Saturday 6 November 2004
Caught the bus at the San Cristobal bus station at 07 :30 after a breakfast of a single coffee. It took 2.5 hours through wooded mountains to reach the border where the bus stopped discharging us at the Mexican customs followed by a short walk to the Guatemalan customs for a second stamp.
Then walking up hill into the centre of town passed the post office to a square where we found a single colourful chicken bus for our onward journey, a huge downward step in public transport for these were in fact retired years ago from their original use as School Buses in the USA.
We handed our rucksacks to the conductor who put them on the roof with all the luggage and then I left Joan whilst I found a shop selling something to banish our hunger. The conductor gave me 5 mins, meantime the empty bus was fast filling and Joan decided to risk life and limb to climb the vertical ladder to enter at the rear and found two seats. Then the bus engine started, Joan panicked and tried to get out of the bus banged on the side of the bus and waved at the driver, the conductor ran after a European man thinking it was Brian, then just as he gave up and took our rucksacks off the roof Brian reappeared.
The rucksacks were reloaded, we both got back on and Brian's explanation of the delay unfolded. In trying to buy four tortillas filled with vegetables he could only pay with the large Guatemalan notes we had procured at the border, thus giving the shopkeeper with a major problem. Joan records she won't let Brian leave her like that again - if we had got separated from each other or our luggage it would have been a nightmare of an introduction to a new unknown country.
As it was we were now standing passengers but within a couple of minutes had been offered seats by two young men, one of whom spoke some English having been in Florida for a while. People were very kind and tried to speak to us. They were mainly peasant farmers, women with children and beautiful dark eyed babies staring at us because we looked so different with our pale skins and greying hair.
The narrow isles and seats designed for two school children but now having to take three passengers with the outside person lucky to get a half seat. It was difficult for the conductor to pass by and collect the fares, and difficult for the passengers to remain seated whilst the bus sped round the hairpin mountain bends. We arrived safely in Quetzaltenango, or Xela the Maya name by which it is known locally.
We took a taxi to El Parke, the main square where we took a huge room in the pleasant Hotel Casa Florencia with two double beds a hot shower, a walk in wardrobe, a wood tiled floor and a TV.
We walked around town finding an ATM and checked out the restaurants settling on a wonderful place selling Argentinian fillet steak with sliced potatoes fried in olive oil and corn on the cob, plus an enormous tomato, onion, avocado and red pepper salad. The place was full of what we took to be Spanish students and could hear many European languages.
Sunday 7 November
We had breakfast at the hotel and got into discussion with a Norwegian couple of around our own age who were attending Spanish lessons in preparation for extensive independent travels in South America. During the week nights they each stayed at separate home-stays so as to force them to practice independently, but they moved to a hotel in order to be together for the weekend. In six weeks they intended to learn Spanish from scratch. We exchanged emails though and kept occasional enthusiastic contact since.
They had spent weekends on Lake Atitlan and gave us the name of a great place to stay called Jinava, describing it as very peaceful in a beautiful garden on the lake shore. A wonderful choice which we fully endorse.
We went to the Sunday market at Momostenango, a great bus ride full of friendly happy locals off for a day out in their local costumes with elaborately hand embroidered blouses. As we left the main road for the bumpy one into the hills we saw women washing on flat rocks in the stream and saw the washing laid out in the sun on the grass to dry.
In San Antonio Alta we saw two women with skirts swathed in plastic washing their long black hair in the steam to make the most of the midday sun. We asked about the time of the last bus back and made our way to the pretty main square with a yellow clock tower, the church to one side and civic building on the other.
It was full of colourful stalls selling fruit and vegetables, ironmongery, clothes, embroidered blouses, crockery, panama style hats baseball style caps, stalls with hand dipped candles in various colours near the church.
On the side opposite to the church was 8-10 foot square bunker built of black volcanic stone containing smouldering charcoal, used to burn rubbish we thought until we saw a man and woman counting out candles then holding them up towards the church door and praying before placing the candles in the fire. I wished we understood, was this an ancient Mayan custom overlaid with christian beliefs?
We talked to a young lad with several words of English who was sitting with two old ladies selling vegetables, they chatted to and when we left waved and said goodbye - we love the feeling of making contact with local people, no matter how little.
On our return a husband and wife joined us for several stops carrying their washed clothes in a shiny new galvanised bucket ready to hang it out on their return home.
Back in Quetzaltenango our wonderful restaurant was closed for Sunday but we did find a very welcoming cafe open that cooked us a breakfast menu of good cheese omelette with bread and coffee.
Caught the bus at the San Cristobal bus station at 07 :30 after a breakfast of a single coffee. It took 2.5 hours through wooded mountains to reach the border where the bus stopped discharging us at the Mexican customs followed by a short walk to the Guatemalan customs for a second stamp.
Then walking up hill into the centre of town passed the post office to a square where we found a single colourful chicken bus for our onward journey, a huge downward step in public transport for these were in fact retired years ago from their original use as School Buses in the USA.
 |
| QUETZALTENANGO our arrival not the start at the border |
The rucksacks were reloaded, we both got back on and Brian's explanation of the delay unfolded. In trying to buy four tortillas filled with vegetables he could only pay with the large Guatemalan notes we had procured at the border, thus giving the shopkeeper with a major problem. Joan records she won't let Brian leave her like that again - if we had got separated from each other or our luggage it would have been a nightmare of an introduction to a new unknown country.
As it was we were now standing passengers but within a couple of minutes had been offered seats by two young men, one of whom spoke some English having been in Florida for a while. People were very kind and tried to speak to us. They were mainly peasant farmers, women with children and beautiful dark eyed babies staring at us because we looked so different with our pale skins and greying hair.
The narrow isles and seats designed for two school children but now having to take three passengers with the outside person lucky to get a half seat. It was difficult for the conductor to pass by and collect the fares, and difficult for the passengers to remain seated whilst the bus sped round the hairpin mountain bends. We arrived safely in Quetzaltenango, or Xela the Maya name by which it is known locally.
 |
| QUETZALTENANGO BUS STATION and MARKET |
We walked around town finding an ATM and checked out the restaurants settling on a wonderful place selling Argentinian fillet steak with sliced potatoes fried in olive oil and corn on the cob, plus an enormous tomato, onion, avocado and red pepper salad. The place was full of what we took to be Spanish students and could hear many European languages.
Sunday 7 November
We had breakfast at the hotel and got into discussion with a Norwegian couple of around our own age who were attending Spanish lessons in preparation for extensive independent travels in South America. During the week nights they each stayed at separate home-stays so as to force them to practice independently, but they moved to a hotel in order to be together for the weekend. In six weeks they intended to learn Spanish from scratch. We exchanged emails though and kept occasional enthusiastic contact since.
They had spent weekends on Lake Atitlan and gave us the name of a great place to stay called Jinava, describing it as very peaceful in a beautiful garden on the lake shore. A wonderful choice which we fully endorse.
We went to the Sunday market at Momostenango, a great bus ride full of friendly happy locals off for a day out in their local costumes with elaborately hand embroidered blouses. As we left the main road for the bumpy one into the hills we saw women washing on flat rocks in the stream and saw the washing laid out in the sun on the grass to dry.
 |
| MARKET at MOMOSTENANGO |
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| MOMOSTENANGO note the head scarves |
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| MOMOSTENANGO - for carrying |
On the side opposite to the church was 8-10 foot square bunker built of black volcanic stone containing smouldering charcoal, used to burn rubbish we thought until we saw a man and woman counting out candles then holding them up towards the church door and praying before placing the candles in the fire. I wished we understood, was this an ancient Mayan custom overlaid with christian beliefs?
 |
| MOMOSTENANGO Volcanic Rocks |
On our return a husband and wife joined us for several stops carrying their washed clothes in a shiny new galvanised bucket ready to hang it out on their return home.
Back in Quetzaltenango our wonderful restaurant was closed for Sunday but we did find a very welcoming cafe open that cooked us a breakfast menu of good cheese omelette with bread and coffee.
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