San Pedro

28th and 29th  January

Most tourists come here to live in a bubble.  They leave the bubble of Antigua, travel through real Guatemala to get to Lake Atitlan and continue the bubble life further.  I'm doing it as well.  The road ahead could be more challenging, El Salvador, honduras, Nicaragua.. the temperature makes it all more problematic when hauling what feels like a ridiculous backpack about.

Average people from wealthier countries, can live a very fine life here and many have.  As you journey around the lake you see the shore dotted with the swish pads of foreigners, and perhaps a small percentage of elite from Guatemala City and other places.  It's a chance to live well.  Guatemala attracts that kind of thing as it seems easy to do. The lake is home to so many wintering, and occasional all-year-round, ex-pats it's hard to estimate how many.  I admire those people who are able to take risks and come here to build houses (no planning needed), but I am not brave enough.  I see why they do it, some of the pads are towards the luxurious end of the scale, or seemingly, whilst many others are simple, but nice homes with superb lakeside views.  A large percentage only stay for the winter and many have been doing just that since the eighties.  (The Civil war ended in 1996 so I'm not sure how that worked, but property prices would certainly have been cheap!).

Forty years ago, the lake was a collection of villages, home pretty much exclusively to locals, these days many of them are sustained on tourist money.  I'm in San Pedro at the moment, at the Mikaso Hotel, supposedly the swankiest in town at £30 per night.  It's nice to have bricks and mortar around me, and an en-suite bathroom, after three nights in a straw and wooden shack at La Iguana Perdido in Santa Cruz, but it's by no means luxurious.

San Pedro has the reputation of being the party town of Lake Atitlan, although I believe this hotel is furthest away from the "action" and I hear no parties from here, just the noise of a surprisingly powerful fan.  The only party I see is the insect festival which occurs around the light outside my room each night.  I can see it clearly from my bed as there's an unobstructed view through the glass above my door.  I use my duct tape to fix the spare towel over the window and partially block the light out.  The room is fine but not £30 worth.  The toilet stinks so I keep the door closed.  I book another place away from any towns as San Pedro isn't so interesting to me anyway.  I had considered taking a one week Spanish course here but this town can't hold my interest that long.

The dusty breeze block lanes that wind back towards the main stretch and party-ville are ugly, uninviting affairs, lined with numerous eateries and shops orientated towards tourists.  I ate in the second rated place on trip advisor for lunch, Atitlan Cafe.  Back in the UK, this would be a 2 out of 5 star cafe, but here it receives a 4.5 on tripadvisor.  The people are really friendly here.  No reason not to be.  Money pours in.

I need a haircut, as I'm tired of the freaky geometric shapes my hair makes with each morning and hat wearing.  I sought out the only hairdressers/ barbers in town, named after the owner's five year old daughter, Nathalie.  I found the shop closed, then noticed the opening hours.  Cerrado (Closed) 12-2pm.  People here must be doing alright if they can afford two hour lunch breaks, but then it's not that busy, and it's a small town.

The coffee shop owners across the street, (which turns out to be the Father-in-law of the owner), let me into the shop to wait more comfortably, (nice of them).  He telephoned the hairdresser, Belinda; She'll be down in ten.  Twenty minutes later she arrives with husband and daughter in tow, and we begin shaving my head. Number four all over with a little two on the sides.  That'll set me up for most of the next month in Central America.

Her English is good and we switch between languages, although my Spanish is still very basic.  At one stage, a friend of hers comes by, and Belinda stops the haircut to chat and make a phone call.  I want this over with as soon as possible.

"Disculpe, Por Favour," I say, "Quiero a va."  According to the Google Translate website that means, "Sorry for Favour. I want to go." But she got the message anyway.  I thought I might be risking trouble, by being in a hurry, but they were ok, a little out out for a brief moment, but not for long.  Another few minutes, it's done.  Good job!  I think. It'll do, thanks Belinda.  £3.50 and mission accomplished.  I've been wanting to deal with this for a week or more.  Now to shower and find a place to wash my clothes.  I hope they will a) dry them properly, and 2) Not loose any of the garments.

I took a photo of the clothes I was leaving there, feeling slightly guilty about doing this in front of them, but it can be useful later.  I explained my memory was bad and need to remember what was there, as politely as possible.  My only decent pair of trekking trousers went missing in India, during a wash, several weeks into a year long trip around the world.  The manger/owner was angry when I asked about my missing trousers, telling me I hadn't given him any.  I told him I wasn't leaving until they were returned.  All this went on in the back streets of Paharganj, in quite a nice hotel/ guest house for that particular area.  In fact, I was going to leave couple of days later no matter what, but on the evening before I was due to move on, the trousers that didn't exist, miraculously returned and went on to have a number of wild adventures with me over the next year.  

During the day or so before they were returned I went out to look for similar garments.  I don't know about now, but back then it was difficult to find clothes like that there.  I went to a second hand market and found some strides exactly the same as the ones I had lost, albeit completely the wrong size.  The practice is to life a few items of clothing from washing here and there and sell them on the market.  They're more difficult to get in Delhi so can fetch a reasonably high price, (£20 approx).  A nice little earner Terry.  I was happy to get mine back.  The zips are worth their weight in gold.

Meanwhile, back in the present, at the "classiest" hotel in San Pedro, Guatemala, I was getting dressed post-hair slaughtering shower, when a woman, speaking in Spanish, began knocking on my door.  I said "Que?" several times and didn't understand her reply.  There were lots of senors.  I tried to ignore her as I rushed to unpack my backpack tand locate some clothes.  I sensed some kind of scam, or perhaps a robbery, (over re-acting perhaps), but who was this person in the hotel?  Why won't they go away.  Perhaps a maid.  She was still knocking on the door repeatedly though.

Eventually, I found something to thrown on and opened the door, only to discover that she was selling a blanket.  So this is the reason for all the knocking?  Not even a staff member?  It's a good job she didn't understand English, (or perhaps she did, I didn't care), I don't want to deliberately upset locals.  It's one thing people trying to sell their goods in the street, but persistently disturbing me IN THE HOTEL.   That's not the standard I've come to expect from anywhere in the world.  The receptionist said it hadn't happened before.  No way to tell. 

Much of this journey goes through countries where many people work hard for very little pay.  It all reminds me of India to some degree and is definitely somewhere on the sliding scale towards that way of life, (although a much smaller population makes it all less of a struggle).  I'm not sure I've mentally adapted to being in an undeveloped area yet, it happens in increments.  In India I went in somewhat deeper, but won't this time.  I'm a selfish traveller.  Can't or won't do anything about that now.  Those people who come to volunteer are to be admired.  I've recently realised that if I to do anything like that, whether it be for conservation or something else, I'll primarily be doing it for me.  The side affect of that, is that I might end up doing something for a selfless cause, but no mistake, it's all for me.  

29th January 2106

I took my clothes to be washed last night.  When I collected then this morning, I found them all nicely folded, and I assumed washed, but stinking of smoke.  They obviously dry them in an area where they cook or burn rubbish.  What can you do? This morning I spent relaxing and catching up on my blog, as this afternoon and evening will be spent one of the Europeans who winter in their very own house here.  The Hotel Mikaso is perched right on the lake edge and for some time I watched what i assumed to be a fisherman operating in a small boat not far of shore.

It came as quite some surprise when he caught an American Coot from the large number that frequent the lake edges.  He held it up for the small number of guests that spotted his efforts and cheered.  I had no idea people ate Coots of any kind.  Perhaps they once did in the UK and Europe before chicken became the commonly utilised bird.  These Coots don't cost anything after all.  I wonder what they taste like?

Not quite a fisherman. Perhaps a cooterman.

He then tied it by the legs, during which it made the coot made a failed attempt to attack his face, and added it to a bag in which I could see several more of the birds!