The three-hour shuttle ride from Antigua to Panajachel (one of the twelve towns that are situated on the banks of Lake Atitlán) was uneventful, whilst simultaneously transmitting the impact of every bump and pothole we encountered via the terrible roads through the terrible suspension directly to my spinal column through my bum. Fortunately, the worst of the Antiguan hangover had passed by this stage and the journey was, on the whole, bearable. Watching the Guatemalan scenery slowly change as we travelled was enjoyable, and it was not too long before I spied a distant lake (still an hour and a half away) on the horizon and begun to get excited again. We were approaching Lake Atitlán.
Descending the mountains of Atitlán felt precarious (as every Guatemalan mountain descent tends to necessarily be) but the views of the beautiful lake became more and more often apparent as we got closer. Our shuttle bus, finally, mercifully, came to a halt by the small jetty in Panajachel and we gratefully alighted. While the backpackers and serious travellers who had shared the journey from Antigua donned their packs and sacks and trudged away into the afternoon sun we settled in at the nearest bar overlooking the lake and, with a strategic cerveza in hand, assessed our immediate options.
Whilst supping happily in the sunshine we received a message that a Guatemalan film director friend of ours Gatto, and his wife Briggite, were that day in San Pedro de la Laguna, our planned destination across the lake, and would be there for a few hours at least. (I know, that sounds way cooler company than I deserve, but I met our friends through Ani and her family. However, Gatto is indeed very talented, so please do check out the award-winning film of his which we saw, Distancia)
We grabbed our bags and trudged toward the central street of Panajachel, where we wanted to walk through the market there, Ani knowing it to be cheaper than the Antigua market we had visited the day before. Indeed, I managed to find a hat that suited me (well, suited enough) my weird head and could protect me from the Guatemalan sun. At 450 Quetzalas (£45!) it was a bit expensive but it fitted, protected me and I only looked 70% plonker so it was going to be my sombrero de la vaccacciones. We also found a nice shirt, at 170 Quetzalas (£17), half the price we had seen it (at £36!) in Antigua the day before. Savings and expenditure suitably balanced, I donned my silly hat and we headed for the pier, and the boat that would take us across the lake to San Pedro de la Laguna.
It is worth mentioning, at this point, the unfortunate cultural love of petroleum and plastic that the Guatemalan people have, and their extremely poor attitude towards disposal, recycling and pollution. Although there have been a number of political and publicity drives across the country over the last decade to try and change these approaches, Lake Atitlán itself is polluted, to the point that it was almost bordering on toxic. Although only indigenous tribes lived in the towns surrounding the lake originally, and they had always disposed of their waste directly into the lake, swelling numbers and continued bad practice gradually polluted the lake. It is slowly being cleaned but the process will, sadly, take decades.
More positively, environmental tragedies like this have sparked a greater awareness of ecological issues, and now not only have clearly signed and coloured recycling bins been placed around San Pedro de le Laguna, there is a town-wide ban on plastic bags, and the locals have been adopting these methods in increasing numbers. Not that you would know to look at it, as the lake, as far as the eye can see, is spectacularly beautiful, stretching away on all sides and surrounded by enormous mountains and volcanoes. Aldous Huxley described it thus, “Lake Como it seems to me, touches on the limit of permissibly picturesque, but Atitlán is Como with additional embellishments of several immense volcanoes. It really is too much of a good thing.”
After boarding the small boat, we waited for about twenty minutes as it gradually filled with passengers before setting off. Although not at all anxious, we had been well informed of the Xocomil (not a Guatemalan cholate milk drink, I was disappointed to hear, but), a swelling of the tides within the lake that occurred due to the build-up of winds and weather during the day, which causes the lake to become rough and violent from 5pm onwards each day. It was just after 5:30pm so we did not expect too much volatility, although the surprising strength of the Xocomil has claimed the lives of a number of swimmers in the last few years. Unfortunately, popular myths that this was caused by the currents of underwater streams feeding into the lake were recently proved to be just that and, disappointingly, any discomfort we did experience would be caused by commonplace weather and environmental factors (apparently, in our case with the addition of a three-day cold front from Canada which had been causing almighty gusts across the country).
Nevertheless, despite the mysticism of the Xocomil’s ferocity being dispelled, ahead of us the sun was dipping towards its resting place behind the peak of the volcano San Pedro, and as we skipped out onto the lake I was wide-eyed at the beauty of the scene. This wonder was slowly but methodically crushed out of me with each arse-pounding landing of the small boat on the feisty waves. What was initially exhilarating became swiftly uncomfortable, and even more quickly an endurance contest. I asked Ani, hopefully, if the town coming into view might be San Pedro but she quickly dismissed this idea, as San Pedro had only had three streets when she had last visited, nearly ten years before. Ani’s certainty faded as we drew in towards the dock of the bustling community that was indeed the (now town of) San Pedro, but I was too grateful to be getting off the boat to have fun by being a dick about it and teasing Ani, so we just disembarked.
At first, we very logically headed in the wrong direction toward the wrong 7th avenue (because there are two these days) and subsequently jumped in our first tuk-tuk ride of the holiday, to take us back over to our hotel. It wasn’t far but with our bags it was an arse of an effort, and the tuk-tuk, veering, careening and falling along the curvy hillside alleyways and streets, was pretty fun. Deposited at the El Barrio bar across from our hotel, we were forced to stop and have a drink, so as to get the correct change for the tuk-tuk (I like saying tuk-tuk). A G&T for me and a mojito for Ani later, and we checked in to our hotel Sakcari El Amanecer. We needed to change quickly as it was a bit cooler and windy in the evening and we were probably a bit ripe from a day of travelling, then get out again to meet our friends for drinks. All this while still needing to make time to get some food, as we were both starving, and by now running on booze fumes alone.
As I waited, from the bathroom I heard Ani warn me, ‘there’s a scorpion in here, it’s coming your way!’ As such, I waited expectantly as this tiny (but terrifying) creature crept under the bathroom door and into the room. Full of terror, fear and guilt, I despatched the poor little bugger from this mortal coil with the sole of my shoe and, now merely wracked with guilt, deposited the remains in the bin. Ever since, I have checked every single bathroom head to toe and behind everything before getting comfortable and down to business. As I said; guilt and, importantly, terror.
We joined our friends who, over many beers (and alongside a couple of small bags of survival ration Guate-peanuts) advised us on what to visit and where to stay during our mini road trip later in the holiday. During this period, I stepped outside the bar for a cigarette, fortuitously (as appears to be a theme over this holiday) just as all of the power across San Pedro went out and the town (indeed, the entire lake) was pitched into darkness.
It was stunning how quickly, with the absence of man-made lighting, the stars would appear and shine and the night’s sky was the clearest I have seen a blanket of stars for as long as I can remember. A blissful twenty minutes of powerlessness ensued whereupon, seeing as the power was out and no restaurant would be able to help us immediately anyway, we powerlessly ordered another round of beers and stargazed. Eventually, alas, the electricity returned and it was necessary, by which I mean bloody vital, that we extract ourselves and find food. We bid our goodbyes and staggered off to try and find a restaurant.
We knew of two restaurants which we had hoped to try out, La Puerta and Idea Connection, but struggled to contemplate, perhaps somewhat due to starvation-fuelled drunkenness, where they were in San Pedro; Googlemaps, perspectives and scale being a bit tricky when the places are tiny and you are a mite tipsy. It was past 10pm and, having walked past an Italian restaurant on an upper level on one of the main streets, we decided to commit to it and climbed up. The Pequenos Pecados restaurant’s owner nodded and told Ani that ‘of course’ they were still open and could serve us. The owners were authentically Italian and served fantastic food, I picked the bolonesa and Ani had the putanesca.
Finally sated for food and feeling well beaten we asked for ‘la cuenta’ (the bill) and the sweet release of finally being able to collapse into our hotel bed. However, the delightful couple who ran the restaurant, Ricardo and Antonella, were so authentic, entertaining and welcoming (long after they’d shut the doors below) that we listened to stories and talked with them for another twenty-five minutes before finally making our farewells and heading for our, this time scorpion-free, hotel room.
We awoke at our now ritualistically disgustingly early hour but were greeted with a very different scene in the morning sun. Although the winds were kicking up the foliage, the sun rising over Lake Atitlán was a beautiful sight. Having swiftly discussed and rejected a number of more athletic options (kayaking, hiking, etc) we opted for a light breakfast from the bakery of Idea Connection which, daylight had mockingly showed us, as well as La Puerte, was right next to our hotel, before looking into our afternoon travel options home.
We only had the morning and a short afternoon to enjoy San Pedro de la Laguna and going back the route we came would require us being on a boat by around 1pm, if we wanted to make it back to Antigua by 6pm by shuttle, and a further hour and a half journey to the city from there. We asked at a few travel agents about the cost of taxi services to Guatemala City Airport and, after a few unnaffordable enquiries, were offered a driver at the reasonable cost (for a five-hour drive) of 700 Quetzalas (£70!). We booked it for 3pm and went back to enjoy the rest of our morning and afternoon. And very happy with the decision we were!
This extra time allowed for an hour of sun-lounging in the lovely gardens of our hotel before being driven by heat and thirst back to our initial alco-haunt, El Barrio, where Ani scoffed Bloody Mary’s and quesadilllas, whereas I had G&T’s and a burger, and promptly won a few games of pool. A hasty, full-bellied and slightly tipsy jaunt over to our travel agent’s and we were in a cab headed back to Guatemala City.
This would involve taking a somewhat precarious and rough road through a few of the other towns on our way around the mountains surrounding the lake. Our driver was great, and stopped at various points he knew on the journey that would provide spectacular views across the lake, a sight that none of the photographs manage to capture sufficiently.
By the time night crept in, a couple of hours later, we were leaving the mountainous basin of lake Atitlán and were settling into the lengthy, monotonous, but thankfully far more bum-friendly, motorway journey back to the city.