Okay, so without naming names, I’ve managed to catch wind through the grapevine that my recent blog posts have been too educational, socially-minded, thought-provoking, yada yada. Not to mention arousing worries that I may have made my first blacklist, or at least an appearance on the government’s radar (courtesy of Lee Rials and the patriot act). So without further ado, back to my life here (funny anecdotes and witty asides included).
Last weekend the group took a trip to Lago Atitaln, one of the most beautiful sites in the country within easy reach of Xela. That is to say, it’s actually worth getting on a chicken bus to make the trip. The lake itself is ancient and surrounded by three volcanoes (it was actually formed from the molten crater of a massive eruption, the ash from which made it all the way to Florida). Despite this fiery genesis, it’s now one of the most tranquil places you can imagine. Dotting the landscape are a collection of villages, varying in size, surrounding the lake. Some are tourist havens, others are still surprisingly undiscovered. Most can only be reached by boat.
We chose to stay in one of the more authentic areas, a small town called Santa Cruz. With the exception of a few hotels/hostels (electricity optional) right on the water, the village is fairly untouched by outsiders. And beyond the usual lake sightseeing, kayaking, hiking, and horseback riding are all readily available. But our agenda was a little more unique.
Saturday morning we began an all day scavenger hunt around the lake. Our hostel, which organized the event, rented out a lancha, a small fiberglass boat, for the day, and took us to four or five of the lakeside villages. In each destination we were given a list of objectives, ranging from learning how to say certain phrases in the local Mayan language, to buying a beer for the effigy of San Simón (a local deity thought to be a mix of a Spanish conquistador, Mayan god, and Judas). Oooh, multiculturalism!
In one of the towns, San Pedro (coincidentally also the marijuana capital of Guatemala), we had to find out the names and altitudes of all three nearby volcanoes. Although the first person we asked was not privy to that information, he was kind enough to take us to someone who he was sure would know: his friend, the old mayor of the village. After a series of unexpected passages and backways between houses (I admit, we were skeptical), we arrived at the humble abode of the “mayor,” who gave us a warm and welcoming greeting. Although he was no longer a practicing politician, he had converted his home into a small handicraft store from which he sold his hand-made jewelry. Well, it turns out he did know the names of the volcanoes (albeit not the altitudes), but unfortunately not in Spanish, only in K’iche’, the popular Mayan language there. How can I explain the phonology/phonetics of K’iche’….it sounds like the bastard child of Hebrew and Czech. Guttural, vowel-less, impossible to say, and even harder to write down. Let me demonstrate. Here, with the help of my guidebook, are a few common phrases in K’iche’:
Good morning – Saqarik
Good afternoon – Xb’eqij
And my favorite…
I’m from Michigan – Ch’qap ja’kin pewl Michigan
After admiring his jewelry long enough to be polite, we thanked him very much for the help and made our departure, bringing our unpronounceable volcanoes along, certain they wouldn’t get us many points but having enjoyed our little venture nonetheless.
The last stop before lunch was actually not a town at all, but a thirty-eight foot cliff (higher than the Olympic high-dive) from which we could jump (for bonus scavenger hunt points) into the lake. Yes, I did indeed jump, and I have photographic evidence to prove it. With my ears still ringing, and a few new bruises (my landing wasn’t a perfect 10), but nonetheless exhilarated, we returned to the hostel for a bite to eat.
Last weekend the group took a trip to Lago Atitaln, one of the most beautiful sites in the country within easy reach of Xela. That is to say, it’s actually worth getting on a chicken bus to make the trip. The lake itself is ancient and surrounded by three volcanoes (it was actually formed from the molten crater of a massive eruption, the ash from which made it all the way to Florida). Despite this fiery genesis, it’s now one of the most tranquil places you can imagine. Dotting the landscape are a collection of villages, varying in size, surrounding the lake. Some are tourist havens, others are still surprisingly undiscovered. Most can only be reached by boat.
We chose to stay in one of the more authentic areas, a small town called Santa Cruz. With the exception of a few hotels/hostels (electricity optional) right on the water, the village is fairly untouched by outsiders. And beyond the usual lake sightseeing, kayaking, hiking, and horseback riding are all readily available. But our agenda was a little more unique.Saturday morning we began an all day scavenger hunt around the lake. Our hostel, which organized the event, rented out a lancha, a small fiberglass boat, for the day, and took us to four or five of the lakeside villages. In each destination we were given a list of objectives, ranging from learning how to say certain phrases in the local Mayan language, to buying a beer for the effigy of San Simón (a local deity thought to be a mix of a Spanish conquistador, Mayan god, and Judas). Oooh, multiculturalism!
In one of the towns, San Pedro (coincidentally also the marijuana capital of Guatemala), we had to find out the names and altitudes of all three nearby volcanoes. Although the first person we asked was not privy to that information, he was kind enough to take us to someone who he was sure would know: his friend, the old mayor of the village. After a series of unexpected passages and backways between houses (I admit, we were skeptical), we arrived at the humble abode of the “mayor,” who gave us a warm and welcoming greeting. Although he was no longer a practicing politician, he had converted his home into a small handicraft store from which he sold his hand-made jewelry. Well, it turns out he did know the names of the volcanoes (albeit not the altitudes), but unfortunately not in Spanish, only in K’iche’, the popular Mayan language there. How can I explain the phonology/phonetics of K’iche’….it sounds like the bastard child of Hebrew and Czech. Guttural, vowel-less, impossible to say, and even harder to write down. Let me demonstrate. Here, with the help of my guidebook, are a few common phrases in K’iche’:
Good morning – Saqarik
Good afternoon – Xb’eqij
And my favorite…
I’m from Michigan – Ch’qap ja’kin pewl Michigan
After admiring his jewelry long enough to be polite, we thanked him very much for the help and made our departure, bringing our unpronounceable volcanoes along, certain they wouldn’t get us many points but having enjoyed our little venture nonetheless.
The last stop before lunch was actually not a town at all, but a thirty-eight foot cliff (higher than the Olympic high-dive) from which we could jump (for bonus scavenger hunt points) into the lake. Yes, I did indeed jump, and I have photographic evidence to prove it. With my ears still ringing, and a few new bruises (my landing wasn’t a perfect 10), but nonetheless exhilarated, we returned to the hostel for a bite to eat.
After lunch we hopped back on the boat and made for a nice little hot spring in between our village and the next one over, to hang out and have a few cold drinks (surprisingly difficult to keep your beverage above water when you’re sitting on slippery, algae-covered rocks, and trying to fight off an onslaught of waves). 
What came next? Oh yeah…
The cross-dressing party.
Since I don’t see public office anywhere in my near-future, and in the interests of saving face by beating everyone to the punch, I’ll just go ahead and publish this myself. That night (apparently it’s a tradition there) our hostel decided that the best way to celebrate a great day on the lake would be…for all the guys to put on dresses. Fortunately, having won the scavenger hunt, my team (with three guys on it) was rewarded with a few rounds of drinks, making the prospect of slipping my manly figure into a 80’s-era purple evening gown, well…not the worst idea ever? At least they breathe well. Anyways, enjoy.
Although it’s hard to top that last act, here’s one more piece of Guatemala fun for your viewing pleasure. I’m not sure if this one’s any more PG, although they don’t seem to mind here, since it’s a public road sign.
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