to do but then discovered we would only be here for a month and promptly declared we wouldn't really have time to do anything. Her best bit of advice: gallery openings may have only mediocre art but they do have free wine so they are worth attending. (Really this is the same as our experience at home, but there was something charming about this little old woman wearing a fanny pack saying it.) She pointed us in the right direction of a regular old PB&J market which was helpful. We got this and that and those and these and on our way back ran into our downstairs neighbors (Lydia and her daughter, Juno--who looks like she may have been born before the film which would make me like her mother more) on the street. They are here from California for July and August but lived here for eight years previously. Lydia does graduate research in medical anthropology and works with midwives in Mexico. She invited us to a gallery opening (mediocre art, free wine) this evening but it began at 5 and by the time we got back with our groceries it was already 5 and we both needed a break after walking for basically seven hours in a row. She got one of her degrees in Chicago, though, so I'm sure we will find a way to visit with her again.

Since then, hammock time rolled into showers rolled into happy hour rolled into the dinner hour rolled into guitar time which is quickly rolling into bedtime. Our lives are good.

P.S. There are really big snails here slug-slug-slugging along.

No Amount of Wall Hangings Is Ever Enough

We maintained good spirits through: a cab driver who complained all the way to O’Hare about how there is no money to be made taking people to O’Hare; a computerized self-check-in kiosk that was broken; a gate change at the last minute; an even more last minute realization that we wouldn’t be sitting together on any of our flights; the news that the plane had to lose weight in order to fly into the hurricane; the fear that they would start asking the fat to leave and we’d be the first to go; the resultant delay while the airline actually coerced three random people to leave; the uneasiness of flying into the hurricane in the smallest plane in which either of us has ever flown (40 seats in all); and the relative disappointment in the place we rented when we first arrived. We hadn’t even sworn a blood oath ahead of time, but instead of being cranky, we just kept being nice to each other through it.

Sally—our hostess from Vermont—was absolutely honest in her description of the joint and there were lots of pictures to boot. The place looks exactly like the pics she sent so I’m not sure exactly what it was that didn’t set right with us when we walked in the door. Maybe that there wasn’t any TP in the bathroom and we had just come off of about 12 hours of travel, the last leg of which was a packed 90 minute shuttle ride, and then we had to go find a market before we could do anything else. I mean, sometimes you just want to pee first.

So maybe it was that and maybe it was the clutter: Sally has clearly been all over the world. And she’s brought back a little something from everywhere. And it’ all here. There isn’t a surface that doesn’t have something on it. I’m sitting in a room right now that is at best 12 feet by 8 feet and there are eight wall hangings, three book shelves, a king size bed, two night stands, two lamps although one is missing its light bulb, a stool, and a dried flower arrangement from—wild stab in the dark here—1978. It reminds me of the apartments I kept in my early 20s before I realized that just because you own something it doesn’t mean you have to keep owning it forever. Chris immediately started putting some of Sally’s things in the closet and his attempt to clear surfaces helped my psyche. I think, too, it is obvious someone uses this place as their personal space and as we would like to use it as our personal space it just felt weird.

Which made me think of poor nice Mike—the young man we met Tuesday, who is now house sitting for us while we are here—and how it is likely he is thinking the exact same thoughts about me that I am thinking about Sally.

In any case, when it seemed we might not be able to take the idea of staying in this place for a month, we abandoned our unpacking and went in search of food and drink. We wandered a bit, went in the first restaurant we came across and were blessed with the first truly good news of the day: it was still happy hour. Over ice-cold Coronas and a bizarre Italian dinner off of a menu written in French, we discussed some possible avenues to explore regarding our housing conundrum and Chris said we could find someplace else to stay in the next few days. I protested—we won’t get our rent back from Sally—but he showed remarkable dedication to me and to us when he said it was only money and not more important than ensuring our happiness. That guy’s awesome. We returned home for the evening and the place didn’t really seem so bad after all. It has lovely windows and nice archways and is cozy. We decided to curl up and sleep on it. We’re right at the curled up part now. I’m looking forward to tomorrow when we figure out where we are relative to what’s good.

Goodbye Guatemala

Chris and I didn't have any easy internet access from Wednesday until this evening, and now we're home from what was the most extraordinary trip... loved it. Guatemala is a good idea and everyone should do it. If you want any help planning an itinerary, let us know and we will be happy to chat about our experiences in more depth.

Thanks for reading!

Urgent Message

This was an urgent message sent from Susan and Sandra, who were at the pool (100 feet from the bar) to Chris, who was in the house (100 feet on the other side of the bar).

Well... Chris clearly got at the blog sometime today when I wasn't looking and added a little post of his own, and now my decadent and lazy vacation behavior is out there for all the world to see. In Susan's defense, she offered to go inside and get money but I really didn't see how that was an option because it would be impossible for her to get up and go inside while still doing absolutely nothing but lying happily in the sun. In any case, the call for cash worked, and we've never been happier to see Chris.

Susan left this morning so early that I returned to bed after her shuttle arrived, right on time at 6 a.m. I trust the rest of her travel day was without delay or difficulty. She should be arriving home anytime now, actually. It was a wonderful visit and we both swore we would do it again in the future and that our middle sister must come, as well.

Chris and I continued living a life of ease and luxury today. We went into town for a breakfast of omelets and crepes and wandered around town throughout the morning, picking up some additional trinkets and making our (sniff!) travel arrangements out of Panajachel. We have decided that despite this place being idyllic, we will leave tomorrow and spend our remaining days in Antigua, where we only spent an hour or so at the start of our travels.

We spent the rest of the day at the pool reading and writing and there is little to report on that except that we did see a rainbow circled around the sun, something I have never seen before. We didn't have the camera on hand but imagine what a spectacular sight it was. It makes sense that we would see something like that here... it just makes sense.

Good Night Moon

Katy left this morning; we were sad to see her go. A moment to celebrate her and Jessica and Susan, all of whom fashioned trips of their own around our stay in Panajachel... yay!

Chris picked up his guitar and was singing before I even came upstairs this morning. I love that my life is filled with music because of him, and there is something about singing before breakfast that seems extra joyful.

Today, we had one of our first really lazy vacation days yet. We lingered over coffee, and you know by "we" I mean Chris and Susan, and we didn't go into town until mid morning. Then, we wandered up and down Calle Santander, in and out of the shops we haven't yet explored and arranged Susan's shuttle from Pana to Guatemala City tomorrow morning. There were a few things Susan wanted to do before leaving and we did them, including finding a postcard for our nephew Archie and then finding the local post office from which to send it. The stamps here have a quetzal on them and are nifty looking and you need a million to mail a single postcard. Check back in 17 days to see if Archie received it! We also stopped for ice cream as we walked and street cart ceviche which Chris had with shrimp and Susan had with abalone and fish.

Many of the street vendors who are children run up and ask you to buy whatever they are selling and others push their trinkets half heartedly, but today Susan was approached by a boy who was very serious and explained he would use the proceeds of the sale for his school books so he could go to school. It's hard not to buy things or just give money to these children who apparently want to be educated, especially since tourism here seems thin just now because of the economy.

Susan and I spent the entire afternoon at the pool, lounging in the sun and catching up on all the stories we don't have time to share when we are in Chicago. It was perfect weather for a pool day with a clear blue sky and a slight breeze so it wasn't terribly hot. Chris joined us eventually with his guitar. We stayed out until it was time to shower for dinner and then went back into town. We had dinner at the Sunset Cafe which sits out on the lake, and we were there in time to see the sun fall below the volcanoes across the lake and the nearly full moon climb into the sky. It was stellar in every way.

When we arrived home, the three of us stood on the balcony watching the clouds pass above us, looking for the light of the moon to peep through here and there--a lovely cap to a great day.

To market to market to buy a fat pig

Yesterday a woman in San Pedro with a large basket on her head approached us to buy some of her bread. In her basket, she had loaves of banana bread, coconut bread, chocolate "bread" and cinnamon rolls. We bought it all and in the process of the transaction, she pulled from the recesses of her clothing a small slip of paper on which someone had written a note. It informed the reader that the woman's daughter was interested in going to school but her husband would not pay for that and so she was selling the bread to help with the expense of education. I thought of the girl this morning as we cut into the loaves for a simple breakfast before our day began.

We were all together in the morning and then Chris, Susan and I left to get our shuttle to Chichi and Katy prepared for a day at the market and at the pool. We didn't know what she had in mind until we returned this evening and learned that she had outdone herself at the market and in preparation for dinner but I get ahead.

Our shuttle picked us up at about 8 a.m. and the trip to Chichi seemed shorter than when Chris and I went two weeks ago. The construction on the road is apparently done and traffic was not as bad. It is a beautiful ride up away from the lake and into a slightly different terrain, and I was glad for Susan to see it and also that men outside of Panajachel wear more traditional dress than they do in town.

Sunday market days are more intense than other days and I estimate that there were three times as many people there today as there were the last time we went. There were moments of gridlock and moments of shoving and moments of chill as the rain water that collected in the plastic draped over each person's booth became too heavy and broke from above to slide down our backs. There are parts of the market that cater exclusively to tourists and those are full of carved wooden masks and jade jewelry and rich tapestries and tee shirts educating the masses in Guatemalan slang. These are interesting to stop at and pick things up as gifts for our friends and family but I think the more interesting part of the market are those booths that cater to the other vendors and/or the locals. These are the booths that sell incense and homemade candles for Mayan rituals and Head & Shoulders and chickens and pig feet. You can get anything: used shoes, new shoes, tomatoes, razors, CDs, cassette tapes, oatmeal, sesame seeds, dried sardines, fresh shrimp, flashlights, soap, bras, name it.

On instruction from Katy and Jessica, we found an entire basketball court (literally) that was given over to the sale of vegetables on market day and it was a two-story structure allowing us to view the market from above. Something we couldn't have known from the main floor was the intricate and geometric manner in which the vendors laid out their vegetables; it was striking.

We brought Susan to the same place for lunch that we had eaten on our first visit and I wouldn't call it a restaurant by American standards but it was delicious. We sat on a long narrow bench at a long narrow table, all facing out with our backs against a corrugated tin wall. We had four bowls of soup (Chris had two!) and three tortillas apiece and an order of papas fritas and a soda for $5 and we sat there taking in the industrious action of the people working there for almost an hour. There was a woman across from us who chopped carrots the entire time we were there and her pile covered her table. We noticed this: when we ordered our soup, it was given to us in decorative bowls that were set upon saucers and we also were given napkins. None of our bowls or saucers matched, but each was patterned. A short time later, two women and a child sat at the next table and they were given their soup in plain white bowls and were not given saucers or napkins. Further, they ordered chicken and the chicken was handed directly to them and they held it in one hand and ate their soup with the other. I mention that our whole tab was only $5 because it seems like such a deal, but I suspect that we payed a great deal more than the other patrons.

I'm glad that Susan will be able to help Chris and I describe the church in Chichi that is shared by Catholics and Mayans when we return home. There were many more shamans performing rituals and saying prayers today than when we were there the first time and the candles burning in fields of rose petals were the primary light source up the main aisle of the church today. It is a special place and still, I think, my favorite of all that we have seen on this trip.

The shuttle dropped us back at the hotel around 3 p.m. and we all spent the remainder of the afternoon at the pool, sharing our stories with Katy and hearing about her adventures at the local market in Pana. She was after ingredients for a particular sauce and had to do quite a bit of research in order to get what she needed. She walked into town (a million tuk-tuks stopped to ask her if she needed a ride along the way!) and asked the women at the market about the ingredients she still had questions about and in the end got ingredients for a phenomenal meal, enjoyed by all. We sat at the table talking for an hour or so after we finished and people have been trickling to bed ever since.

Katy leaves in the morning and Susan, Chris and I have left the plans for our day up in the air until then.

Where in the world is Katy Sandiego?

It's great to fall into bed exhausted from a day of tromping around a different country and seeing all the things there are to see and soaking up the sunshine and sharing stories over bread and wine with friends and family. Susan and Katy have already retired for the evening and Chris and I are not far behind.

We split up this morning; Katy was gone for her mountain bike tour before I even arose. She had to be in town by 8 a.m. and there she met up with her guide, Juan, who fitted her for a bike and then they headed out of the city. She went to several small towns, including one that until very recently was only accessible by boat, and some larger towns around the lake. Juan is 23 and lives in Santiago and shared a great deal about his experiences with Katy as they rode. He would ultimately like to go to college but is unable. There is a university in Guatemala City that is free but he has no family there and would not be able to support himself in living arrangements. There are closer schools, one in Solola, but they are not free. NSF is a chronic problem, and he is disappointed to discontinue his education as a result. I assumed that because we split up in the morning, we wouldn't see Katy until we all returned home in the afternoon. I was wrong.

Chris, Susan and I didn't have to leave until a bit later; a boat picked us up at our dock at 9 a.m. Our captain was a man named Demetrio and his first mate was a boy named Daniel, who I suspect was his son and was maybe 10 or 11 years old. Demetrio was more talkative than our other drivers and pointed out a number of sights along the way. A sad reminder of Hurricane Stan was one house he pointed out that had slid right off of its foundation and the remains continued to lie in a ditch.

Our first stop was San Marcos, a small town known for meditation and yoga centers. Demetrio came off of the boat with us and it was a good thing because we mightn't have found the town on our own. We had to walk along the shore to a small break in the coffee plants and then wend our way through crops before finding the town. San Marcos is the only town along the lake that has trees in town (the rest were cleared for habitation) and is the least like an American town of any I've seen here. Roads are more like footpaths and appear to have been laid with no rhyme or reason. As we walked along these narrow paths, Demetrio pointed out flowers and trees and fruit trees to us and answered questions, as well. We saw papaya trees with huge fruits hanging high above us and also learned about a fruit that the people here created by grafting the orange and the limon together, which addressed our question about the huge limes we were buying in the market that appeared to be orange in color on the inside. We visited the church in San Marcos and Demetrio told us that the people in the town raise much of the money when a Catholic church is built but people in the United States and other countries also contribute. In the church, there was a statue of Mark that was guarded by a vicious dog (also a statue!) and there were Mayan candles and rose petals on the ground in front of the retablo.

Our next stop was in San Juan, which appeared to be a wealthier town or at least one that had a greater sense of civic pride than most of the places we have been. It was very clean and there were freshly painted murals on the freshly painted buildings. There, we visited a collective of women weavers who had several showrooms full of luxurious textiles in softer colors than we have seen in other towns. We learned that they die all of their threads themselves using indigenous plants.

Right next to the collective, there was another shrine to Maximon, the evil saint, and it was a much, much safer setting than the one Jessica and Katy visited. Ours was in someone's house, we think, and there were not dozens of drunken children and men outside. There was only one old man who ushered us in and explained that what we were looking at was not Maximon at all but a depiction of San Simon and that Maximon was the curled up saint reclining next to him in a locked cage. Underneath the shrine was a print of the Last Supper and the man pointed to the picture of Peter and said that San Simon was Simon Peter and then pointed to Judas and said that was Maximon. This made a little sense but then didn't make any sense at all later when we read in Frommer's (thank goodness Susan brought a book that wasn't yet another copy of the Rough Guide!) that Maximon was an ancient Mayan god. Everyone seems to have a different story on the evil saint and it is hard to sort out the truth but it does seem clear that the Guatemalan Catholics have incorporated the Mayan god Maximon into their practice and that the Mayans have incorporated the whole idea of saints into their practice. It was also in San Juan that we saw a group of men building a church. They had been at it for two years and expected it would take another year, at least. Their scaffolds were all made of wood and the rungs on their ladders were at irregular distances and they were piecing huge stones together this way and that for the best fit. It was a remarkable sight.

We were descending a hill when we saw a flash of white streak past us on a cross street and it was Katy. We called after her, shouting her name as we hurried to the corner and rounded it, but she was too fast. We continued to the dock where it started to rain and our thoughts were with her as she was on her bike on paths that were probably not safe in the rain. It rained for our whole ride from San Juan to San Pedro and we decided to have lunch first and try to wait out the weather. We picked a place right off of the dock just to get out of the rain, but because it was right off the dock it was also right on the water and quite a lovely place to pass the time. It was while we sat in the restaurant that a woman came in selling breads and we were finally able to purchase some coconut bread, which Jessica had been searching for during her stay, and it was also while sitting there that we saw another flash of white streak past us. Katy moves fast, but this time Susan ran through the restaurant and caught her before she got on the boat back to Pana. She joined us for just a bit and filled us in on her adventures and after she returned to the boat, we wandered around San Pedro for a time. It was good.

We returned to Panajachel in mid afternoon and discovered that there was a festival there and that Calle Santander had been closed to accommodate the townspeople. There was music in the streets and a new game being played, which seriously resembled volleyball but instead of a net the teams had to get the ball through a ring. We picked up some supplies and arranged our day trip for tomorrow before heading home.

Susan and I joined Katy at the pool and Chris did something else... maybe played his guitar? Did some work? Took a nap? I'm not sure but I just looked over at him and he has a big grin on his face and is fast asleep, so whatever it was he did this afternoon I think he had a good day.

We all had dinner together here and chatted until bed. And now I'm off there myself.

P.S. We saw a duck called a poc with a blue beak and I think Susan would make note of it here if she were writing so I'll do it for her!