The next day we headed out for an excursion.  Two and a half hours later we would find ourselves at Lake Atitlan.  I had no idea it was famous; I just knew it was stunning.  In the Guatemalan Highlands, it is the deepest lake in Central America whose basin is volcanic in origin.  There are three volcanoes on its southern flank; pictured here is one of them.  It was so breathtakingly beautiful words cannot adequately describe it.  Impossibly deep blue water below and bright blue sky above escorted us across the way in our boat.  We arrived at a Mayan lakeside community ready to receive tourists but still very much going about their daily lives.  Before our boat could even be pulled up and tied a skinny little boy of about eight asked if he could be our guide.  If anyone remembers reading my past travel experience regretting not carrying money I am so glad to say this time we came prepared.  It’s not as if we could not have managed on our own, but he was so proud and so darling I just could not say no.  Puffing out his boyish chest, he gallantly held out his little hand to help me off the boat and had me blushing like a school girl.  The wooden planks coming from the embankment were half worn through and rickety so actually he had already proven to be of help.  Next he said to leave the the bargaining to him and that he would take care of us.  Asking how long we had him, he proudly pronounced “the whole day!” and with an impish grin he turned and had us disappearing into the crowds.  My bandage from the day before had seeped through and was starting to drip blood.  Noticing it, my mother-in-law asked the boy if there was a farmacia.  The next thing I knew he had us making our way up a set of white wooden steps in a sketchy looking alleyway up to what appeared to be a quasi store/medical facility/living room where he started jabbering away to an older woman.  With my mother-in-law looking on, I heard her conveying it needed to be cleaned and that we also needed fresh bandages.  The older woman nodded knowingly and I have to confess the boy proved himself useful yet again.  How I wish I could remember his name; I fell in love with him the second he helped me off that boat.  We went on to visit a Catholic church there which was an interesting mix of incense, rose petals, and ceremonies with rituals I suspect the Church may have turned a blind eye toward, or simply has tried to incorporate into something Christian.  Mayan culture and religion is still very active and prevalent.  I found comfort in seeing the corn husks, the weavers, and looking at Indian ways so similar to my own (Choctaw) which originated in the southeastern United States.  I have never been a fan of masks (they creep me out) but I found several that were fantastic (wolves, of course) and so it was here that I really added to my wolf mask collection.  I picked up several — all intricately painted wood with different colors: some with big ears and some with little; some with teeth bared but not menacingly; some with snouts that were longer and some that were shorter, and one who even had his tongue sticking out.  It was a wonderful day and bittersweet waving good-bye to our noble guide who was just a boy.  I am so glad Burk tipped him extra; he deserved it.  German explorer and naturalist Alexander von Humboldt called Lake Atitlan “the most beautiful lake in the world”.  From my travel experience so far, I would have to agree.

My past travel experience had not prepared me for my week in this colorful and impoverished country.  It felt as if extreme wealth for the very few contrasted heartbreakingly with the masses struggling but with cheerful hearts.  I think I saw my first machine guns here.  Guards with huge automatic weaponry were in front of a wealthy home which was behind gates and our hotel had guards in front of the walls which used to house monks.  In 1542 the Dominican Friars built the Santo Domingo Monastery.  Today it is called the Hotel Casa Santo Domingo.  It is a noted five star hotel and museum in Antigua, a city once the capital of Spain’s South American confederacy.  I have been fortunate to stay in some lovely hotels, but this by far, for me, was the nicest and most interesting.  The picture above was taken outside of our room where my husband and I had the privilege of staying.  We were there because his cousin was marrying a Guatemalan.  I think the hotel fulfilled every notion of romance I have ever had.  Shadows reflected the light of hundreds of burning candles that were literally everywhere — from the echoing corridors of old stone walls to the crumbling outside steps of one of the many gardens.  Upon our arrival I slipped down a mossy stairway and got the worst bruise of my life coupled with a nasty scrape on my arm.  I kept defensively telling everyone I had not had a thing to drink; and I hadn’t as we had just gotten there!  The poor maid must’ve nearly fainted the next morning; after I woke up I noticed what appeared to be a ton of blood smeared all over the pristine white bedsheets.  It would seem my scrape was superficial but a real bleeder.  I was appalled and embarrassed.  But part of what made the hotel so charming was the precise lack of obvious, superfluous, cautionary safety signage.  And it was perfectly sound; I just had an accident.  The views were unspoiled, with no railings or gates to mar the sight of old courtyards and cloisters surrounded by lush bougainvilleas, huge parrots peeking from between long, flowered vines, and the delicate scent of rose petals changed daily that floated in old stone bowls throughout.  I’m sure the bowls had a name and I tried to look it up but could not find what they are called.  Watering troughs?  Perhaps if you are reading this you may be laughing at my lack of knowledge.  But I do know sumptuous beauty alive when I see it.  I felt it everywhere as I walked the once hallowed grounds.  Instead of a big block behemoth, rooms were located by twisting and turning in the winding old monk’s maze.  I remember we always passed a big fountain in the wall and a compelling, lifelike statue of Mary Magdalene I instinctively knew was at least last century and incredibly valuable.  She was not encased behind sterilizing glass, but rather seemed to look beseeching as she reached out perpetually perhaps for our Lord.  I wanted to touch her but I respected her sanctity to much to do so.  And so this protected earthly paradise would be what I got to see, hear, touch, smell, taste and experience during our stay.  And it was a memorable one.

“To love.  To be loved.  To never forget your own insignificance.  To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you.  To seek joy in the saddest places.  To pursue beauty to its lair.  To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple.  To respect strength, never power.  Above all, to watch.  To try and understand.  To never look away.  And never, never to forget.” ~ Arundhati Roy, “The Cost Of Living”