Around the World: In Guatemala, Bliss by a Blue Lake
by Joyce Maynard

December 26, 2004 Sunday New York Times
Travel story about San Marcos la Laguna, Guatemala

I first laid eyes on Lake Atitlan 30 years ago. I remember thinking that it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen, but the list of places I’d seen was a short one. (Though my youthful view was shared by a traveler of vast experience, Aldous Huxley, when he visited there, calling it “the most beautiful lake in the world,” even more lovely than Lake Como.)

When I arrived in 1973, it was a difficult time for an American in Guatemala. The country was in the midst of a devastating civil war that saw the disappearances and deaths of thousands of its citizens, slaughtered by its own military. In the eight years since the end of that war, the country has yet to shake its image as an unstable place. But three years ago -- 28 years after I’d first visited the lake -- I returned with my daughter, who was then just about the age I’d been when I first traveled there.

The lake seemed no less magical than it had when I was very young. I ended up staying for seven months in one particular village, San Marcos La Laguna. As a traveler who now returns regularly to Central America, that village has become the one place to which I know I will always return. I travel there a few times a year now, including a visit this month.

No one embarking on a trip to Guatemala should do so without first considering the question of safety. Although the election held recently brought into power a new government for which hopes remain high, the United States State Department continues to caution against Americans visiting there. I assess my danger at the hands of a Guatemalan bandit as considerably lower than my chances on the highways in my home state of California. Still, Guatemala is a third-world country with inherent risks attached.

Because the country does not attract what you might call the conventional tourist, the rewards remain, for those willing to put up with its rough edges, particularly sweet, and not simply because a Guatemalan vacation costs a fraction of one in Mexico. The country retains an unspoiled flavor, rare for a place of so much physical beauty, history and charm. No cable television in the hotel rooms at Lake Atitlan, no air-conditioning (but no need for it), and you’re likely to encounter the odd -- though utterly harmless -- spider, and may run into a non-lethal variety of scorpion. You’ll also see fireflies, butterflies, egrets, herons, orchids and terrain of unsurpassed beauty, not to mention a culture that has changed surprisingly little in the last quarter century. The climate remains almost ceaselessly ideal (picture San Diego), with virtually no rain from early November to around April , and even at the height of the rainy season, in June and September, nearly daily sunshine alternating with the periodic downpours.

Many visitors will want to see the traditional spots: the spectacular Mayan ruins in the jungle at Tikal, the lovely colonial city of Antigua. I go as directly as possible to the place I love the best: the lake.

The two-and-a-half-hour drive from Guatemala City’s airport to Lake Atitlan provides a wonderful introduction to the country -- a succession of towns and increasingly tiny villages, rising into the mountainous landscape in which little land goes uncultivated. Along the roadside: sacks of onions and cabbages, women with stacks of wood on their heads and babies on their backs.

Then comes the moment that even now, after a half-dozen trips, still causes my heart to lift: when the car or minibus rounds a curve in the road, and suddenly you look down and there’s the lake below you, bathed in nearly perpetual sunlight and glittering blue againsta backdrop of the three volcanoes that line the southern shores: Atitlan, Tolim·n and San Pedro. Sometimes, on a clear day -- and best of all, at night -- you can see smoke and a faint glow of fire rising in the far distance, from the one that remains quietly, though unmistakably, active.

The journey to the lake will deposit you in Panajachel, the town most typically visited by tourists, and to my mind the least interesting. (Since no banks or ATM machines exist in San Marcos, and nobody there takes a charge card, be sure to change your money in Panajachel, if you did not do so already at the airport.)

The dock in Pana is served by a fleet of lancha boats that leave every half-hour or so (nothing quite so precise as a schedule is likely to be found here). The lanchas supply the main source of transportation for villagers around the lake, stopping at each town just long enough to let off passengers and take on new ones. You’ll be deposited at a little dock in front of what is probably the most popular hotel choice for first world travelers: Posada Schumann, but if you choose to expore -- and there are sure to be children ready to help you with this -- you can easily make your way down the narrow, bouganvillea-shaded pathways that lead past market stalls and coffee groves , past the town’s half dozen or so other hotels, and to its center. Nothing is more than five minutes’ walk, and except for a few pickup trucks passing through town, you won’t see many cars. Everyone walks or rides a bicycle here, unless they’re in a boat.

A visit to San Marcos has less to do with stops at particular sites than with a slow, serene rhythm of life made up of small moments of exotic simplicity, and with the state of mind one comes to inhabit, after a few days of life on the lake.)

The indigenous culture is Mayan, and though the people speak Spanish, the main language is. Little girls in the village still wear the traditional traje -- a hand-embroidered tunic called a huipil and a long skirt, wrapped around the waist. Men wear cowboy hats and carry bags they have crocheted from threads of maguey leaves. Little boys roll hoops made of old scrap metal, or (traditionally, in November) fly home-made kites. Other than the much coveted soccer ball, there is little evidence of toys or playthings. Girls have little use for dolls; they tend real babies. Boys gather stones for construction. When coffee beans are ready for harvesting, half the village goes up to the mountains to pick them.

One of the charms of San Marcos is the network of narrow bougainvillea-shaded footpaths that wind past the hotels and restaurants (some of which don’t even have telephones) and coffee groves and vegetable stands that make up the village.) Children as young as 3 or 4, with no parents in sight, traverse the paths, with younger siblings in tow, gathering firewood. Women in traditional dress stroll the paths, baskets balanced on their heads, selling bread, pineapples, eggs and -- in the case of one -- local chocolate.

Unexpected pleasures turn up, too, in the form of entertainment, often provided in local clubs by travelers passing through -- a blues guitarist from North Carolina one night, a wandering Persian dancer the next.

The area is rich with trails for hiking. A favorite of mine is a route -- partly along a dirt road, partly on high, mountainous paths through land lush with coffee and banana trees, with the lake never out of view -- from San Marcos to the town of Santa Cruz. (Three or four hours, one way -- longer with a stop en route for lunch in Jaibalito at the hotel and restaurant Casa del Mundo. The return trip can be made by boat. )

Mostly, though, I am happy to stay in town. In addition to its indigenous population, San Marcos has become known, in recent years, as a center for healing arts and alternative therapies provided by the small but growing, alternative-flavored expatriate community of artists and musicians, holistic medicine practioners, Midwives, musicians and social worker types who maintain a surprisingly congenial relationship with the Mayan community, by and large.

Walking through the village, a traveler may hear the exhortations (broadcast over primitive speakers) of an evangelical preacher, or guitars and singing inside the festively decorated Catholic church, and then, just down the path, observe a yoga class or signs pointing the way to reiki practitioners, a massage therapist, a holistic health center, a homeopath, reflexologist, cranial sacral massage or “sound therapy.”

Perhaps the best known of the healing centers is Las Pir·mides, (502) 205 7151, where visitors typically settle in for a several-week-long course of meditation, vegetarian meals or juice fasting, or -- for the hard core -- a 40-day period of total silence. More up my alley are the classes and good but inexpensive massages offered under the banana trees and orchid-laden jocote trees at the healing center of Casa Azul, run by an energetic young expatriate pair who sell a range of delicious organic snacks, and at La Paz, the vegetarian hostel that caters to the younger crowd,and also features a family style vegetarian meal every night on its thatch-roof patio.

San Marcos is a good spot to study Spanish, with several teachers -- all native speakers -- offering terrific one on one instruction, easily arranged through the restaurant/hotel La Paz, at a rate of around $3 an hour, and I always try to sign up for classes when I’m in town.

For me, swimming is a crucial part of being in San Marcos. Thought to be the deepest lake in the Americas, Atitlan remains a dazzlingly clear shade of blue -- not the bathtub-temperature found in Caribbean waters, but more along the lines of a New England lake in summer. Elsewhere in the world, a lake of comparable beauty would be overrun with speedboats and Jet Skis, but the chief boat traffic here remains the simple wooden dugouts used by the fishermen and the lanchas taking you to other towns around the lake.

Several are worth exploring -- and each possesses a highly distinct character. San Pedro, a 10-minute boat ride from San Marcos (or a hair-raising but spectacular ride of 30 minutes -- always readily available -- in the back of a pickup truck) is larger, busier, and offers a far greater variety of restaurants and night life.

The largest town on the lake -- well worth a day trip -- is Santiago Atitlan (market day is Friday, though abundant shopping possibilities, with a strong focus on local primitive art, are easily available daily). Santiago features a market, but the most dazzling aspect of the town, for me, can be found during the Easter festivities of Semana Santa, when the streets are decorated with huge, block-long artworks made of brightly colored sawdust, laid out on the ground, and effigies of the notorious figure Machimon (a representative of the devil always depicted, red-eyed, with a cigarette hanging out his mouth) are everywhere.

As for dining in San Marcos While no traveler would embark on a visit to Lake Atitlan with gourmet cuisine as a central goal, I thrive on the simple, healthy eating I find there. Often I make a meal out of the fresh produce found in the market stalls -- pineapples and avocados picked that morning, more than likely, and coconuts opened while you wait. For restaurant dining, my favorite spot is Tul Y Sol, run by a Frenchman named Guy, with a porch overlooking the lake, and good sandwiches, fresh seafood, chicken and very French style roasted potatoes. I also love the bread baked daily at Las Piramides, the rice, vegetables and beans at Suzy’s comedor, the fresh fruit licuados at Moonfish, the tiramisu served in the beautiful garden of Il Jardino, and the mojitos at the lakeside bar of Hotel Jinava.

Set a little further back from the lake -- but with extraordinary views, and by far the most original design of any place in town, is the hotel Aaculaax, some of whose half dozen suites ffeature kitchens, open air balconies and a private solar heated hot tub. (Run by a young german, Niels, who left his record store in Hamburg some years back with the dream of living on the lake, Aaculaax features the artisanry of dozens of artists and craftspeople who passed through over the years, contributing stained glass and tile work, showers made of native stone, and handmade coffee wood furnishings. Rooms run $7-$15 a night. Reservations: niecolass@hotmail.com)

Other good options include the vegetarian hostel, La Paz (with a few private bungalows, not on the lake), and Paco Real (sweet bungalows with shared bath, not on the lake).

It is a unique and (to me) endearing aspect of San Marco (though occasionally a frustrating one) that virtually no business has an address or a phone number here, and there is virtually no need for them, since everything's connected by a few bouganvillea-laden pathways, and a single main dirt road winding past the school, the basketball court, and the half dozen market stalls.

The way to view a visit to San Marcos has less to do with any activity or destination than with the simple and exquisitely peaceful rhythm of life in the town, and the ease with which even a busy North American traveler is likely to settle into a dreamily slow way of life: A morning yoga class, a little soccer maybe, a beer in the square, a swim, a massage, a sauna, a fresh-picked avocado, a walk to the rocks to watch the sun go down and take in the sight of little boys casting their string into the water in search of fish or crabs, and women bathing their babies. Any night of the week I may find myself at a table with an unconventional assortment of travelers from half a dozen different countries , on the patio of Hotel Quetzal. If the moon’s up, I end my day with yet another swim.

When I stroll around San Marcos I carry chalk in my bag, to give to children, and sometimes we draw together. Give a child in that village a drawing implement, and there is little doubt what she will draw for you: a lake. And a volcano, looming large on the horizon.

It’s ironic that a village in a country with a reputation for danger and instability should represent, for me, the most peaceful place I know. A little girl asked me, on my most recent trip, what the volcanoes were like back where I came from. When I told her we had none where I live, she looked at me with an expression of a certain grave regret, and sympathy.

Each time I leave the village again, I understand her regretful appearance when she hears the news, and wonder at the wisdom of leaving a place where I am happier than any other on the planet.

TRAVEL INFO: Try to arrive in Guatemala City before 2 p.m. because the last boat to San Marcos (COST: $1.50 US) leaves the dock at Panajachel at 6 p.m., and the trip to the dock -- even by private taxi, at a cost of about $50 -- takes two and a half to three hours. For taxi reservations call Evi Tortola, (502) 414-9424, and be prepared to make your arrangements in Spanish.

If you arrive later in the day, you’ll need to stay over night before making your way to the lake. But for a cab fare of $20 to $25, you can make your way to the charming colonial city of Antigua, where an abundance of small hotels offer lovely, simple accommodation for $30 and up. And from there, tourist minibuses are available for about $15 to bring you to Panajachel.

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