Our chartered ‘bus’ was scheduled to leave Panahachel at 9am on the Saturday the 8th. ‘Pana’ is a 30 minute boat ride from San Marcos so this meant an early morning for us all in order to get there on time. We got off the boat in Pana and waited at the designated pickup point for our driver, Cruz. In reflection, this is quite an ironic name for a driver, and even more ironic was the fact that his driving style was to avoid his namesake at all costs. We left Pana shortly after 9 and were flying out of town as soon as we were strapped in. The van had three rows of bench seats in the back and a roof rack where our bags travelled. Cruz also had installed a thumping sound system, and Robyn and I, being the first aboard, chose the back seats for the journey, which was a mistake. I am reasonably sure that this car was equipped so as to produce enough noise for Helen Keller to enjoy the record selection. And it was wired such that the back seat was the epicentre of low frequency emissions. Our trip was akin to someone slipping a bass drum over our heads and beating the thing for hours on end.
This would’ve been distracting had Cruz’s driving style not been a merge of Indy car and video game. I have never seen a large vehicle pushed to its limits (but just barely not over them) in an effort to arrive in ‘good time’. And I drove a Previa and made the most out of it. Cruz was darting around anything that he could manage to swerve around, regardless of its weight, size, or literal horsepower. Even more impressive was his ability to field music requests while passing an eighteen wheeler going up a blind curve. The man was on a mission. We had brief stops along the way for plantain chips, coconuts, and fresh fruit, and arrived in the beach town around 1pm. I must say that, despite some hairy moments, the trip was just fantastic enough to be enjoyable and the time flew.
We got out of the car and immediately appreciated the effect that elevation has on weather patterns. San Marcos and the whole lake is at an extreme elevation. It is supposedly the highest elevated freshwater lake in Central America (although that doesn’t really stir up images of grandeur in my mind either) and this elevation leads to a climate that is cooler and more temperate, where the rains clear our any humidity and the sun shines warmly. By the time we got down to the beach we had dropped from this elevated state to sea level, and then we got a taste for the true Guatemalan climate: the sun was like staring at a glowing element while inside an oven, the volcanic sand held heat better than burnt popcorn kernels, and it was more humid than a Russian bathhouse. I immediately began to sweat, and did not stop until 9 days later, when we left. En route we were all dreaming of working on our tans and feeling some warmth after weeks in the rainy forest, but our arrival helped us quickly realized that this was not a climate to trifle with and we sought shelter with haste.
Brooke led us to our home for the next week and a bit – a seemingly abandoned beach-side building that was erected by the Guatemalan ministry of natural resources. It is typically used to collect and help nurture the sea turtle population in the area and prevent poaching. When the turtles lay their eggs on the beach, workers collect the eggs and incubate them in a fenced-in sanded area that is within the boundaries of the structure. This way poachers can’t easily dig the up and sell them, which is a thriving business in Guatemala. The structure included two concrete rooms with no doors and no furniture, a broken toilet with no roof and a working shower, also without cover. There was running water out of a shin-high tap and a series of poles from which we hung our hammocks and declared our ‘bedrooms’ for the trip. I borrowed a hammock from someone in San Marcos because Robyn and I only brought down one hammock between us. This actually worked out well because the hammock I used was a much better size for me. As an aside, both Robyn and I broke her hammock on separate occasions: I was sitting on hers one afternoon reading a book in front of me when the rope holding me up snapped. I hurled the great 4 foot distance to the ground and somehow managed to absorb all of the impact with my elbows. I am pretty sure I went into shock but maybe I just overreacted. Either way it hurt a lot. When Robyn took the same plunge she was just about to fully lied down when the rope snapped again, but she fell with a pillow under her head and did not seem to hurt herself in the least. With our hammocks in place it became quite clear that there was little in the way of seating in the whole area: the structure had roughly-poured concrete flooring and there were no seats in sight. The sand was an option except for the scorching heat and lack of shade. Regardless, we used our hammocks for all reclining activities and it wasn’t so bad. We had a beautiful view of the ocean, which was 50 feet away, and no one had to work the next day, so we had it pretty sweet.
Our first day was spent setting up and settling down, including fixing the toilet and having a few swims. The beach was dark grey volcanic sand that was quite unique and very hot. The beach was a steep grade but rockless and the surf was big, strong, and relentless. I thoroughly enjoyed playing in the waves but I think it was a little intimidating for most of the rest of the group. Thanks to family vacations and to my brother for sibling-rivalrying me into playing in the ocean, I felt quite at home. Surprisingly, the beach was deserted and there weren’t many buildings in the area, let alone a hotel or tourist industry. Apparently the fact that it was down season, combined with another, more popular beach in the area, created a sort of ghost town of our beachfront. It was a strange, desolate feeling.
The first night we ventured into the surrounding village to check out the sights and sounds. The village was quite small (fruit and vegetables arrive twice-weekly via boats) but included a small school and 5 corner stores. The centre of town was a basketball court with some covered stands, which on the first night was doubling as a small soccer pitch for organized games of 5 on 5. It appeared that neighbouring towns had sent representative teams because the games did not last very long and there were quite a few different jerseys represented, all playing each other in round robin style. Robyn and I bought some snacks at the nearby shop and watched for a while. The guys who were playing were quite skilled, and we were amazed by the amount of physical contact – they may as well have been throwing hip checks on each other. Once we had had our fill we went down to the beach to take a night walk, which became a ritual, and watched the crabs dart out of their holes and scamper through the surf. They ranged in size from barely noticeable to about the size of a baseball, and could really move. As we walked each night we tried to avoid the numerous bunkers they all stayed in within the sand but invariably we would step on or near an abode just as the curious occupant was about to come out. Luckily we never had any incidents with these crusty fellows and would get back to our beds each night without injury.
Sleeping in a hammock is a new experience for me. Sleeping in a hammock while sweating profusely from the humidity takes this novel event to a whole new level. Once the sun set each evening the gentle breeze that blew off the water all day held its breath, and the humidity was allowed to set in like a thick fog. Walking, talking, and even eating led to perspiration, and I resorted to showering right before bed in order to cool down, but this still did not save me. To make matters more interesting, the lack of wind gave the mosquitoes a chance to sniff around and so we had to take shelter under mosquito nets or risk waking up with an abundance of itchy constellations all over our bodies. When I eventually did get settled into my hammock, under the net, I would usually read for an hour or two because of the early timeframe that we would typically retire at. This was my favourite time of the day – it was quiet and I was within my own little cocoon, away from the thirsty insects and inside my books. Sleeping in the hammock was bearable, and I got better at it as the week went on, but I still have rug burn on my hips and I am not going to make it a typical sleeping style anytime soon.
Each morning we’d wake at 6:30 in order to do yoga from 7-9. The workforce of insects switched from the night watch of the mosquitoes to the morning shift of the swarming fleas. These were terribly annoying, especially when we were holding difficult yoga positions and you were forced to sit and watch these pests huddle around your ankles, or hands, or even your eyes. They seemed to have an affinity for my eyeballs. Regardless, we got to watch the sun rise each morning from the neighbouring yoga chalet as we went through our practice, which was quite a spiritual experience.
After hot yoga and cold oatmeal (making a fire at that time of the day would’ve been death) we were pretty much free until meditation at 5pm. We spent the days suntanning, listening to music, and reading a lot. We’d go for walks through town and up and down the beach and generally had a very relaxing time. We did take a couple opportunities to go into the local school and help lead some arts and crafts lessons but for the most part we were on our own. One of my favourite aspects of the setup was the freshwater shower. After spending time in the sun, sand, surf, sweat, and saltspray, I would often trek to the tumbling tap and, under the uncovered stall, wash everything off. The water was sourced from a water tank in the centre of town and would come out of the tap almost as hot as a shower at home, despite the fact that no artificial heat is applied to it. My favourite part of the whole experience was that, as it poured out from above, the water would splash off and spray in all directions and, because there was no roof, the sun would catch these water particles and create magnificent rainbows all around while you showered. It was like bathing within a prism, and was quite the experience. (At this point I would like to remind everyone that the expedition does not condone the use of alcohol or other illicit substances, and I adhere to the policies of the expedition wholeheartedly.)
We did manage to break up one of the days with a surfing lesson from the guys at the small ‘surf school’ next door. With no sign and hidden surfboards, you’d be hard pressed to know that it was a school, but we spoke to a few foreigners who stayed there for periods of time and it was actually a legitimate business. They even had a website, which means you know they’re good. We scheduled and cancelled a few different days but eventually got ourselves organized for lessons for both Robyn and I. We were led out to the surf mid-morning, when the tide was low, by two Spanish-speaking local guys and two well used surfboards. The fact that neither spoke any English created a bit of hesitation but the lack of better options proved to be the trump card. After a quick lesson on the beach (think of the lesson within ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’ and if you haven’t seen the movie, go rent it and come back to read the rest. I’ll wait.) we were walked into the whitewash to practice our newfound skills. When a suitable ‘wave’ rolled in we would align ourselves and start paddling, while at the same time the instructor would push us with the wave’s momentum in order to get us started. Robyn got up much sooner and more often than I did, but I would like to explain why. When learning to surf, the larger the board you’re on, generally the more success you’ll have. With a larger board the weight is spread over larger surface area and balance is easier to achieve. As a surfer progresses the board size is reduced in order to facilitate manoeuvrability and responsiveness. Robyn and I were both riding the same size board, but I am considerably larger than she, so she had one advantage. Also, when surfing, the initial speed that you’re able to create in order to ‘catch’ the wave is important, and the faster you’re able to go off the hop, the higher the chance of properly riding the crest. Because of Robyn’s petite stature her instructor was able to push her off quite well and she was skimming the surf even before the wave actually grabbed her board. On the other hand, my instructor struggled with my well-proportioned mass and so I was ploughing through the water before I even had an opportunity to stand up. I know he exhausted himself trying to push me around in the water, but I felt like I had an anchor attached to my board and he was struggling to force it through the sand. Now that we’ve cleared the water in terms of Robyn’s unfair advantages, I do need to give her credit – she was awesome. She was very excited to take a lesson in the first place, having gained confidence and skill in the movements through snowboarding, and she took to surfing like an old lady to cats. She got up numerous times and was even carving some turns out before the end of the hour. I was quite proud to see her go and I know she even impressed the instructors with her success. I caught myself a few times just wanting to watch her doing her thing and likely missed out on a few waves for myself, but that’s fine. We have a long beach ahead of us for the next year and I know that I’ll get many more chances to see her ride while also getting better myself.
Fleas, mosquitoes and crabs weren’t the only wildlife that we got to encounter; we also had our own two mascot dogs which were strays from the town that decided early in our stay that they enjoyed the brand of scraps that we produced. The Spanish word for dog is Perro so obviously one of them was named Perry, while the other looked like a Rover or Rex and was called both names interchangeably. They would hang around our area all day and night and acted as our guard dogs. This was much appreciated, but their presence soon caused some problems. The first trouble they literally brought to us each morning in the shape of hundreds of fleas, swarming their canine bodies. The dogs got in the affectionate habit of rubbing against our hammocks each day to say good morning (but mostly to scratch themselves). Imagine the thought of waking from a muggy night’s sleep, knowing that the dog that’s barraging into your hammock is covered in fleas and that these insect travellers are leaving their four legged train in order to rest within the fibres of your hammock. Gag. As if this wasn’t enough, the dog’s were clearly the town bullies: we’d go for walks through the village and the dogs would obiediantly follow us unprovoked. This sounds cute except for the fact that our walking companions would harass ANYTHING in town that they outweighed or outnumbered. Nothing was safe from their intimidation tactics – not children, other dogs, or even the many pigs that roamed the village. It became embarrassing to be associated with these dogs and we would spend a good portion of our walks apologizing to the locals for their behaviour and calling out to them scornfully in English, addressing them by names that we had just made up a few days prior. It would’ve been comical had it not been so frustrating. The situation got to the point that, near the last day, our dogs had cornered and attacked a chicken that belonged to the neighbour. They pounced on it and I thought for sure had killed the thing, but the chicken sprung back up onto its feet and scurried away at its first opportunity. The neighbour, already upset with all of the barking that these mutts did at anyone who walked in our area, saw the attack and came over afterwards to speak with us. Brooke, being the only one fluent in Spanish, jumped up to calm his nerves. After the conversation, she sheepishly returned to the group and let us know that the neighbour had offered to get his shotgun in order to permanently silence the dogs, but she was able to persuade him that they would cause no further trouble. As bad as this all sounds, the dogs showed their true stripes on the morning of our departure. They had obviously grown quite attached to us and the small amount of affection we showed them because they followed us through the town on our walk out in order to see us off. As we boarded the boat to leave for good one of the dogs, which we had never seen even close to the ocean, jumped into the river (the beach was a peninsula between a freshwater river and the salty ocean) and began to swim alongside our boat. The poor dog swam for as long as he could beside our boat until we were too far off and he could no longer keep up. This act of bravery and loyalty endeared him to us all forever and, despite all of their idiocies, we all loved those dogs.
All in all, the beach was a great time. It was a definite change of scenery from what we had experienced to date and allowed us more free time to read and reflect on what we are here to learn about. Although, if I could create the itinerary, I would cut the duration by a few days, we had a lovely time and made the most of our days under the sun. Robyn may have exposed herself a little too much to the sun and incurred an unrequested full-body peel, but that’s part of doing business at the beach. By the time the last night rolled around we were all quite ready to head home, but we all learned a lot while living beside each other in the hammocks.
All this being said, this is also the setting for Robyn and my descent into more severe health issues and the straw that broke the camel’s back and led to a group intervention for one member of the team. You see, despite my efforts to include the emotions that we feel in relation to our surroundings, I have yet to regale everyone with the human dynamic that is living within a group of five strangers (except Robyn, I still know her well). But, now that all the environment that we have lived in have been suitably discussed, I will turn our attention to the human element, which has been interesting to say the least...
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