Somewhere between your normal day-to-day routine and your most extravagant dreams and wishes you find a tranquil peace. Everyone experiences this in different ways yet obtains the same feeling, if they ever obtain the feeling at all. I think I felt that in Atitlan. I know I felt it a few times in Rome. I've felt it many times in my own city, Boston. The wonderful thing is that it's different every time.
It's hard to use words to describe moments that shake your perception of the world, and more importantly, how you perceive yourself. In the village of Santa Cruz de la Iguana you are forced to think differently. You need to adapt to not only your cultural surroundings but also to your physical surroundings.
The village is on Lake Atitlan, tucked away in a small inlet at the top of a steep hill which towers about 200 feet from the base of the docking area. There are many little villages on the hills surrounding the lake. The main town is Panajachel. This is where tourists, both Guatemalan and foreign, go to unwind, party, eat good food, and take in the local indigenous culture. Pana, as they call it, is the where the buses from the city drop you off. From there you can take a boat to one of the many smaller villages as described before. My choice, Santa Cruz de la Iguana. I picked it for no other reason than it's remote location and hostel pricing ($4 US per night). There are no roads which connect the village with Pana, or anywhere else for that matter. It's about a 15 minute boat ride from dock to dock, and let me tell you it's rough.
Once you dock there is a narrow cobblestone road that switchbacks up from the water to the town center. My hostel, La Iguana Perdida (The Lost Iguana), is at the base of the hill about 30 feet from the lake. The hostel itself is right out of a Hemingway novel. Almost everything is open-air including the bathrooms, with doors and roof coverings of course. The rooms are surprisingly comfortable despite the lack of electricity. The dorms are like bungalows separated by small winding paths and naturally decadent flowers and trees. Really, the whole compound is a site to see. Physical and ephemeral beauty is in abundance here, and if anything, that's being modest.
The crowd is somewhat typical for a youth hostel. Mostly Americans and Canadians, with a few Europeans peppered in for good measure. One of the tragedies of hosteling though is that you rarely encounter non-whites or non English speakers. You also get an immediate sense of community, sharing, friendliness, and cooperation. Hostel workers and guests are usually very environmentally and politically conscious. Let's put it this way, if you have a "Bush/Cheney '04" bumper sticker adorning the back of your Hummer H2, you probably won't find yourself here.
After a hectic day trying to get out of the capital (I won't explain, but if you've ever been in rush hour traffic in the third world with no AC, you can relate) and a peaceful, yet at times dangerous drive, I went to bed pretty early my first day here. Today was different. Today moved me in a way which I would assume would be different for every person. Today I walked up the switchback to the end of the village.
With the tropical sun in my face and loud noise of seemingly unfamiliar birds chirping on either side, I took the 20 minute or so walk from the hostel to the village. It's a decent incline, but when you see older women and infants climb up with ease, it inspires you to walk faster. Once I reached the beginning of the village, my immediate reaction was a bit confusing. You're instantly struck with the feeling of poverty beset by beauty. There are kids everywhere, and the women appear to be either weaving, washing clothes, or cooking inside. The men, I'd assume, are in Pana or other larger towns working. The few men you see are either doing construction work or carrying goods down the hill. The ratio of grown men to children appears to be about 1:40, and that is underestimating.
The physical surroundings are confusing, yet from what I'm told, a typical reality here. On one hand you have a view worthy of a national postcard, dark green trees, a volcano, and thatched-roof huts for gringos to stay in. On the other hand, the streets and drains are littered with trash, skinny stray dogs, chickens tied up by strings, and smashed stones and bricks. You can't escape the smell of dog shit, and if you're not careful it's easy to step in. This is the kind of poverty you read about. It's hard not to have a heavy heart. The juxtaposition of beauty and desperation is almost too much to take in all at once.
Guilt is an easy feeling to have, but once you gather yourself together a bit, something cheers you up, at least it did for me. The kids were acting like, well, kids. School had just let out for lunch, and as I began my descent into the town square all I could hear was laughter. They were running around as all kids do, screaming, pushing, making faces. They mobbed the ice cream vendor when he rang his bell, and a few of them kicked around a soccer ball while getting yelled at for being a little too rambunctious.
The school, library, and church are the centerpieces of the town square. It's obvious that the government or some sort of aid group was here. There's a covered watering station with a sign to mark how much money was spent by Guatemala to bring these people fresh drinking water. I've seen these things before, and it angers me a little that they (the government) put up a sign to tout their accomplishments when I'm told there are thousands of towns here that still don't have plumbing or clean drinking water. I understand the magnitude and difficulty of these projects, but I think the end result speaks for itself.
I'm heading back to the town square tonight to help teach some of the kids English for an hour or so. The people here are almost all indigenous, and their first language isn't even Spanish. For commercial purposes, many speak and understand the language well, but amongst themselves they speak a form of what I assume to be an ancient dialect derived originally from the Mayans. I'm not too sure what good English will do for them, but learning how to communicate commercially can surely help any impoverished people. I just can't wait to see the kids smile again.
Tomorrow It's back to the City for the 4th of July. To be honest, the holiday means less to me that I say it does. But hey, It's always fun to go drinking with some other gringas, especially if they're cute. Ciao Amigos.
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