It was a sad Friday. My three Rice compatriots left me and, although I got three more, this change over marks the last days of my own stay down in Guatemala. It feels a little bit like passing the toarch: teaching my songs and plays, showing where the best clubs are, reminiscing about clinical work. It will be hard to leave. But, at the same time, I think it´s about time. The rains are here, the natural rainy season augmented by huge storms that are hitting Guatemala from Mexico or Hondorous, and I left my umbrella on a chicken-bus comming back from Pana. That´s a sign if anything is.

This weekend I spent at Lake Atitlán again. We got luckly with the weather and even had two mornings of sun. We were in Pana(hachel) for one day, but didn´t spend much time there. Instead, we walked up part of the highway to Sololá (and when I say walked up, I do mean up) and took a turn off to get to Reserve Atitlán, a nature reserve boasting spider monkies and large racoon-like things whose name I can´t remember. It was an absolutely gorgeous hike, offering great views of the lake and Guatemala´s nature. It´s hard to remember, living in the Highlands, that Guatemala encompasses all climate zones, so this was a tropical reminder. Every now and then we would come to a clearing where we could see the lake and, right in front of the lake, we would see these two green monsters- highrise hotels echoing a Cancun sort of culture and causing an eyesore for everyone involved. It was heart-wrenching and, at the same time, assuring that these were the only two and that, for the most part, Atitlán has escaped the sort of mass-market developement that other parts of Latin America have seen. Which is not to say it has escaped developement, quite the contrary, but it seems to have done it in more it´s own way than other places, something that´s especially evident in San Pedro, but I´ll get to that.

After our hike we visited the museum/workplace/living area of Pana artist Raul Vasquéz. He gave us the tour himself, explained the significnce of certian works and generally tried to seduce us. His works, for the most part, seem to mimic the style of Picasso´s Guernica figures, although not quite so traumatic. However, some pieces that draw inspiration form Mayan folk-lore really shine.

After the museum we took a boat across the lake, whcih is about 9 miles by 2 miles, to San Pedro, the much talked about hippie capital of Guatemala. San Pedro is devided into two sections, below the hill and above the hill. Below it´s a city-girl´s dreams: restaurants, bars, clubs, internet café´s, bodegas, kyack and horse rental places, hostels and hotels. It seems that the majority of these places are owned by European or American ex-pats. Above the hill it´s a completely different story. There´s a good sized town with a bustling market, normal shops, not a club in sight, and hardly any foreigners. I get the sense that the vast majroity of people who stop in San Pedro never even climb the hill, and that the vast majority of people who live in San Pedro only descend when they have to take a boat to another town. It´s shocking and strange to see this divide, when in the entire rest of Guatemala that I´ve vistied the tourists and the locals have been completely integrated. While each half of San Pedro has it´s own charms, I have to say I´m more a fan of the upper part. Lower San Pedro feels too much like The Villiage for people on a budget. And, what´s more, barely anyone in Upper San Pedro speaks Spanish, they all speak a Mayan language whose name I´ve forgotton (there are 22 in Guatemala, so it´s a bit hard to keep them straight). The sounds are so different and beautiful that it makes just standing in the market a pleasure.

Still, lower San Pedro attracts a lot of very interesting and interested people, and that´s one of its best qualities. Saturday night, after arriving in our hotel and setteling in, we herd some beautiful gutiar music through the paper-thin walls. We ended up having a sing-a-long of old time music with an Jeffory, a 60-something music/Spanish teacher who had fallen in love with the lake 14 years ago during, and despite, the civil war. The music, the oppinions and the stories were political in nature, and really make you think about the subtle histories that you don´t learn in school. They´re a call to action that everyone should hear at least once and, hopefully, constantly.

That´s another thing I really love about travel in developing world countries: the people you meet are united by a common theme or awareness. Most all the travelers I´ve encountered here have been leading medical missions, trying to bring a voice to often over looked Mayan peoples or actively trying to expand their own understandings of the world and the people of the world. Because we are united by these themes, age need not act as teh uniter (or divider) that it often does. It doesn´t matter whether you´re eighteen or sixty-eight, you can get along, share stories, and form wonderful friendships. It´s something we should learn how to do in the States, both parties would learn a lot.

In the morning we kyaked across the lake to a small beach where we swam, took in the sun and relaxed. We kyaked back across, explored some more of San Pedro, and began our boat-bus-bus-bus journy back to Xela.

And so begins my last few days in Xela and Guatemala. In the mornings I´ll work in the clinic and try toi help with the transition of Rice students. In teh afternoons, because I don´t have classes this week, I´ll most likely try to explore parts of Xela that I missed or head to a neighboring town or two to see what´s going on there. Wednesday afternoon I´ll head over to Antigua, a beautiful and built up city, to spend the afternoon and night before flying out of the capital on Thursday.