Pura Marquense

During our sixth weekend in Guatemala we drove up with Silver’s abuelita to the town she is originally from. Located up in the mountains north of Xela, San Marcos is Guatemala’s New England. To illustrate, when we stayed in Panajachel, we met the woman who owned the hotel (and a handful of other hotels besides, and a coffee plantation, and a home in the capital just as a status symbol, even though she hates that city), and when she found out that Silver has family in San Marcos she immediately asked for his family names. She rattled off a few of his relatives, explaining that everyone there knows each other. Not that the town is small, it’s just a Guatemalan networking/gold digging paradise. Having the name Maldonado isn’t quite like being a Kennedy, but that’s what I’m getting at.

We drove up on Saturday and visited Silver’s great-aunt/tía and great-uncles/tíos. His tía Eli has a bar/restaurant/house right across the street from the football stadium, with field views from her second-floor veranda. I didn't get to check out the third floor (rooftop?) view, but it must be good, based on this:



Tía Eli is also an incredible cook, with a strong preference for Mexican cuisine, so we had lunch with her and sampled her jalapeños rellenos and chorizo. The varied spread was perfectly complimented by delectable blue corn tortillas, a more-than-worthwhile regional treat to be sure.

We spent time chatting and visiting with tía Eli and tíos Eliseo, Luis and Pedro. Every home had some provisions to offer, beginning with lunch, and then coffee and sweet bread, and last some fantastic dried, candied lime-ish fruit. We needed the energy, because San Marcos is a cold, cold place. My poor toes were frozen. I can’t figure out why they don’t all have fireplaces.

Everyone was incredibly friendly, and more than once people assumed that I was Guatemalan/Latina! My Spanish was on it’s A-game this weekend, but it probably helped though that Guatemala follows the global theme of light skin = upper class. That is, many of this region’s inhabitants are fairer-skinned people, unlike rural La Maquina, where I stand out in a crowd.

Silver’s relatives were all wonderful though, and I couldn’t help but wonder how excellent my Spanish would’ve been by now if we were staying there instead of here, where I scarcely converse with anyone but Sam via Skype and Silver.

In any case, Sunday morning we ate breakfast with tía Eli again, toured a bit of the town, and bought me a jersey, because we spent the afternoon across the street watching the Marquense football team beat Xela—supposedly a hot team this year—2-1. The game was a lot of fun! The whole family was really, really excited to see me in the jersey, proudly exclaiming, "¡Pura Marquense!" Tía Eli even informed me that she, too, has a 24-year-old son, if I'm interested.





We ate lunch with her again, but this time she grilled—inside the house?—and I got to try the San Marcos softball-sized avocados that Silver has raved about for months. They lived up to the hype, and are actually softball-sized, though I had been skeptical.

Before we headed back to La Maquina, we stopped by to visit one of abuelita’s nieces and her husband. I had assumed that it was her nephew and his wife, as had Silver, but that’s not the case; Mario just happens to be a remarkably friendly and affectionate person.

It was a really nice—and really cold—weekend. Back in La Maquina, the cold has left me with a lot of congestion, a productive cough, and an under-pressure feeling in my lungs. I’m taking some kind of medicine that tastes too good to be real, but we’ll see. Here’s hoping I don’t spend the last weeks of this excursion with pneumonia!

PS: On our way to San Marcos we drove through Xela and at some point passed by a truck pulling a trailer:

Yes, that is a cage containing a pair of tigers. Some of these things here just don’t happen back in the States…

A Weekend in Paradise

This weekend, I discovered the most beautiful place I have ever seen in my life. The pictures featured in this blog are raw, unedited, believe it or not.

We left for Coban Friday morning around 8am. We took a bus from Mazatenango to Guatemala City, then a taxi to another terminal where we boarded the bus that would take us to Coban. Right around 8pm, we arrived and were picked up by Silver’s great-uncle’s son. We stayed with him and his family in Coban, and couldn’t’ve asked for nicer hosts. They have a very cute and modern home, complete with two dogs—a sweet old one and a three-month-old puppy. They kept us fed and watered, but also provided the local knowledge of the random bus system.

On Saturday, we headed out in the morning on a(nother) bus, this time headed two-ish hours away to the little town of Lanquín, which acts as the base camp for the many adventures people travel to this rich region to seek out. When we got to Lanquín, I couldn’t bear another 45 minutes sitting on a bus after an entire 12 hours of travel the day before, so we climbed into the back of a pickup truck with a few others and rode up to the gates of Semuc Champey.

There’s a municipal guard to pass and some guys with guns, of course, but after the security checkpoints and a fifteen-minute hike, the roar of rushing water began to fill our ears. When I first finally caught a peek of that breathtaking turquoise blue, I couldn’t resist whipping out my camera.







We rushed down the trail and found ourselves gazing into natural perfection.



Semuc Champey is a natural wonder; perfect pools are staggered along roughly 1,000 feet of limestone, which gives the water its brilliant Caribbean blue hue. This expanse is in fact a land bridge over the Cahabón, a surging river flowing down from its mountain spring, which gently feeds the pools but mostly disappears down underneath the limestone bridge...


^ The Cahabón



...only to emerge at the end of the limestone bridge, cascading down and continuing its path. The water from the pools cascades forty feet down with it, rejoining the rest of the river.



I spent Saturday afternoon swimming around in this isolated tropical forest paradise, and left completely certain that I had to return.







On Sunday we left Coban early again and headed back up to Lanquín, but this time in search of Kan’Ba. We hiked along the banks of the rushing Cahabón and crossed over a log-bridge at the foot of a waterfall...



...and then found the small structure that marked the entrance to Kan’Ba. Our guide instructed us to strip down to our bathing suits, and handed us taper-style candles. We hiked barefoot up a steep trail alongside the waterfall we’d passed earlier. When we reached the top, we followed the river that was feeding the waterfall—into the mouth of a cave.



Our guide strapped a nervous Silver into a life jacket, lit our candles, and led us into Kan’Ba. I swam behind our guide with one hand holding up my candle, all too aware that a slip of my hand would leave me in horrifying cave-darkness. We swam and hiked through the twists and turns of Kan’Ba, admiring (and sometimes crashing into) its stalagmite and stalactite formations by the light of three small candles. Then, the current of the icy water picked up. Our guide showed us where a rope had been tied to the cave wall, and we half-climbed half-swam deeper into the cave. He turned on his headlamp and told us to be careful. We turned a corner into another cavern and were hit with the full force of a waterfall. The rush of mist instantly put out our candles, and the churning water swept up our feet. I was clinging to the rope for dear life as our guide grabbed my hand and helped me out of the water and onto a ledge along the wall of the cavern. I pulled Silver up, and we followed our guide to a metal ladder strapped to the wall of the cave directly next to the cascade. I climbed up last, all too aware that slipping meant falling into the thunderous darkness below and certain death.

We continued on, arriving at another cavern where our guide explained that he was going to leave us for ten minutes. He gave me the option of climbing up and diving into the essentially bottomless water here, but I declined. He began to free-climb up the wall of this cavern, and we watched as his headlamp and flashing camera continued higher and higher, eventually disappearing. Silver remained perched on a ledge, clinging to the cave wall, while I treaded water and willed myself not to consider what could potentially (but certainly did not) live in the icy depths below me. We shared a look and an incredulous laugh over how unbelievably intense our adventure into Kan’Ba had turned out to be.

Ten or so minutes later our guide returned and led us along a less terrifying but more climbing-oriented path that eventually brought us to the mouth of the cave where we’d begun. We blew out our candles and watched the subterranean river we’d just traversed cascade into the Cahabón below.

Then it registered that it was raining.

It was only around 2pm, but the rain was coming down pretty hard. Back out on the road, we watched as a pickup truck struggled up a steep incline. The roads around Lanquín are some combination of dirt, gravel and rocks, and wind through the mountainous terrain’s steep slopes, which are unfortunately in combination with sheer drop-offs that make the slip of a tire fairly treacherous. I was instantly sure that I didn’t want to drive back to Lanquín—much less Coban—until the roads were dry.

Kan’Ba is situated just a little ways before Semuc Champey on the same road, and we’d seen the sign for a hostel just before the entrance to the latter. We hiked up to the hostel and for less than $5 per person were provided with beds in a “dormitory.” We walked in the pouring rain—which didn’t bother us, as we were still damp from Kan’Ba—across the sprawling and lush grounds to one of the multi-room cabins. We were then led up some steep stairs to the roof. Basically, they built the cabins and put very sharply peeked tin roofs over them. Then, they realized that this left them with a pretty large space between the ceiling of the cabin and the roof, so they threw a handful of beds up there and called it a “dormitory.”

For Q35, I wasn’t complaining. I was so physically exhausted that nothing really registered as much as the commanding view.





Silver developed a true appreciation for hostels over conversation at the large dining table with a middle-aged couple from Catalonia, a young French couple from Guyana, and an Austrian family. The beds were remarkably hard, and we hadn’t brought toothbrushes or contact cases or anything because we hadn’t planned to stay, but the company made it worthwhile.

Not to mention that we were the first guests Monday morning at Semuc Champey when we walked up to its gates at 8am.
We hiked the fifteen minutes over to those crystalline pools, and were the only souls there. Silver decided to go back to the entrance to pick up some bottled water and use the bathroom, but I stayed, relishing the absolute perfection.

For about half an hour I swam in the pools of Semuc Champey completely alone, feeling both awestruck by the immense beauty and serenity of the place and incredibly humbled by my own privilege. Without a doubt, that was one of the two most Zen moments of my life.






^That's me in the waterfall!







We stayed there until 2pm, and I scarcely got out of the water, besides to climb from one pool to another. Who can walk away from swimming in waterfalls, really? I tried to teach Silver to swim, and by the time we left he’d made huge progress. I was proud. The pools are full of little fishes that nibble on you if you stay still, and it tickles, but at some point in the afternoon they discovered the peeling sunburn on my back, and they all began to hunt me and eat my peeling skin. When the bigger ones caught on, I was ready to go.



You see the little fishies?

We headed back to Silver’s relative’s house Monday night. On Tuesday, they brought us to a restaurant where we could sample the local specialty, kaq ik. It’s a soup—surprise!—with turkey and herbs, served with special spicy chiles on the side. It lived up to the hype. We’d intended to leave Coban that night to stay in a town an hour south, but Silver ended up with a fever after lunch, so we headed back to the house where he slept all afternoon and I watched movies in Spanish. Fortunately, a) the female head of the household is a nurse and b) you can just buy amoxicillin here. Part of me wants to stock up on it before I leave.

In any case, we left Wednesday and spent 12 hours getting back to La Maquina, where Silver’s abuelita has added two little parrots and a pair of fighting cocks to her flock.

It was an absolutely fantastic 6-day “weekend” trip.

In other news, I have a heart-shaped mosquito bite.

Tortillando and Pacific Ocean Night-Swims

The last few days have been about relaxing and family bonding time. We decided that, since we didn’t get back until Tuesday, it would be best if we stayed here this weekend and gave ourselves more time to plan our next excursion. So, on Friday Silver and I went back to the beach at Tulate, but earlier in the morning this time. It was lovely; the waves were gently rolling instead of violently crashing onto the beach. The tide was still low, so we had miles of empty and clean morning beach to stroll along. We spent a few hours there and headed back for lunch.

A few hours after that, it was very clear that our backs were sunburned. Consequently, we took some time on Saturday to cruise up to Mazatenango to buy some lotion with aloe. I may or may not have stopped for another Oreo McFlurry.

In any case, Sunday was wonderful. Everybody ate breakfast and chilled; everybody works and/or is in school, so it was nice and different for everyone to be here just hanging out. Later, we went with Silver’s abuelita, aunt, uncle, and their three children (ages 14, 17, and 20) down winding rural roads to a small lake. We cooked out and laid in hammocks that were strung everywhere possible, chatting and relaxing. The five of us “kids” skipped rocks and lost a Frisbee. It was a beautiful afternoon.

Everybody wanted to stay out, so we drove down to the beach at Tulate to see if we could watch the sunset over the Pacific Ocean. We went to an estuary-type spot, so even though it was too cloudy to see the sunset, we got to swim in the ocean-water without the rough waves. I was reminded of just how much I ADORE the water. We all spent a few hours splashing around and generally having a good time. The Pacific Ocean at night was fantastical. I was so comfortable and content that I managed a good burn on Silver—in Spanish!

In summary: progress. I had great opportunities to practice my Spanish, and took advantage of it. I’m proud of myself for yesterday.

In other news, Kata, one of the women who works at the house, taught me how to make tortillas today! I had my lesson as she prepared lunch, so Silver and I ate my first three tortillas this afternoon. There is a video, but it won't let me upload it :(

In any case though, here are my results:

My Return to Lake Atitlán

DICLAIMER: excue any typo. The “” key on my laptop i broken, and I happen to be in a country that DOEN’T HAVE AN APPLE TORE. Womp womp. Intead, I’ll be pating thi letter into my blog a I go, and mitake may abound. Bear with me, pleae.

===

Despite intentions to leave earlier, we got on an express bus leaving Mazatenango at 9am. We arrived in Guatemala City around noon, and weren’t exactly sure what to do. We had the name and phone number of a bus company, but they weren’t at the main terminal yet. In a moment of zeal, anxiety and/or adrenaline, I made the call and climbed onto a chicken bus. Uncharted territory, to be sure, and I was far from confident as I fidgeted in my comfortable seat, but it was headed to Panajachel and I needed to get there before it got dark. For 25 quetzales (and there are Q8 to $1) I reached Pana by 5pm, little worse for wear.

I confidently headed down the sloping main street, Calle Santander, to the dock. We hopped on a boat to one of the many little towns surrounding Lake Atitlán, San Pedro la Laguna. The sun was setting as we rode across, and by the time we had navigated our way through the town’s maze of alleys and forks I was hungry and exhausted, but even with my too-low blood sugar level I was able to appreciate the view from my room.

We hurried off to get dinner at a fantastic little hostel/restaurant, Jarachick, where I happily ordered mango curry—NOT beans or tortillas! —and snuggled into the plentiful pillows of the bench-style seating as the nightly rain against the tin roof lulled me into a food coma.

I woke up Sunday morning at 5:30am without an alarm, grabbed the wooly blanket off my bed, and sat out on the large, communal terrace with a few other travelers to watch the sunrise.





After a few hours of lake-appreciation and bird watching, we headed out for breakfast, which was a plato típico plus “panqueques,” or Guatemalan pancakes, which I love. Almost every establishment on Lake Atitlán offers a breathtaking and unique view, and this place was no exception.





Next, we hopped on a boat for another town, Santiago de Atitlán. Although the lake views you get on these boat rides are reason enough to go, each of the towns has something different to offer. Santiago happens to have a particularly great market. We checked it out for a couple hours, and I picked up a gorgeous pair of hand-painted cups and saucers. The market was interesting, with all the indios buying and selling food, clothing and wares. We spent a while talking with a local painter, who was selling his artwork. I received a lot of compliments on my Spanish and a lot of surprised looks when I said that I was American. That was refreshing, compared to La Maquina, where I was getting a lot of “ella no entiende.” Confidence = restored.







We had to be back in San Pedro in time to check out of the hostel and find a place to watch the World Cup Final. Fortunately we wanted to see the game; leaving town wasn’t an option for those uninterested, as all the boat people were watching the game without any intentions of leaving until it was over. I was disappointed in how dirty the game was, but we were all pleased to see the better team win.

After experiencing a little Stanley Cup nostalgia while watching España bask in its win, we caught a boat to Panajachel. We found a place to stay there and spent the rest of the day wandering around and enjoying the town.







Silver's room featured a lovely piece of artwork...that he put outside so that he could actually sleep.



Monday, we had panqueques again for breakfast—served with honey instead of syrup—along with some to-die-for coffee, and had a few hours to continue wandering around Pana before catching the bus to leave. Monday was much warmer compared to the other two days here—the mountainous regions are considerably cooler than the sweltering coast, but the warmth was welcome, as I hadn’t brought a sweater. We checked out Pana’s markets, and I picked up a pretty jade and pearl necklace for the equivalent of $5. Later, we walked by a guy selling paintings, and one caught my eye. I’d been looking at other places, but one finally grabbed me. It’s a street in Antigua done in oil on canvas, with fantastically rich color. The scene in particular is THE street in Antigua, the one with the huge arch going across it. I wielded my mad haggling skills, and brought it down from almost $200 to $40. I’m beyond excited to see it hanging in my future apartment. This was my one vacation souvenir splurge.

Our bus picked us up and brought us to the second largest city in Guatemala. Officially Quetzaltenango, this city is still much more commonly known as Xela (sheh-la), which is its name in the Mayan Ki’che language. Xela is a very cool city; home to a large university and ton of language schools besides, it is an all-around much nicer place than, say, Guatemala City. Our bus arrived too late for us to transfer to the next bus that would bring us home, so we stayed the night in a hostel just a block away from the main plaza/park. So, we got to see some of this city before hopping on a chicken bus—yes, again! —and heading back to La Maquina. This bus did break down along the way, but the drive was still hours shorter than the route through Guatemala City, and scenic to boot.

This trip was a huge success, and I’m excited to continue my travels around Guate—especially after returning to this miserable coastal heat. Returning on a Tuesday has certainly cut short the school week, but we’ve learned some valuable lessons about planning transportation, at least.

We did get a little surprise upon our return though. Abuelita added three new baby chickens and two turkeys to the mix over here, all to compensate somehow for the fact that she killed the big turkey. We ate him for lunch today. In memory of the “chompipote,” here is a video featuring him.

“Silver v. Chompipe”
Enjoy.

The experience is as bumpy as the roads...

It’s been a long, long week since I updated. I wrote an entry mid-week, but it was very angsty, so I waited another day and let the sentiment pass before writing another. Don't want to worry you all.

On Sunday, we drove to a nearby and fairly recently discovered ruin, called Takalik Abaj. It’s still in the process of being excavated, and I’m not sure it’s ever going to be completed. The land belongs to a few different people, and some of them won’t let anybody go onto their properties to uncover these historical gems that illustrate the transition period between Olmec and Mayan cultures. The ruins themselves aren’t too spectacular after seeing Tikal, which is epic, but there are some neat hieroglyphs and sculptures...that I didn't take pictures of. Sorry about that one.

What was fun was that we rode to the ruin on horseback! It was Silver’s first time riding a horse, and we had a good time. I enjoy horseback riding, and the road there was lovely!







After the ruin, we rode back to the coffee plantation/lodge where we’d started out, and ate at their restaurant, where a peacock was walking around and begging for food like a puppy.



Here in La Maquina, school is back in session.

We spent this week just observing. I have been given free reign in regards to determining what I want to do here, so it’s important that I get a feel for the place before making any decisions.

It’s very informal, for all that this is a private school. We just sort of walked around, with everybody turning and staring intently at me as we intruded on each class. Most of the teachers didn’t acknowledge us, except for Silver’s aunt and uncle. The curriculum seems to be pretty specific and doesn't leave room for interference as far as I can tell, so I’ve been having a hard time figuring out where I’m going to fit in. It’s looking more and more like I'm going to focus on the younger kids, who seem to overwhelm their teachers as they do in the US. I also feel like the younger kids will just be generally more receptive to me. The older ones…I’m going to say with a fair amount of confidence that it wouldn’t work out, and leave it at that. This school has thus far made me feel like a fish in an aquarium—everybody is staring intently, but nobody tries to interact with me. I have never felt so blatantly “Other."

I confess that I’ve been really overwhelmed and frustrated, which lead to my first-ever bout of homesickness in my entire life. I’ve been gone for weeks at a time without even having any contact with home, and never experienced even a twinge of homesickness until now. Yesterday—Thursday—Silver drove me up to Mazatenango to get McDonald’s for lunch. I felt better after having some fries and an Oreo McFlurry. Afterwards, we cruised down to Tulate and spent the rest of the afternoon on the black sand beach, playing in the rough surf of the Pacific coastline. I found sand dollars! I admittedly haven’t spent much time on ocean beaches, but this was the first time I’d ever found them in real life, so that was exciting! We got a huge coconut as we left the little beach town, and contently sipped on it on the hour drive back to La Maquina.

Re-reading that paragraph, it's pretty obvious what effect this little outing had on me. I feel better now.

Another fun little nugget from this week: Wednesday we drove up with the soccer team to Retalhuleu, shortened to Reu because even the locals can't pronounce it. There's a sign welcoming you to the town, which has distinguished itself as --I kid you not--The Capitol of The World. En serio. That's not why we were there though. The soccer team went because there was a ceremony where they were being acknowledged as the second place Sub-15 (15 as in age) team in their region in the Coca Cola tournament. The top team was the one actually being acknowledged, because not only did they win the regional Copa Coca Cola, but they went on to win Guatemala's Sub-15 championship, and represented the country in the tournament in South Africa!! Very cool, and very fortunate for this team. They presented all the boys with medals, gave the team it's trophies, fed us and gave us lots of bottles of Coke products, and then there was a performance by the Coca Cola girls. Basically, three girls in Coca Hoe-la gear stood in a spotlight and shook their booties for all these 15-year-old boys. For a good long while. And then they screened the Espana-Germany game for us all to watch. Cultural differences abound. It felt very educational and authentic, despite the fact that Cocoa Cola was being shoved down my protesting throat.

But today is Friday, and apparently the older kids don’t have class on Friday. It’s like an entire day devoted to sports. Nobody is in uniform; everyone is enthralled by the highly organized and competitive games of soccer being played in the large court/courtyard in the center of the school.

Meanwhile, Silver and I are planning our next trip. We leave tomorrow at 3:30am for Panajachel, aka “Gringotenango.” A lot of Guatemalan towns use the suffix “-tenango,” which is like “-burg” or “-ville,” making this fairly derogatory moniker for this town—Gringoville, essentially. Yet I couldn’t be happier about it. For the first time in my life, I am consciously identifying as white. I’ve been feeling so intensely alien—and this exclusively due to my whiteness, as I speak more than sufficient Spanish—that the prospect of being around other white people, being in a place where people won’t stare at me just because I’m fair-skinned and medium-brown-haired and green-eyed, is SUPER-appealing.

Panajachel is one of the towns situated along the coast of Lake Atitlan. Google it. Supposedly the most beautiful lake in the world, beating out Italy’s Lake Como hands-down. When I visited in 2007 it was foggy and overcast, so I’m excited to have the opportunity to make up for that disappointment.

Don't worry about my homesickness or sadness though. I'm pretty much over it already, but that's why I didn't post this week. I didn't want anybody worrying about me.

For now, a nice video clip of a road close by here, where an overflowing and super-intense river overtook the street.

The Pilgrimage to Esquipulas

On Thursday and Friday we drove several hours to Esquipulas, on the Guate-Honduras border. Esquipulas is home to an interesting relic: El Cristo Negro—The Black Christ. Pope John Paul II, Mother Theresa and Che Guevara have all visited this noteworthy Roman Catholic pilgrimage site, which an estimated one million trek to every year. It’s a rough drive along mountain roads. I felt like I was going to die at least twice, and it didn’t help that our driver had to stop at court to sign something relating to a fatal accident he was somehow involved in. Silver said it happened a few years ago, but was corrected—it happened in September. Womp, womp. At one point, we were chugging uphill into a hairpin mountain road turn and a semi leapt out from behind the mountain on our side of the road and I really thought I was going to die, but it was fine. The semi continued to careen downhill, leaving us unscathed.

In any case, we survived the journey and arrived in time to observe five o’clock mass. The church is incredibly beautiful, raised up over a gorgeous garden of vivid flowers and trees. We also happened to catch a perfect moment to admire the landscape spread out in front of the church, as the sun set behind the surrounding mountains.
(click on the pictures to see them bigger!)





We sat through some of the mass, but couldn’t resist; the glass enclosure at the very front of the church can be viewed at any time, and people were steadily trickling by throughout the service.



We made our way around and had our moment to admire this striking piece of history. “The Black Christ dates back to 1595. By 1603 it already had a miracle attributed to it…Father Pedro was eventually elected Archbishop of Guatemala, and he used the power of this position to order the construction of a cathedral worthy of this miraculous icon.” (Frommer’s Guatemala) If you can’t tip your hat to the Roman Catholic Church for anything else, you’ve got to admit that they know their architecture. The Black Christ itself isn’t a work of art, but the cathedral—granted basilica status 1968—is incredible.

We enjoyed the basilica and the grounds, had dinner and settled in to watch “Soy Tu Dueña.” We stayed at a place with a fantastic balcony overlooking the basilica grounds, and I couldn’t’ve asked for more. I got a hot water shower. My day was perfection.



The place we stayed is the little blue guy down at the end:



On the drive back, we stopped and went on a SAFARI. I’m not even kidding. It was super-random, but of all the local-oriented attractions we could’ve visited I’m sure it’s one of Guatemala’s more appealing options. Since zoological attractions in the US are under harsher scrutiny from the likes of PETA, I don’t think I could get this close to these animals outside of this sort of context. They did make us roll up the truck windows when we went by the lions though…





Further down the road, we stopped in Antigua. I LOVE Antigua; formerly the capital of the Spanish New World, Hispaniola, this charming city is full of buildings and remnants of buildings from the Spanish Colonial period. The Plaza Mayor and various old churches and ruins are contrasted against delightfully bright colored buildings that line the cobbled streets. Devastating earthquakes have certainly taken their toll, but the Spanish Colonial buildings that are still standing offer this welcome perspective on the original glory of the city’s ruins.









Back in La Maquina, I am recovering from a miserably long and bumpy car ride. My Blackhawks Parade blister has also been split down the middle. I'm wondering how I'm going to hold up on the active adventures.



Also, today for lunch, we had hot soup and hot peppers, and it is really hot out today. How on earth did soup become a big part of Guatemalan cuisine, when it’s hot and humid here for most of the year? I don’t understand this culture…