Let's step back in time..... to a time when we lived next to a lake surrounded by other gringos, a time when we ate till our bellies were swollen, and to a time when we had not yet laid our eyes upon Central America's largest water park. That time would be last Saturday, March 21st.
Our time in the colorful, hippie town of San Pedro was exactly what the doctor ordered; replenishing our calories with a variety of different eats, walking hills to pump blood into our still sore muscles, and a great view of the lake from comfortable hammocks. We spent the majority of the 3 days relaxing and reading (I've finished 10 books since travel began, Micah has almost finished his first!), playing War with our well traveled deck of cards, and feeble attempts at exploration. Here were the highlights:
-Saturday's lunch found us in a living room size open diner, eating chorizo quesadillas and al pastor tacos with a smorgasbord of sauce options, including fresh cilantro and guacomole. Home Alone 1 was blaring on the tv overhead. It was so satisfying, we returned on Monday.
-Luckily for our taste buds, San Pedro had a decent variety of food options to cater to their many tourists. We enjoy the typical Latino food, but sometimes you just crave non rice, non beans, and non carne asada. Saturday evening our dinner was curry, and I sipped on a mojito while Micah drank a Cuba Libre. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was delightful, the decorations were all based on TinTin the cartoon.
-On Sunday, we attempted to visit the town across the lake, San Marcos, that was reported to be slightly more expensive but prettier than the town we resided in. It required a 15 minute boat ride across the lake, which revealed a disturbing abundance of dead fish floating on top of the water. Hence, we did not sample the ceviche there. San Marcos was dissapointing; it seemed as if everything was closed. The one quality that San Marcos beat San Pedro in was sheer volume of hippies per capita. I felt out of place with shaved legs and a bra. We did feast on a falafel burrito for lunch and picked up more fixins for tostadas with frijoles and chorizo for dinner that evening. We also purchased avocado to make guac, but the avocado was bad; our fault, we should have known to not buy any when Micah picked one up and gave a gentle squeeze to feel for its yummy mushiness inside and the outer layer snapped in half like cardboard.
Volcán San Pedro in the background
Turkey in the road in San Marcos, scaring us from passing and chasing los niños
-After our usual bread with peanut butter and banana breakfast, Monday we decided to explore our town. Many hills led us to the other side of San Pedro, where we watched boats come in to the dock from a different town, peered inside old buildings that were 10ft under water after the water level rose, and pondered our next hike. Indian's Nose was a lookout point that we could see from that dock, that was rumored to provide a breathtaking view of the sunrise over the lake but the weather didn't want to cooperate for us. The skies were not blue enough to our liking, and we honestly didn't feel like climbing just to climb, without the rewarding panorama at the finish line. We decided then we wouldn't do it...which of course meant when we awoke at sunrise the next morning, there was not a cloud in the sky.
Quiet afternoon at Restaurante Chuasanahi At the local market in San Pedro
Tuesday we boarded yet another chicken bus, which headed up a very windy road that did not seem fit for a bus. It was switchbacks almost the entire climb up to 3500 ft and the driver would lay on his horn a few seconds before each corner to warn others coming the opposite direction. We were easily entertained during this 3 hour ride, admiring the stealth skills of the helper. Each bus has a driver and a helper, whose job is to lay his life on the line by swinging his body outside the front door of the bus, one arm gripping the rail, yelling the town name the bus is destined for to every person standing on the road that looks like they may need a ride. Then, our favorite part, the helpers job duties also include climbing on top of the bus to get baskets of fruit, or bundles of jeans, or backpacks down when the owner of that item is exiting the bus. He usually climbs up the ladder on the back side of the bus while the bus is stopped for the passengers to disembark, and once items are carelessly tossed over the side, he either whistles or hits the top of the bus violently to indicate to the driver that the items are off. The bus then begans to accelerate rapidly, and the helper climbs back down the ladder, swings the back door open, and then jumps in to the speeding bus and gently closes the door behind him like it was nothing. Micah and I aspire to be a bus helper someday.
Despite the entertaining bus helper show, we got off the bus in the town of Quetzaltenanango, which is obviously impossible to pronounce so is referred to as "Xela" (shell-uh). After walking from the bus terminal, touring 3 or 4 hostals, we opted for the cheapest hostal we found. It cost 80Q ($10.50), had a clever host, and a talkative older gal sitting out front. That's where the pluses ended; the room was 10' x 8' with a bed that had a spring ready to stab you as soon as you drifted off, walls painted brown, NO WINDOWS (I hyperventilated a little when we shut the door), a door less entrance to the bathroom which was also missing the toilet seat. As Micah went to pay and I sat terrified in that jail cell, I yelled after him to only pay for one night. He did, and that evening we continued our search for a hostal for the next few nights. We also ate at a local eatery, checked out the Central Park, and once we returned to our "hostal", were serenaded with Nicaragua's national anthem by the friendly, maybe partially crazy lady, sitting out front.
Wednesday, we packed our bags and checked in to our new brighter, cleaner, and toilet seat including hostal for $13/night. We explored the large town of Xela, with our first stop at a traditional Latino cemetery, which means a large portion of the buried is above ground with elaborate and brightly decorated statues. It was the largest cemetery we've ever seen, with headstones dating back as far 1870 (passed in 1870, often the headstone didn't list birthdate). We walked for over an hour and hardly covered half of the ground. There were some large stairs that led you to the top of a hill where it seemed that the cemetery went on forever; it was in this part of the cemetery that my heart broke a bit, as there were mounds of dirt all around, some lucky enough to have a metal cross strung together with string but most without a headstone or name. Our assumption was the family was unable to afford a headstone for their deceased.
After the cemetery, we briefly walked through a museum of Guatemalan history. Our favorite part was sitting out front waiting for the museum to open; a local man sat on the bench next to Micah and began talking, mostly to Micah, about religion and after inquiring who I was and Micah informing him I was his novia, his girlfriend, the local kept saying no novia, no esposa (not your girlfriend, not your wife), then rustled my hair, put his face uncomfortably close to my cheek, and then walked away. That was more entertaining than the museum itself.
Alright, if you're still reading, you're at the best part; yesterday, Thursday. We opted to celebrate my Mom's 63rd birthday (Feliz Cumpleaños, mi madre!!) with a day at the water park. It was the perfect day, marked initially with our success at catching the correct bus by standing on the side of the main road and flagging down the bus.... and then showing them the town name on a piece of paper where Micah had cleverly written it since our pronunciation of towns leaves a lot to the imagination. One hour and a half of windy downhill roads later, we arrived at Xocomil, the largest Parque Aquatica in Central America. We didn't mess around; 10 minutes after arriving, we were climbing 96 stairs to what appeared to be the biggest bang-for-your-buck ride. The operator used his key to open the rounded glass door of what looked like a time capsule, you stepped inside and as the picture showed, arms and legs crossed, the operator locked the door and then came the eerily calm but video-game-like women's voice counting down from 3. At 1, the floor dropped out from under you. And you fell, straight down, for nearly 3 seconds. I didn't even scream I was so terrified, and it's hard to know if I peed my pants because of all the water. After the 25' straight drop, your body is shot to one side, spun in a large circle, and then deposited down a slide in to the pool. The 7 scariest seconds of my life, and we did it twice. By the end of the day, we climbed ~1200 stairs, did 18 rides, and lounged in the lazy river and wave pool. It was an exhilarating and exhausting 6 hours, cost $13/each. Next time you're in Guatemala, you must go to Xocomil.
I was giddy like a school kid on a field trip
Local teenagers kept yelling "gringos, take our picture" One of many impressive rides
The amusement park rides weren't over for us yet. We hopped on a bus just outside the park, and were ready to settle in for a quiet, easy ride home. We had pulled over to pick up some passengers, when another chicken bus that advertised it was also going to Xela pulled in front of us, and then sped past. Our bus driver didn't seem to appreciate this, as it meant this other bus would get to all the stops first and steal all his riders and fares. His competitive blood kicked in; he drove faster than a school bus is designed to go, which created a burning metal smell and required the helper to frantically add coolant to the bus. He passed the other Xela bus two times, as they switched leads each time one stopped for passengers. He also passed multiple other buses and semis, and seemed to enjoy doing this most often on blind corners. There were many times he pulled the bus in to the oncoming lane before a sharp corner, down shifted jolting the entire bus, began to speed up, and then swerved back into the correct lane when an oncoming vehicle appeared around that corner. Or sometimes, when it was a smaller truck that would take the brunt of the hit if there was a collision, he would keep speeding up and pass the semi, knowing the oncoming truck would slow down or pull off the side of the road to avoid death. It was our scariest bus ride yet, but we did make it back to Xela in about half the time we expected it to take.
And that brings us to today. Another chicken bus this morning took us to San Fransisco, a not so ironically hilly town an hour away. SF has a large, outdoor market that we decided we must see. The market was very impressive. On the outskirts, most of the vendors sold material to make traditional Guatemalan skirts and typical clothes, half of which had the Yankees emblem embroidered on. As we began to squeeze our bodies in to the more crowded center, we found aisles of produce, and raw meat hanging from line above the vendors head. And some of the booths even were selling the skull of the pig with meat still on the bone, or the head of the cow (eyes and whiskers included) along with, but cut off, the body. The center of the market was where the live animals could be found. We wandered for a couple of hours, but lost our appetites a bit around the heads, so headed back to Xela for lunch and a nap.
People... and apparently turkeys... crowding the market
It always smells bad near the meat selling section
We've been pleased with Guatemala and, as with other places visited thus far, are pleasantly surprised with how safe we feel and how helpful and friendly the people are. However, we're ready to move on. Tomorrow, we will bus 9ish hours in to Mexico, rooting ourselves in San Cristobal for a few days before we continue towards Cancun, stopping at nearly every ruin along the way. The day will be long and tiring, but we feel well prepared and up for the challenge.
