Lake Atitlan Escapades
The same day as the volcano hike Chris and I left for Lake Atitlan. On the way back from the volcano I began feeling queasy, which I mostly attributed to motion sickness and fatigue from the hike. But a few hours later I realized I had been struck down by a majorly upset stomach, grade VI (meaning no throwing up, but the shivers and body aches). I'm afraid it was sort of a trial by fire for poor Chris, who at this point had known me for less than 48 hours and was forced to care for me for the day.
Guatemala is cheap, the housing averages about $5 per night, and while the food is expensive relative to everything else, overall Guatemala is a great bang for your buck. That being said, I'd recommend for any future travelers to really consider forking out that little extra for the shuttles. Guatemalan chicken buses, for some reason are really just not as efficient as in some other central american countries. They're fast, yeah, and you hardly ever have to wait for the next one, but to get from point A to point B you have to inevitably switch 5+ times, and these chicken buses are seriously pushing the max in terms of speed. I would NEVER have guessed these old US schoolbuses were even capable of reaching such lightning speeds (WARP 8!), but in Guatemala they somehow make it happen, even accelerating and careening around the mountain turns so everybody and everything is haphazardly tossed around inside.
So you can imagine, grade VI stomach upset, plus a full morning of hiking, plus another 6 or 7 hours of this type of strenuous transport equals a very zombie like, unhappy jo. I was laying very pale and weak in chris' arms, shivering whilst wrapped up in his bulky sweatshirt, alternatingly slipping in and out of consciousness and apologizing for being such miserable company. When we arrived to a hotel in Panajachel I could only muster enough energy to crawl into bed, sip some 7up, and thank Chris for getting me there in one piece.
The next day I felt immensely better, although I still could only manage some lime chips (they ain't no choclitos from colombia, but close enough!). We hopped on a boat to San Marcos, one of the many little towns sprinkled around the enormous lake. The lake itself was beautiful--not quite the obvious beauty of maybe the swiss-esque lakes in bariloche, argentina or Lake Van in Turkey, but a more sedated, muted beauty, with a misty cast over the volcanoes and mountains.
San Marcos itself was a cute little foreigner village, filled to the brim with hardcore hippies intent on meditating, doing yoga, crystal cleansing and spanish lessons. Since neither Chris nor I were particularly fitting in with the hippie crowd we chilled out on our own for a few days.
The hostel we were at was amazing! It was one huge wooden cabin-like lodge up top of a cliff with an uncomparable view of the lake. Our beds were on the very top floor, which could only be reached by a series of rickety stairwells. With our musty matresses on the floor and a lone lamp, I couldn't help but feel like I was at some twisted, guatemalan version of summer camp. My only complaint was the shit ton of dust, the bathroom missing a door (making showering a bit unnerving), and the endless amounts of cats, and therefore cat fur. I was even terrifyingly woken up one night at 3am by a very rude cat standing on my chest, demanding attention! Sneezing and wheezing aside, it was all small sacrifices for the locale. I spent the rest of the day in a hammock on the sundeck and a book.
The following day we shuttled to and from Santiago, the town with the largest indigenous population near the lake. We perused the small market, admired the local people in their amazing, colorful patterned clothing (including women who had repeatedly wrapped a long, skinny strip of fabric around their head, layering it until it became a weird sort of disc like halo), and ended up comically buying some groceries before heading back. This small excursion ended up taking most of the day, surprisingly, as the boats that shuttle you in between towns are incredibly slow. By the time we got back it was already time to prepare dinner. Incidentally, this is also where I incurred my first toenail related injury. My sandals, now worn down to less than 1/2 cm of foam (i've actually worn right through the right sandal), slipped in the water at the bottom of the boat and I violently slammed my big toe straight into one of the benches. It immediately began to bleed, an entirely novel experience for me, and on later inspection decided in a few weeks the nail would grow out just fine.
Guatemala is cheap, the housing averages about $5 per night, and while the food is expensive relative to everything else, overall Guatemala is a great bang for your buck. That being said, I'd recommend for any future travelers to really consider forking out that little extra for the shuttles. Guatemalan chicken buses, for some reason are really just not as efficient as in some other central american countries. They're fast, yeah, and you hardly ever have to wait for the next one, but to get from point A to point B you have to inevitably switch 5+ times, and these chicken buses are seriously pushing the max in terms of speed. I would NEVER have guessed these old US schoolbuses were even capable of reaching such lightning speeds (WARP 8!), but in Guatemala they somehow make it happen, even accelerating and careening around the mountain turns so everybody and everything is haphazardly tossed around inside.
So you can imagine, grade VI stomach upset, plus a full morning of hiking, plus another 6 or 7 hours of this type of strenuous transport equals a very zombie like, unhappy jo. I was laying very pale and weak in chris' arms, shivering whilst wrapped up in his bulky sweatshirt, alternatingly slipping in and out of consciousness and apologizing for being such miserable company. When we arrived to a hotel in Panajachel I could only muster enough energy to crawl into bed, sip some 7up, and thank Chris for getting me there in one piece.
The next day I felt immensely better, although I still could only manage some lime chips (they ain't no choclitos from colombia, but close enough!). We hopped on a boat to San Marcos, one of the many little towns sprinkled around the enormous lake. The lake itself was beautiful--not quite the obvious beauty of maybe the swiss-esque lakes in bariloche, argentina or Lake Van in Turkey, but a more sedated, muted beauty, with a misty cast over the volcanoes and mountains.
San Marcos itself was a cute little foreigner village, filled to the brim with hardcore hippies intent on meditating, doing yoga, crystal cleansing and spanish lessons. Since neither Chris nor I were particularly fitting in with the hippie crowd we chilled out on our own for a few days.
The hostel we were at was amazing! It was one huge wooden cabin-like lodge up top of a cliff with an uncomparable view of the lake. Our beds were on the very top floor, which could only be reached by a series of rickety stairwells. With our musty matresses on the floor and a lone lamp, I couldn't help but feel like I was at some twisted, guatemalan version of summer camp. My only complaint was the shit ton of dust, the bathroom missing a door (making showering a bit unnerving), and the endless amounts of cats, and therefore cat fur. I was even terrifyingly woken up one night at 3am by a very rude cat standing on my chest, demanding attention! Sneezing and wheezing aside, it was all small sacrifices for the locale. I spent the rest of the day in a hammock on the sundeck and a book.
The following day we shuttled to and from Santiago, the town with the largest indigenous population near the lake. We perused the small market, admired the local people in their amazing, colorful patterned clothing (including women who had repeatedly wrapped a long, skinny strip of fabric around their head, layering it until it became a weird sort of disc like halo), and ended up comically buying some groceries before heading back. This small excursion ended up taking most of the day, surprisingly, as the boats that shuttle you in between towns are incredibly slow. By the time we got back it was already time to prepare dinner. Incidentally, this is also where I incurred my first toenail related injury. My sandals, now worn down to less than 1/2 cm of foam (i've actually worn right through the right sandal), slipped in the water at the bottom of the boat and I violently slammed my big toe straight into one of the benches. It immediately began to bleed, an entirely novel experience for me, and on later inspection decided in a few weeks the nail would grow out just fine.
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