Panajachel lies on the shores of Lake Atitlan and serves as a tourist base and home of ex-pat hippies. A handful of us joined Pablo from Mayaland Travel for the day to visit the local communities of San Juan and Santiago. We took an open boat across the lake to San Juan, enjoying the morning view of the three local volcanoes. Later in the day cloud and haze obscures the view of the top of the cones so it was a treat to be up early to enjoy it.
The water is a deep olive green, clear and up to 300 metres deep. The lake was formed from a collapsed caldera when the volcanoes went off and it is fed with water from several tributaries and the six-month rainy season. As the only outlet was closed off following more seismic activity the level keeps rising. Evaporation can only take up so much. Abandoned houses peek out from under the water line, the attraction of water frontage is only favoured by foreigners, the locals know to build further up on the hillsides.
San Juan is largely known for its artists and I bought three small paintings including a couple of the unique style to the area – the perspective of looking down directly from above. It looks as if you’re drifting over a crowded vegetable market in a low flying hot air balloon. They are also fans of super bright colours and the effects of viewing a gallery of artwork I found to be uplifting and cheering.
There was an old catholic church of which only the facade remains after an earthquake and the new church stands behind the old facade. The result actually looks like it was intended, strangely complementary.
We visited an association of women weavers to see how cotton is grown, collected, spun and the colouring methods using natural elements.
Back on the boat we headed to the bigger city of Santiago on the southern shoreline. As we walked off the dock a look over the side revealed what used to be a public park, picnic tables and garden edging is still clearly visible under about two metres of water. The lake is certainly gaining ground. The park was usable until three years ago.
We grabbed a couple of tuc-tuc’s to hurtle to the higher streets, taking tight turns and horns beeping to announce our approach…because a glorified moped modified to cram a few people and the occasional chicken into a metre wide bench at best shrouded in a metal case. Mostly red and privately owned, they are works of art adorned in religious and international football club paraphernalia…or Spongebob, Whinnie the Pooh, Nemo…you name it, there are no trademark violation worries here.
At the top we visited the alter of Maximon, the smoking and drinking Mayan god, depicted with a fat cigar between his teeth did charging Q10 per photo. Dude has to pay for incense and enough tobacco and alcohol products to keep up his image.
We were puzzled by the proliferation of Stars of David on houses and tuc-tuc’s. Pablo explained that there is an attitude of Israel is a holy site for the Catholics and the recognized symbol of Israel is the star. They are not Jewish.
Lunch was the local dish, black bass from the lake cooked with garlic. It was really tasty and I’m gradually getting a taste for fish. The highland beer, Cabro, also helped it go down.
On our way back to the boat we stopped by to watch Anna show us how the traditional headdress is worn, several metres of tight weave red fabric, thick like a belt is wrapped around the ponytail then the remaining belt is wrapped around on itself and around the head to form a brim. Looking at it without the demonstration it would be hard to believe the method.
Pablo dropped us back at the head office as the afternoon shadows lengthened and a lazy atmosphere draped itself over us.
Dinner was guidebook renowned pupusas (enclosed tortillas with a variety of fillings, El Salvador is to be thanked for the innovation). Accompanied by pickled cabbage and carrot and a red sauce they were delicious and one of the cheapest meals so far. As we left a procession filed down the side street – Lent has started. A float of Jesus carrying the cross, surrounded by flowers and followers marching to the music passed by like it’s just a regular evening in Panajachel. As you do.
