Antiqua and Lake Atitlan

Founded in 1524, Antigua was the Spaniard´s first capital city of Guatemala, before relocating to the present location, due to distastrous earthquakes. Every building is modeled in a typical Spanish fashion: single-floored stucco buildings with tiles roofs, painted yellows and terracottas. All the doors are handcrafted from weathered wood. Flowered vines grow out of the cobblestone streets and cling to the corners of wooden window frames. Churches, both in ruins and in operation, scatter the city. A Disneyland of antiquity, the cityscape seems surreally preserved.


Onboard 3 different "chicken buses," I arrived in Panajachel, a small backpacker-packed city along the shore of Lago de Atitlan. The lake is surrounded by volcanos and steep hillsides of farmland. Various Guatemalan pueblitos are settled along the perimeter, each with their own flair of dress: some with intricately embroidered animals, others in colorful stripes. Some men dress like Mariachis with cowboy duds and sombreros. Their wears line every street, endless markets of local textiles and trinkets.

I met an Israeli named Nimi, and we decided to head over to San Pedro, a smaller town on the other end of the lake. Located between two ports, brick roads carve into the hillside. Old women shuck corn on their cement stoop and motorbikes bravely dare the downhill streets. Girls sell breads from baskets on their heads, and farmers till their modest fields. Sounds of hammers echo in the valley, yet another hostel under construction.

Nimi and I headed away from the streets to the shore lined with piles of volcanic rocks and fisherman boats. Horses swatted flies in a nearby wooden stable. Hungry, we stumbled into Zoola Restaurant, the Shangri-La for backpackers: Free Wi-Fi, hammocks, low tables with bamboo mats and pillows, Israeli food, board games, a library, private gardens perfect for reading, and a narrow path leading to the water.

An older man entered the restaurant playing a simple melody on a bamboo flute. The minstrel wore a Nike baseball cap and jacket my grandfather must have owned. He gently played up to our table and took other reeds from his bag. Drawn in magic marker, Mayan figures adorned the tops. I wondered what the flutes must have looked like in the Golden Age of Mayan culture: finely whittled wood and painted by careful eye. Minstrels´ music would inspire evenings of celebration. How could I resist - I bought the first flute he presented me.

Nimi and are looking into horseback rides tomorrow and guided treks up the volcanoes (yes Mom, they are inactive). Beyond the tourist activities though, I´m just enamored by the Mayan´s thriving culture: the minstrel, the weavers, and the women selling bread are succeeding generations of a long and thriving cultural heritage.