Guate Guate! that was my destination. Trying to get out of the Yucatan seemed hard at first. But the morning was full of surprises and after getting a first ride of only a few hundred meters it was once again proved that those can often be the most essential. Soon thereafter a Mexican man in a battered white pickup truck gave me a lift, and as we taked more I discovered that he went practically to the border of Guatemala, and was willing to take me. He gave me food and drink, and the flat heat of the Yucatan slowely started to change into hilly greens as we aproached Palenque. It was tempting to get out here, but as thick clouds loomed overhead and I had already been here on my last time round, the ride waws just too good, and I decided to stay where I was, to continue the journey.
Palenque cradles at the foot of the mighty mountain range that form the Mayan highlands, which we presently acended. Slow and narrow was the road that wound itself a way through the thick green jungle of vines and bromeliads, dense fog and roadworks made our passage evermore pelirious, and as the dark came on tropical gushes of rain slashed against the cracks of our frail and fragile looking windshield with devine gusto. Late that evening we arrived at Comitan de Dominguez, where my driver had a house, a girlfriend and two sturdy looking boys. This was his second house we passed that day, and his second family. He had, so he told me, no less than 22 children, spread over a handfull of wives and concubines, my head whirled at the complications of maintaining such an extended tribe. What a strange house it was, The downstairs like a garage, but fully tiled with a kitchen. Hardly a piece of furniture in the whole place, but very clean. A yes, onder the stairs, lived their servants, who cleaned and looked after the kids, A medival situation at best, they hardly dared to speak with me.
Next morning we went to the veggie market, Not another gringo in sight, and piles of maiz, tomatoes and cabbage shone in the early light. We drank corn porridge and I found some red bananas again, my very favourite, a deep orange their flesh, and creamy dense their texture. We drove another few hours without speaking much.. The road became smaller and smaller, untill it decended into dusty dirt, winding its way through a large high plain full of dry cow pasture and corn fields interlaced by rows of gnarly old trees. We came to a large ranch, an agrocultural estate of mixed production, with goats and ducks running wild between barns and crumbling walls where old wooden carts had been parked and forgotten to be given over to rot ande decay. Many people lived in this place though, and my driver showed me a fancy new tractor shed he had recently built here. This was his friends place, kind of, he told me, but actually, he owned quite some land here too, and we went to his manderin trees and filled our pockets with different types of clementines untill they would hold no more. He built the road here too, aswell as the bridge, and yes, there were some more of his kids. We found one of his cousins who had the key. The key, to the fence, to the bridge, that led across a small river, that was the border to Guatemala. We crossed over, and found yet another family welcoming us. A small dusty village of ramshackle houses and gardens, chickens and kids everywhere, and the welcoming sound of tortillas in the making, klip, klap, klip, klap, corn tortillas, food of the nation.
My host had some bissnis to do in Guatemala, so he dropped me at another river near by, where he had some land, and I swam the heat of the day away.
That night an even stranger house was my home. Completely empty but for two matresses of desputible quality. A huge building, which my host had once built, now all but abandened. My flute, sounded great in the empty halls and courtyards there though, echoing on gray and flakey concrete, and soon a host of curious kids had assambled to listen to my play.
Surely none of these people had ever seen a foreighner in that place, and it did not take long before the whole town was aware of my precence. No matter their poverty, they shared me their food and table. They made me feel like one of theirs, not really any more special, which was just great. The moon was full, and I basked in its radiance as the dark fell again. Night was quite and sleep was rest, and the morning bright, and full of promise.
For a third morning I got to sit next to my host as we drove hte country roads, back over the border bridge without as much as a sighn of control, back into Mexico and the great dusty plain, and onward, to the land of Quetzalquatl.
Soon we arrived at the road that was mine to take, and we parted there, next to where some woman where selling BBQ roasted chickens that looked like they had been squashed onder a trucks weel.
The border was still close now, and soon I got a ride to the frontier de Guatemala, it had been 12 years....
The very first thing you may notice as you cross the border into Guatemala is that suddenly practically all the woman are dressed in traditional dress. A wraparound skirt of colourful intricate waft, an embroiderd blouse often with flowery motifs or birds on the collar and shoulders, and interesting headdresses of various kinds. Men usually wear amarican style clothing, and baseball caps are a must. And than, there are the Chicken busses, oh how I have missed them!
Cheap, overcrowded and dangerously ronking monsters of the highroads, coughing up black plumes of soot from their rusty innards, they will take you anywhere, for relatively little. Confort is not of any concern, after all, you pay for the ride, not the seats. So we entered the highlands, and where the Yucatan is not more than 100 meters above sea level, I soon found myself at around 3000 meters, whirling around mountaintops and mega vulcanoes, on my way to Quetzaltenango, also known as Xela.
I strayed the night in that overly poluted city, a valley full of soot and smog, from the hundreds of growling bussed decending upon it as a market town, from all directions. I felt sick, either from the quality of the air, or the absence of it, here, at 2400 meters. Luckily a good dorm bed found me, and that was all.
Now the lake was close, only a few more hours, and a destination that had been on my mind for many months would have been reached. A last bus, a final ride, and as we turned a corner once more the liquid expanse of Lago Atitlan once again reached my eyes. As beautifull as I remembered it, bigger, more pure, and ever tranquill. The last part I walked, decending into this vast crater on foot just somehow seemed right. It was like meeting an old friend, ever full of memories, sweet and sour.
I moved over to San Marcos, where I had alreay lived once for over 2 months. Oh surely it had changed. And the inicial shock almost made me run away again. Much of the green jungle down at the lakeside had been converted into tasteless concrete. The rocks we used to swim at, now submerged onder 5 meters of poluted water, as the lake level ever fluctuates. Noise, so much noise, from the church, from the ominous tuktuks, the new basketball court with its industrial bbbrrrrrrngngng every few minutes. God boms, as we started to call them being set of all the time. One seemed not te be granted any peace here these days. The local polulation seemed openly hostile to the large foreign population here that has bought up a lot of the good land and are making lots of profits, while the common people here as poor as ever. I do not judge anyone, but it is a sore situation.
Anyway, I did stay, and found my grounding at the lakeside once again. For some days I lived and worked at Pacha mama Hostel, before moving up the hill to the Funji Academi. A comunity like learning place with a fammily of about 20 people from all over the world, inspired to spread the knowledge of mycelium and its uses. I had come to San Marcos again to learn more about therapies though, and so when I found course in Thai massage, I moved back down and for two weeks I spent every day practicing massage at Ananda healing center, while at the same time helping out at Fire,Fuego. A new place that was just starting in the middle of town, Centered around a public fire place with a small cafe to pay the rent. It quickly attracted a sweet bunch of folk stepping in as volunteers an we became a close knit group as the days got shorter and the end of the year drew ever nearer.
The thai Massage course was most informative and I was very happy to find how easily it blended with my Shiatsu practice. Many of the moves are similar and reversly aplicable, and I finished my degree with 10 cum laude. As I also had to practice on 10 different people and so ended up in the Yoga Forrest feveral times where I found many a willing body. The yoga forrest is a beautiful retreat center up in the valley of San Marcos clinched against the gray vulcanic rocks, built out of bamboo and natural materials and with a stunning vieuw of the lake. There is permaculture there, and secret hidouts, and many courses of yoga are tought there. Moreover, I just heard that I am accepted as a volunteer there startiung in February. So exited. While all this was happening, Fuego also merged with the Pirate crew of El Castillo, another community across the lake, to organize a smashing full moon party at their place. We rented the biggest boat on the lake, which was not all that big, but still considerably large enough to shake the whole old wooden pier to which it was moored while we got on,
80 jolly hippy folk strong. Music blasted from the woofers as we crossed the deep blue water of the lake after which a trance filled chicken bus carried us up to the rim of the crater where we danced and celabrated all night long. By firelight we sung and played, and the fuego crew served an Indian meal on banana leaved even in the adverse conditions of the castle dungeons, by sparse candle light and only two gas burners for a hundred hungry mouths. This was the week before Cristmas, and now every folowing weekend woud be party filled.
On the night of the holy birth we went up to the Funji academi again and danced now as the fireworks broke over the lake in the thousands. Sparks and colours sprung from dozens of villages around the lake and reflected in the dark waves deep down below.
This was also the time of returning friends and Anne-Linde and her lovely boyfriend Matsi came to the lake, as did Daisy whom I knew from my last visit here. One gathers friends easily here though, and I already felt myself surounded by a league of beloved new companions aswell. As I now feel I wanted to share my gathering understanding of shiatsu therapy a also tought a class on Shiatsu Basics up at the Funji academi, which was so much fun, and from which I also learned a lot. It was not just a massage workshop but also incorporated aspects of contact impro, dance and movement studies, to become aware of the hara and ones balance.
Now started the last week of the year of 2016, and we were preparing for the Cosmic Convergence Festival across the waters, between the three big volcanoes that shape the horizon here, at Santiago de Atitlan. I was accepted as a buildup volunteer, and so arrived three days early, together with Matsi, who shared my fate. On the way there, I argued with the captain of our boat to try and pay the fair price, but drove it to such a level that his boss took my picture, and now I seem to have been banned from taking boats........shoot!
Anyway, for three days I worked with a cool Turkish sister named Krystal to put up a ceiling at the live stage called Batz, or monkey stage. More and more people gathered, and beautifull areas built with much devotion sprung up in every corner and niche. Bamboo, and palmleaves where everywhere and one of the dancefloors feautured a giant scull topped by a serpent for a dj booth. It was a Psytrance festival, but with a very chilled out tribal vibe. Lots of funky live music was there too, and yoga and workshops on many subjects. My favourite place on the entire festival was possibly the Mystical Yoga tealounge, where cuddeling and sharing of medicinal plant knowledge were on the order of the day. Festival prep flowed into festival start with the last night before the opening being a 16 hour workday for me. This is always the day that we must all shine, and we shone untill 5 oclock in the morning.
It was a beautifull festival, inundated with sacred cacao and good vibes. The trance was awsome, the food delicious and the fires bright. Some 200 gorgeous ones gathered here at the shore of the lake to celebrate the coming op the new year, and the closing of 2016. Everyone was there, most of San Marcos, the Fuego and Funji crew, the Pirates throwing a good bunch of chaos into the kitchen, but in the end all were happy and tired, full stary eyed travelers of the internal deep, entranced and unwound, such a family, so conected, in love with the universe and one another, and very very ready, for these times to come.
The Fire Bender. What a curious manifestation of the cosmos.
