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La Ruta Maya (cont.)

LAGO ATITLÁN, GUATEMALA
A day later we rolled into Panajachel, the largest, most resorty city on the shores of Lago Atitlán. I was mesmerized by the conical volcanoes ringing the water, and deflated by the rows and rows and rows of identical souvenir stands lining the streets. Internet cafes bustle with blond Americans, and street signs belt out advertisements for immersion Spanish classes. Panajachel is obviously a featured attraction on the Gringo Trail. Being gringos, we found Müller Guest House, a German bed and breakfast in the center of town with three rooms, hot showers, a lush courtyard, and Latin MTV.

I was curious to experience the region's much-touted Maya authenticity, so I hired Rodrigo Gonzales García, a 20-year-old Maya boat driver, to take me to the village of San Lucas Toliman across the lake. The rest of the group decided to hike a precipitous roller-coaster trail winding through mountainside agricultural milpas, or plots, which have metamorphosed the steep terrain into one gigantic patchwork quilt of greenery.

Rodrigo and I landed at the dilapidated village's public docks and stepped into the 19th century. A Maya woman who looked to be 100 years old was carrying a load of firewood suspended from a tumpline around her forehead, while her husband carried the bloody carcass of an entire cow.

We walked around the village, buying passion fruit, ice-cream sandwiches, and beaded jewelry from five-year-old girls. In appreciation for Rodrigo's services, I bought him lunch at the only tourist hotel in town, Pak'ok, a surprisingly lavish yellow-stuccoed hacienda that caters to wealthy clientele from Antigua. We sipped Cokes on the patio amid immaculately sculpted gardens and quietly watched the distant lake shimmer in the sunshine. I quizzed Rodrigo about his life in Panajachel and asked him how much he made ferrying tourists across Lago Atitlán.

"Three hundred quetzales a week," he replied proudly, about US$38. I got the bill for lunch: It was frighteningly close to 300 quetzales. I'd just spent almost the entire weekly salary of my guide on one lousy meal, an instant reminder that life is, simply, whacked.

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