The night was cold. I had not planned for such weather in my journey and left every warm article of clothing I owned outside of a sweatshirt and a pair of pants back at Galileo. The cold gusts crept into my bones and every time I would turn, some rock or crag would dig into me. Physical discomforts aside, my mind spent the night racing around all the reasons that staying at this camp site was a bad idea. At some odd hour of the morning, my own paranoia had run its course and exhausted my mind and body enough to allow me to knock out for a few hours. It was blissful.
Around 7a.m. or so, Anne and I were up and ready to get the hell out of the compound. We packed up our tent, gathered our belongings and went down to the kitchen area where Brian was sitting at the table. He very well may have been there all night. He looked leathery and haggard as ever and the impending doom of both his compound and the world seemed to be eating him alive. We asked him if we could store our belongings in a locked area (which he had said was available upon arrival) while we looked for a bus out of town. He showed us to a closet, locked our bags up for us and we were gone. Back down the dusty trail and into town. The town once again was quiet and unassuming. I now took greater stock of my surroundings knowing what happened just a few days prior.
First on the agenda was to find out when and where we could find a bus out of town. Everybody we asked seemed to only point us to the tourist booths with the little minivan shuttles. As hard as we searched for the buses that the Guatemalans used, we tried to no avail. Resigned to the goofy and overpriced minivans, we headed back down the street to find out when we could leave.
It didnt seem too far fetched to assume that there would be a bus from Atitlan to Tecal. After all, both places are main attractions for the Guatemalan traveler, but alas, we were fated with no such luck. We had to catch a ride back to Guatemala City where we were told that there were buses leaving all day for Tecal.
The rough outline of our adventure had many tentative dates and plans, but there was one that needed to be met. In about a week, Anne had a flight out of Guatemala back to the U.S. and we needed to be in Guatemala City the night before. Outside of that, everything was done on the fly, but in order to see and experience as much as possible, we had to map out our bus rides so that we didnt waste too much daylight. We found out that there was an overnight bus from Guatemala City to Tecal. This was beautiful because we get to travel towards our destination and not have to spend anything on a room for the night. We also knew that we didnt want to spend any more time than necessary in Guatemala City, so we purchased a ticket out of Atitlan for the afternoon. This would give us the day to explore new territory around the lake.
We ate a breakfast of some cheap baked goods and instant coffee while trying to figure out where to go next. We set our sights on Santa Catarina. The locals told us that if we could find some bicycles, it was a fifteen minute easy and flat bike ride. We knew we were on a budget, but hey, we're young, you gotta live a little, and we haggled a bike rental guy down to some pretty good rates for a few hours of renting.
Equipped with rickety mountain bikes, we began heading down the road towards our destination. After an eerie night, we were once again in paradise. beautiful trees, wind blowing by us, and perfect little trail to follow. We trek for about twenty minutes and then hit a hill. We attack it with all of our might and gusto as the words from the Atitlan locals rang through our heads. We were machines, trained to conquer and expecting the hill to end at each turn. It didnt. It only grew more steep with each revolution. About another fifteen minutes went by and we finally reached the summit. It overlooked the city of Santa Catarina and clear blue, yet polluted lake. exhausted and sweaty from this unexpected obstacle, we stopped up top for a water break and then cruised on into the town.
This little area was even smaller than Santiago Atitlan. There really wasnt even too much to the town. There was a little ramp leading down to a dock where the Guatemalan women were selling these amazingly intricate dresses. There were also women and children weaving the dresses. If i remember correctly, it takes them about a month of full time labor to weave these works of art. The children that werent working were busy running around the beach yelling and laughing together. It was a place very far removed from the rest of the country.
We docked on the water for a few and then decided we should probably get back to Panajachel to return our bikes. We huffed and puffed back up the mountain and cruised back into the delirious little lake town. We got lost along the way and ended up on the outskirts back where the produce markets were. Streets and streets later, we were back at the water, but still no sign of the bike shop. We rode back to the markets and took a different alleyway. Anne was a ways ahead of me and at one point I heard her let out a yell. No more than a second or two later, my eyes welled up with water instantly and began to burn. It lasted a few seconds as I tried to navigate myself blindly down the road and avoid cars and pedestrians but eventually whatever was in my eyes was rinsed out. We finally found the bike shop and returned our vehicles. Anne then asked me about that strange patch of air up the road. Right when my eyes began burning, a car had zipped past me so I had thought it probably just kicked up some grabble.
Bikeless, we marched back up the road and purchased some fruits and vegetables to snack on for our long journey. After that, we had just enough time to get our backpacks and make it to our minivan.
When we got to the campsite, Brian was there of course to let us in, and we told him about the weird little incident with our burning retinas. He told us that was probably tear gas still lingering from when the police dissipated the mob. He then told us about some protests he was a part of in the 60s where he was gassed and his description was in perfect sync with ours.
We paid him, said our goodbyes and without hesitation, booked it out of the shabby compound happy to leave fully intact. We made it up to our van where we loaded our luggage and began making our way out of Atitlan. There were maybe six or seven tourist passengers in the minivan and our Guatemalan driver zipped through the narrow streets. He turned a corner onto another street where at first glance, all I saw was smoke. as the smoke cleared, I saw people running and hurling things into the cloud as objects were also being flung out. It was a clear riot. The tourist crew fell silent, but the driver didnt skip a beat. He saw trouble brewing and abruptly halted the van, backed up and started heading the other way. About a minute went by as the passengers waited for him to say something, but he didnt say a word. He was very nonchalant about the matter. My curiosity finally got the better of me and I asked him what was going on. He turns back with a slight grin and answers, "problemas" and then turns back to the road. I ask him with who and once again he turns back, grins and replies, "la policia" and turns back to the road. That was all I got out of him.
For the next few hours, we slept as our driver drove and the sun slowly set. We said our goodbyes to the lake as we ascended back into the mountains and braced ourselves for the latino urban flavor and hustle of the big city.
A few hours later, we arrived. The sun was down and my guard was up, but fortunately our bus stop for the overnight bus was right next to our drop off from the tourist van. I believe it was at this point where Anne was entirely out of cash and I was floating us the rest of the way. The tourist van cost a little more than we had hoped so the funds were still there, but dwindling. Because it was nightfall, I didnt feel comfortable venturing out into the city looking for an ATM and on top of that, I think the bus was going to leave fairly shortly. I purchased two tickets to Flores, which is about an hour south of Tecal and is the city you need to boomerang off of in order to get there. Surely, for a massive tourist destination and historically celebrated landmark like Tecal, there must be an ATM... at least in Flores.
The time had come, we left the luxuries of the spacious tourist van and began, along with everybody else, to board a chicken bus...
No comments:
Post a Comment