Lago Atitlan

Where to start..

Introduction:
This weekend Hugh and I participated in a school-led event, that took us to San Marcos, a small town on Lake Atitlan. There were 15 of us in all, Hugh and I, Vladimir, 4 Duke theology grad students, 3 U. of Ohio students (here with Campus Ministries), a couple on their way through Xela and the spanish program to other places, and Carlos, Luis, and Jairo-the three young and fun teachers at the school.

We met outside the school at 7:00am, prepared to walk to the bus station to catch a chicken bus. Right as we organized ourselves to go, an empty van/bus pulled through, and Carlos waved it over to see if he'd take us to the bus station. When we got in, apparently they arranged it so that it would take us full through to San Marcos. I can't explain how lucky this was. We had the whole van to ourselves, played games on the way up, didn't have to worry about stops or other passengers or catching other busses. It was about a 2 hour drive out to the Solola area, and then to get to Lake Atitlan ("nestled" in the mountains just doesn't do it, more like packed, squashed, or wedged) we ended up taking this road that had pinturns so tight you'd be lucky to make them in a bike much less a van. Someone talking to the driver said the area was called "The 12 turns of the Devil" which you can imagine had quite a resonance with the theology students. I've never heard so many Lord's-names-in-vains from such a group of people before! One girl was so freaked out she started sweating and screaming a little bit, followed by freakish laughing. Patrick tried to take her mind off the road by telling her stories about the weird dreams he had, which were funny enough for everyone to quit paying attention. As usual, I'm pretty relaxed about that stuff. Hugh and I trying to tell her that "these guys are professionals" (the god-honest truth) didn't really seem to sooth her. There's not a lot of development out there, and it was early enough in the morning that the road was pretty much abandoned. Plus these guys, I guess since they were getting paid whatever they asked for and didn't have other routes to make, were going much slower and gentler than most. Occasionally the obligatory pickup truck packed with people standing in the back of it passed us, which I tried to point out as "worse than our situation."

So we stop in a really small town, just a street amidst the tropical forest, and get out into the warm, humid air. It's been raining, drizzling, getting ready to rain, or torrentially expelling rain (there are no other options) for over a week in Xela now, so finding warmth and partially cloudy skies was REAL refreshing.

The real reason why we decided to come to this place this weekend is because there is an american woman in San Marcos that Carlos and Luis are friends with, and apparently they usually go there every year to celebrate her birthday. Lucky, lucky us for chancing upon this once-a-year occasion. Carlos led the way down a stone lined path off the one street and into the network of walkways that makes up the town. It's a very tranquil but touristy area, full of spas and massage huts, hotels and restaurants with english greetings. The woman's name is Terry, and we told her we'd be there around 1:00, but really made it there (because of our lucky bus situation) around 10:00. She wasn't expecting us, so we walked up to her house, through a jungle of birds-of-paradise, orange trees, and coffee shrubs to a tree house... I repeat a TREE HOUSE, where she comes down and shows us to the little hotel she owns and operates. More on the tree house later. I just can't believe I didn't get a picture of it.

The hotel is adjacent to her house, across the walkway and through a gate, and consists of three rooms that have two double beds, and an adorable loft above with two more. Outside the rooms is a patio with wicker love seats and hammock-chairs and is completely shaded by the colorful tropical foliage. Literally, walking down the path into the garden you kick fresh oranges, limes and avocados out of your path.

We're told that there will be some sort of Maya ceremony around 1 that we're invited to, so we wait around for a while and visit the lake, which is a 5 minute walk in the other direction as the road. There are pictures of that.

At 1 we head the other way up into the mountain, about a 25 minute mild hike, past some of the weirdest and most interesting houses I've ever seen. I think there are a lot of ex-pats that live out their *tree house* fantasies in old age here. One house in the midst of a tropical garden was literally in the shape of a space ship. Up up up the mountain until we got to a shallow cave-ish overhang under a rock cliff that is dripping water. It's not a waterfall, and it doesn't trickle, the whole thing just drips all the way across. Under the overhang is Terry, who announced to us that today is her 61st birthday and this ceremony is in her honor. She's a little jewish lady, with super curly white hair that sticks out everywhere, wearing crocs and jeans and a huipil with embroidered figures of the maya calendar. She introduces us to her other friends there, Jane, in her 40s or 50s with an english accent, fine facial features, and beautiful golden yellow hair. She also, as she talks to us, puts on a huipil and traditional belt. There's one other woman who is in her 50s, studying midwifery (apparently a nurse by trade), and one other lady, the most bizarre of all. She's tall and skinny, looks around 60, is also wearing maya garb, and has a Guatemalan baby slung on her shoulders. When she smiles, which she does a lot, you see that her front tooth is missing. Terry explains that this is her friend visitng from the states, and she's in the process of adopting this little girl, whom she encountered two days after she was born when her mother died in childbirth. And her name... is Toothfairy... Not "This is betty, but we like to call her toothfairy because she's missing a tooth" or even "this is my friend, she goes by toothfairy," but "This is my friend Toothfairy." No explanation, it's not weird, it's just her name. And then, last of all there's Tata Pedro (Tata is apparently like "guru") he's a maya priest of sorts. Apparently these women have been studying with him, learning the ways of the maya religion and participating in these ceremonies, which there are a lot of. He, with Terry as translator, explains first a bit about the religion, what it's philosophies are, what some of the details are, what exactly they'll be doing in the ceremony, and what he does in particular. Other maya religious leaders are very angry at him for what he does, he explains, because he doesn't believe that only mayas should be involved in ceremonies, that others all over the world should know what it's about. He travels all over the world, and in August will be in N.C. if anyone's interested.

They start the ceremony, which has to do with this fire in the middle of the cave that he's methodically constructed out of incense and colored candles. First there's a circle with a cross through it drawn with sugar, because sugar is from the earth and represents the sweetness of life. Then the candles go in, the colors representing the cardinal points- Red for sunrise, which also signifies passion and new life, black for sunset, which signifies death-big deaths and also the little everyday deaths that everyone survives, as well as introspection, White for where the wind comes from (north) which signifies inspiration, and Yellow for where the wind blows (south) which signifies the completion and fruition of dreams and life in general. Green is in the center, which of course is nature. There's also light blue-the sky, pink-love in all its forms, and purple-for the soil. Little incense pellets are arranged around the upright candles, and rows of little wax candles in the different colors are just laid on top of that. After he talks for a bit, and the midwife eerily chants and pats on a little drum, he lights the fire which flares into those big yellow blue flames that come more from grease than wood and produces a lot of fragrant smoke. More speaking, which isn't translated at this point and I don't pay a huge amount of attention to, and then Jane, the englishwoman, translates a little of what's going on. We're apparently making thanks to each of the 20 months of the maya calendar (the 1 out of the 20 or so that is most holy) and each month signifies something different and so there is a different ritual that happens. This calendar is of 260 days, 20 months of 13 days. It is the period of pregnancy in humans. There are 13 days, which has a double significance of the 13 major joints in the body (neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, hips, knees, ankles.) There's a lot packed into this system. So as the ceremony goes on, Terry and Tata Pedro, as well as the other women, throw handfuls of 13 pellets of incense into the fire which is supposed to be a donation, as well as thanks, as well as desires, illnesses, traumas, or anything else you want help from the spirit with. As it goes on, he involves us, gives us the pellets as well as little candles to toss into the fire with our problems or wishes. It's interesting... I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It wasn't exactly a situation where I recognized the face of god in the flames and then had the desire (as the other women did) of getting on their knees and kissing the soil. I will say it was a bit of a cleansing feeling. Whether you believe in it or not, it always feels good to throw your pains into a big hot yellow fire. I'd prefer not to get into my feelings on religion, and how this ceremony heightened or lowered my spiritual understandings, (or rather, left them unchanged) so I'll just keep it on the skin-deep level here, if that's ok.

I will say that I have a hard time believing in the legitimacy of a maya religious ceremony held by a bunch of eccentric white women. Everyone has their right to do what is best for them, and clearly they are very happy for having discovered this part of their nature, but from the outside it's just a little strange. Like they're playing at it. Also, a lot of the people in our group were not exactly into participating. Everyone there (except me and Hugh and some of the teachers) was very very Christian. I think they were interested in it from a "I like to know what religion is for other people" standpoint, and were happy to watch, but from what I heard later, didn't exactly want to get in on it. Tata Pedro isn't into bystanders. He wants everyone to join in. He insisted that this is solely supplementary. His view on it is that God is God no matter what name you call him, and so if you are religious at all, this ceremony can still speak to you, even on a Christian level. Don't know if everyone agreed with that. There was also the phrase "Spirituality and Religion can be two separate things" said on one occasion, with more supplementary context, which I later heard referred to by one of the theology students as "one of the biggest cliches of the 21st century." I thought that was a little much, but once again, I'll keep out of it.

After it was over, with much candle and incense tossing and singing and the whole 9 yards, we went back down the mountain. Luis, Carlos, Hugh and I singing that tune from the 7 dwarves "Hi ho!" to lighten the mood. Then we changed it to "Jairo!" when we caught up with him (his name is pronounced as Hi-ro.) Theeeen we went to a pizza place, because we were starving, that was a 3 story affair with rooms for rent on the bottom levels and a restaurant on top with a view of the lake on one side and the mountains on the other. Afterwards, Terry invited us to partake of her sauna (my new favorite thing) and we got in our bathing suits and headed over to her side of the compound.

Her house, as I said before, is a tree house. It's got a couple pillars under it that connect it to earth, and more than one building, all connected with stairways. The main building is two stories up on top of the pillars, all stone and carved concrete and aged wood. There's sweet dogs all over the place, and even a cat perched on a drying towel on one of the many railings. I can't give a good mental image of it because it's still not clear in my own mind. Talk about an enchanted forest, I couldn't find my wits in this place. There's foliage covering everything, which makes it hard to figure out what's connected to what, and the dimmed, indirect light makes you feel like you're on the moon, not to mention occasionally you're making smalltalk with an old woman named toothfairy. What planet was I just on? Anyway, the sauna is right next to the house, and is a concrete igloo with a little porthole door surrounded by large mossy rocks, perfect for perching on between turns. It's just big enough for about 5 people, but it's not something you can stand for very long, so it was convenient to take turns. I've never been in a sauna before, and certainly never expected to like it, so I'll explain the experience.

Inside the igloo is basically my idea of hell. The walls close in, there's a bunch of super sweaty, uncomfortable semi-strangers, the air is unbreathable, and you start sweating instantly, obviously. There are hot rocks on top of a fire that's regulated from outside, and every once in a while, to heat up the room and get the steam going, you take water from the sink that's also inside, and throw it on the rocks. The first 5 minutes I thought I was going to die. Wow. I do not miss Richmond summers at all, is all I could think. After that it kind of starts to feel cozy. Your lungs get used to the water in the air, and the sweat, or possibly condensed steam, is actually refreshing. Then after 10 minutes I started to hit my limit and just felt tingly and unhappy, so I got out, at there's a cold shower right next to it, which was the best 30 seconds of my life. The other girls standing there were amazed at my tolerance of the cold water, I could have jumped into a pool of it, it was so great. Unfortunately, making jokes about saunas being my idea of hell didn't go over well with such religious people. To me, it's kind of obvious-hot and claustrophobic, and the idea is to suffer a little bit. Plus there's nothing I hate more than heat mixed with humidity. But for them they're just like "wow... that's intense.." sigh. never mind.

After that I went back to the room and took a real shower. Which was really cold, and not nearly as nice as the one following the sauna. And then we went over to the restaurant which is apparently another part of terry's compound. There we had veggie lasagna with oil and vinegar salad followed by mango mousse dessert. So amazingly good. Also, in Terry's other life, she was a musician, so she and the cook who also played guitar played for us during dinner, and more people from around town and friends came in to watch. After the long and event filled day it was almost impossible to stay away though, and I had to get out of there before I made a fool of myself by falling into my finished plate. After that we all sat around on the porch, and Hugh, Carlos, Luis, Jairo, and I didn't exactly go to bed until 3 or so. It was a very, very fun night. In fact, in the morning, my cheeks hurt from laughing so much. Hugh said he felt like he'd been punched in both sides of the face for being sore. It's a pretty good way to be. I think if those guys existed in Richmond, I'd be friends with them. Or at least I'd really want to be.

In the morning most of us got up and visited the lake. I jumped across rocks for a while and talked more to the teachers. Observed the water and looked for volcanic rocks.

Then we had to think about how the hell we were going to get out of there. One option was that we jump on the back of a pickup truck to make it through the 12 curves of the devil until we get to the town on the other side where the chicken busses reach the end/beginning of their line. I'm really happy that we didn't have to do that. Instead, we hopped on one of the passenger boats (chicken busses of the sea) that run routes across the lake regularly to the different pueblos. Not exaggerating that. There's the guy in the front that manages the passengers, docks it, takes the money, and controls the music (of course there is blaring music everywhere in Guatemala) and the pilot in the back that just steers. That was a bit of a defining moment there. That lake is so unimaginably spectacularly beautiful. High high mountains with fields on them of course, and tropical flowers hanging off the cliffs, perfectly still blue water, blue sky with soft clouds and a cool breeze. I think I must have been a seaman in a past life, because I absolutely, positively, love every instant that I am moving on a boat. It's just perfect. Hugh told me the names of some famous pirate-women of the caribbean that I should look up.

We took the boat to Panajachel, the first city I ever went to in Guatemala a year ago. I recognized the tienda that I bought my green blanket at. (How lucky was that guy that day. I had no idea what I was doing. He told me his father sewed it! What crap!) And also the bars we drank in that first night, 5 hours after first meeting hugh-who went to sleep early that night. We got brunch (almu-yuno in espanol?) in a little restaurant there, and found ourselves a chicken bus and headed out. This is where our luck ran out. This bus was completely full when the 13 of us (we left two at the boat who were leaving Xela for other travels) got on. We mostly managed to fit all of ourselves somewhere, 3 in a seat (oh remember 5th grade?) and then the bus continued to pick up more and more people as we went, until all the seats who could fit 3 had them, and then the isle was full of people standing until it started to overflow up front. But they kept taking them. There was a man actually standing between me and the back of my seat, so I sat scrunched, perched on the corner of the seat holding on for dear life. However, there were enough people around me that even if I had let go, I would have been supported on all sides. We got dumped off that bus at a major intersection somewhere between Solola and Xela, and the teachers found us the other bus that took us all the way to Xela, mostly empty thank god. That was about an hour and a half, more tolerable because we passed the dirt road to Xeavaj and I recognized the whole way after that. I also slept a little bit on Hugh's shoulder. Oh schoolbusses. The butt just doesn't have enough padding to be in those seats for longer than 30 minutes. That bus, also, spit us out somewhere strange, I'm guessing just north of Democracia, and we had to walk to some other stop (thank you again, carlos, jairo, and luis!) in the pouring (thank you xela) rain and fight for seats on a couple other vans to get to somewhere near our house. We got split into a few different vehicles this time, but at least at this point we all knew where we were going. Of course, we're in Xela, so it's a torrential downpour as usual. We left that shining, clear skied lake for this?? The first thing I did was make hot chocolate. And then I started writing this... 4 hours later... here I still am.

It's always so nice to get rid of all these words though.