Azores, Portugal

Precursor - The Blogspot app for my pad will not let me insert photos within the text.  Bear with it. Eventually I may figure out something better.
April 25, 2016

After 7 days at sea, we hit Terra Firma today. Situated off of the coast of Portugal about 900 miles, Horta, Azores, Portugal is our first port of call. Most guests were happy to get ashore.

On the volcanic Azorian island of Faisal sits Horta, a seaport that had it's major growth as a whaling port. The island is one of many in the Azores archipelago and raises from the ocean with steep lava cliffs. Being the farthest easterly point of Europe, this little island is steeped in maritime tradition. Until the mid 18th century,  the seaport of Horta had few inhabitants because it was a favorite stop over for pirates and other scoundrels of the Atlantic. When more and more vessels began passing, the people who lived in the center of the island began moving down to the seaport, thus creating the charming village of 6000 citizens. The whaling industry stopped over 20 years ago and the main revenue comes from food production, specifically fishing and  cheese.

The ship dropped anchor just outside of the small port and passengers were tendered in on life boats. It was an easy ride for John and me however, some of our shipmates were less than comfortable during the 10-15 minute ride into Horta. The seas were still rolling and the tender, or lifeboat, was bouncing along with the swells of 5 feet or so. Not much, but enough to keep many of the less firm from leaving the ship.

We arrived in Horta on Portugal freedom day. Portugal has been occupied by Spain, France and England over the centuries. Freedom from Spanish rule came in 1640, and so the Portuguese celebrate Freedom Day. Because of the holiday few shops were open, but the central square was hopping with music, food, art vendors and plenty of locals. Traditional dance plays a huge role in each of the (very few) European countries I've visited and Portugal is no exception. With the traditional music echoing through the square, out came the large group of locals. Congregating near the musicians in a circle, the dancing and the weaving together of intricate steps was a treat to watch.

John and I were on the second tender to leave the ship,  so didn't have many shipmates wandering the walks yet. We were lucky to see Huey, the proud owner of the only tuk-tuk on the island, as he drove up to the port. Huey was a wealth of information and we had an excellent tour of the town and the nearby countryside. Within sight of the port perched high on a volcanic hill, is a cross, a statue of the Holy Virgin the provides breathtaking views of the area around us. Huey pointed out the hospital he was born in 44 years ago which is now  a maritime school. Like all good tour guides, he insisted upon snapping a photo of us. The weather was blustery and overcast, but he included the ship, our current home, in his photo.

Driving through the cobblestone streets of Horta and the surrounding countryside, we saw pastures of dairy cows, monuments, ancient landmarks and plant life, that reminded us of a mix of the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii.  Wild orchids next to thistle plants, juniper next to palms and everywhere the blue hydrangeas that contributed to the island's nickname, the Blue Island. As the winds brushed the rain and clouds aside for a while, we zipped up to an ancient grass covered cinder cone to a small chapel dedicated to the area fishermen.  From this vantage point we could see the huge inlet and it's  beautiful sandy beach, which is an island favorite in the summer. On the other side of the cinder cone is the wild and sometimes violent Atlantic, pounding away at the lava rock shore. In the distance we could see small bumps of island that seemingly rise up from nowhere and are no more than a few hundred square  feet.

Huey dropped us off at Peter's Sports Bar, a favorite spot for the yachts that come to port to have a beer and surf the free wifi. We grabbed a beer and took advantage of the wifi, munched some lunch at yet another spot on the waterfront then headed back to the ship, on a slightly less bumpy ride. Once back to our room, I discovered that I left my thermos cup at our lunch stop, so I boarded a tender, along with some of the musicians who were finishing their contracts, and headed back to town to collect my cup. With my cup retrieved, I did a bit more wandering and then headed back to the ship in some lovely, calm seas with blue sky and sunshine abounding.

April 26
Still in the Azores, we entered the port of Ponta Delgada on the island of Sao Miguel. This island is also the result of volcanos, the most recent being in 1957 when nearly half of the island's population had to be relocated. We seem to be following a trail of volcanoes in our travels of late. Ponta Delgada is the largest city in the Azores and it's capitol.
Pic library phone booth
Truly a civilized city, just outside of Sao Sébastien church, in the courtyard, is a phone booth sized library. Totally civilized.

After a few moments of reflection in the church, we moved onto more areas of the city. At Nossa Senhora de Esperanza, a former convent and hospital, we watched workers on scaffolding replacing burned out bulbs on the exterior lighting designs. All about the square it was evident that some kind of celebration is coming up.  We learned (thanks again, Google) that the 5th Sunday after Easter is Festa do Senhor Santo Cristo dos  Milagres,  the Miracle of Christ, celebration. During that day of celebration, a stature of Christ is paraded around the town before being returned to the old convent. All of the cleaning, bulb changing and large canopies being put up makes it obvious that this is a significant holiday.

Naturally, an island named Sao Miguel has to have a statue of St. Michael in front of the city hall, overlooking a reflecting pool.

The people of the Azores are warm and welcoming. With a year round gentle climate, I was surprised that there isn't a larger population. Pineapple and lilikoi are grown commercially. Dairy cows and small farms dot the countryside. The cost of living is high because, like Hawaii, many of the day to day staples are barged in. Therein lies the reason there aren't more people.

The more I see, the more I don't know. My mind seems to be a sponge on our various travels, but the retention simply isn't what it once was. So I write. It's been a habit of nearly 50 years. As John and I  purge our lives of unnecessary stuff, when I run across on old journal I am, so far, unable to toss it into the recycle bin. The writing keeps me sane. It helps me maintain a balance.  It is my vent for thoughts, emotions, feelings, observations and insights that I would otherwise not remember. For whatever reason I write, I shall probably keep it up until I can no longer see the words. Please accept my apologies for the rambling entries, as they are mostly frivolous travel monologues.  I have to chuckle. After all, it's my choice to write...and it's your choice to read.

Until later, a hui hou.

Atlantic Ocean Lazy Days

2016-04-17
Somewhere between Atlanta and Ft Lauderdale, the vacation land of the East coast.

Our flight left Hilo at 1 PM on Sunday. We arrived in Atlanta at 7 AM Monday. Poof. In less than 9 hours, we lost 6 hours. Red-eye flights just play havoc with me. I imagine coming over the pole when we return from Copenhagen will be a time warp indeed. Ah, but the adventures taken before the return trip is what this travel thing is all about.

Shortly after our return from Guatemala, we learned that we would be going on a month long cruise with John's brother and his wife. The itinerary is lazy to start with but picks up considerable speed after crossing the Atlantic. We begin in Ft Lauderdale later today with seven sea days. Like I said...lazy.  Once we hit Europe we have a busy time.

2016-04-19
Sea Days...Lazy Days

For the uninitiated, sea days can be lazy days, boring days (I seriously don't remember the last time I was bored) or extremely busy days, depending upon the wishes of the guest. With exhaustion ruling our evening, our first night was an ETB (early to bed).  Our great plans for making the exercise classes went to the compost bin, as we slept right past the 7 AM start time. The sleep was so needed. Tomorrow will be another day.

What might one do to waste time?  Besides sleep and missing the exercise classes, there are lectures, gaming, entertainment and, naturally, eating and drinking. One lecture, on our first day out, was certainly one of the most lackluster I have ever walked out of. The subject was early navigational adventures, which would have been terrific had it not been delivered by one of the crew members of these same ancient  voyages. Really, the fellow rambled, lost his train of of thought, was showing slides incongruent with his subject, and spoke with a monotone unlike any I've ever heard. Other special lecturer have been delivered with the excitement necessary to keep the guests engaged. Perhaps it's best to stick with team trivia or the culinary classes. And there is always wine tasting. Or cheese tasting...my Uncle Dean's favorite. Oh, what a friend we have in cheeses.

The late afternoons and evenings provide a different level of entertainment. Wine tasting with the ship's caller master, martini tasting, mixology classes and, for those who are struggling with alcohol or substance issues, Friends of Bill meets every night. Then there is the food. In abundance and very well prepared. We dine with Gene and Marilyn, John's brother and sister in law, and a friend of theirs from Michigan, at the early seating. We are fine with the early dinner as we are done before 7 PM, so have time to take in a show or two. Song and dance on the big stage, awesome blues musicians belting out from the BB King lounge, a bar with classical violin tunes, a discotheque and, of course, a casino. I think all of the cruise ships have casinos. And most of the time they are quite busy.
  .......
Friday April 22. Full moon tonight!

We are on our fourth sea day, and are beginning to get into some Atlantic type seas. Yesterday was rollers up to 15 feet. Today, Friday, we are to have rollers up to 20 feet. Early coffee and off for a few miles on the promenade deck. The exercise class for abs is an every other day thing. One of the instructors is way too difficult on my shoulders - and they are not in the greatest of shape. So I go every other day to the instructor that really focuses on the abs. Off days are a 3-4 mile walk. The rolling and rocking of the ship just add an element of challenge. At least the sun is shining and our fellow passengers are happy.

Saturday April 23.
Ah, the clouds of the Atlantic prevented a viewing of what may have been a beautiful full moon. This morning we awakened to increased rocking,  clouds and exterior decks wet with rain. This is more of what I expected but I am surprised at how mild the temperatures have been. The more hardy souls are still sporting Aloha shirts and walking shorts. I, on the other hand, am in jeans, t-shirt and a fleece and am bearing up with temps in the low 60s.

I'm afraid that this posting will be seriously lacking in the photo arena. Thus far, I've been pleased with my new Samsung Galaxy Tab S2.  There is, however,  one major issue - my iPhone, where the pictures reside, will not bluetooth connect to the tablet. Good old iPhone says its not compatible with the tablet.  In order to move a photo from the phone to the tablet, I need to send it to a cloud with the phone and retrieve it from the cloud with the tablet. With our less than speedy, and rather spendy ship  internet connections, I have yet been unsuccessful in getting a single photo to uploaded to the cloud (Dropbox is my favorite).  Sorry, dear readers. As if the entries WITH photos aren't boring enough, there little chance an entry without the pictorial enhancements will be more intriguing.

I'm on a quest, to find an app that will allow me to transfer photos from my Steve Jobs possessed iPhone to my Google possessed Galaxy tablet. Now I know how to spend my time in an Internet Cafe once we find land (scheduled for Horta, Azores at 9 AM Monday morning).

Until later. And hopefully with some pictures.

Big City Blues. A Lament of Honolulu

Big City Blues?

Waikiki, Honolulu, Oahu. 

2016-03-10

I'm just a small town kind of gal. As a youngster, in my 20's, I just knew I belonged in a big city. There is so much to see and so many people to meet and/or watch, that I was compelled to be 'there'. I fell in love with Seattle in the early 80's and my migration from Wichita was complete in 1983. I lived on Queen Ann hill, worked in Ballard and partied everywhere. Where has my love of city life gone?

Fast forward 33 years...

Our trip to Oahu was spurred by John's increasingly erratic heart action. With wild swings on his blood pressure and his heart rate, I was thrilled when I succeeded in getting three days of testing lined up. If you want a medical procedure or test done without waiting 3 months on the Big Island, it has to happen in Honolulu. This stuff is scaring the cr&p our of me. So off to Oahu we flew.

For $100 per night, we are staying in a studio condo in Waikiki for two nights. Get that? WAIKIKI. Bars, people, traffic, horns, restaurants, and more people. And did I tell you? There's SHOPPING. Super spendy, way out of my intrigue level, designer shops and stores. For some folks, this is the ultimate. For me it is something of a ultimate also. We could call it consumerism. At any rate, I stray from my initial thought. Big cities.

There is a beautiful beach in Waikiki.

The sunsets are spectacular. There is every reason for a tourist to think this is Hawaii. And for some, it is all of the Hawaii they want. For me, there is just too much noise, too many people and too much input. It makes me uncomfortable.

Tomorrow, after the final test for this stretch of research, we head to the airport and back home to our usually quiet Kapoho. For me, the east side of the Big Island is Hawaii. Thank God we are all put together with different stuff, or everyone would end up in the same place.  I know there will be more trips to Honolulu for some kind of medical reason. Or for an Off Broadway theater production. Who knows the reason, but it will happen. 

What's the point of this posting? Merely to say, I'm a small town kind of gal. Big cities are great to visit, but I want to be sure I can always find a way back to my little, quiet, corner of paradise.  My other point is that we successfully navigated this crazy medical provider system. There is the blessing. 

A hui hou.

Magical and Mystical Moments in Guatemala

February 27, 2016

Magical and Mystical Moments in Guatemala

    … And Some Strange Stuff, Too

Cobblestones and Flowers.  Typical Antigua.

We’ve been home from Antigua for 2 weeks and I keep returning.  My return isn’t working on the Spanish language, like it should be, but rather the images and memories of this fascinating place.  The day to day life is so different from mine and some of the weirdest things made an impression on me. With that in mind, the following are some of my ‘short-shots’ and a few images to go along with them. 

Whatever you do, DON’T put toilet paper into the toilet.  Ever.  At the start, it’s hard to remember.  The plumbing is ancient.  Paper clogs things up.  Actually, the toilet can get clogged on just the morning ritual sit.  While signs are not at every toilet, most public establishments that have toilets post the signs…as a friendly reminder.  The consequences of not following the rules can be pretty messy.

Owning an electric coffee bean grinder is truly a blessing.  Mayan women grind the coffee every morning.  They roast it too.  And yes, they also harvest it. 

Time to straighten up my posture. 

The Mayan women carry everything on their heads.  Jugs of water, huge baskets of produce to sell at market, stack of weaving and an assortment of other things.  Every time I saw one of these amazing women, I straightened my posture. 

Market day is every day at the tienda.  I failed to capture any photos of the huge tienda, with everything from fresh produce to meat, aspirin to knives, notebooks to toilet plungers, used clothing and household goods to power tools.  There must have been 300 different vendors selling in this maze of narrow passages, with people haggling, visiting and just wandering.  This IS where the people shop. 

There are other markets that are set up for weekends, or other specific days.  We hit the main Sunday market in Antigua, on 5a Avenida Norte (also called Avenida de Arc), as well as a market in Panajachel.  

 

The colors are breath taking, the goods being sold are remarkable, music is everywhere and the people are beautiful.

These guys flooded the street with music and happiness.  If there is one attribute I must assign to the people of Antigua, it is happiness.  There is laughter everywhere.

John and I made dinner one evening for our family and the students staying there.  We wanted to make some kalua pork, to give everyone a flavor of Hawaii but alas, liquid smoke was not to be had in Antigua.  We settled on shrimp and pasta.  We went to the tienda for most of our ingredients and took a new student from China with us.  Yami didn’t quite understand the traffic in Antigua and we kept pulling her onto the sidewalk so she wouldn’t be run over.  

With John, my faithful prep chef, we cranked out enough food for everyone.  I must mention, however, that I am completely spoiled by my kitchen, my appliances and tools. 

The students in our family home during our dinner.  At the table we have China, England, US and Sweden represented.  And, of course, Chiki, our Guatemalan Mom.  

Pedestrian beware.  The chicken buses and the tuk-tuks drive with wild abandon.  As we were standing in front of our family’s home one Saturday morning, I snapped a picture of a typical driving action.  

It’s a two lane, cobblestone road and the chicken bus is roaring past a car.  The buses are incredibly colorful and serve a vital purpose but wow…stay out of their way.  If you are riding on one, be prepared to get off in a hurry, as they stop for only a moment.  And your exit may be the back door!

Signs are posted everywhere and it’s good to know some Spanish.  This one, in a restroom in Panajachel, is asking folks to not lean on the sink.  It’s a pretty good chance that the sink might not stay on the wall. 

In San Pedro, we were a bit baffled about a rooster being with the statue of St. Peter, until we had an ‘ah-HA’ moment.  It’s the cock crowing three times that El Señor (Jesus) warned Peter about. 

Antigua is a reasonably safe city.  I always felt comfortable going to market or being on the street alone.  The reason for this is simple.  There are armed guards everywhere.  I mean EVERYWHERE.  In the markets, stores, banks, on the street.  There were two guards with the ice delivery truck.  Initially, I was a bit leery of so many guards with guns, but after a while, I just got used to it.  Kind of. But seriously...I didn't want to be seen taking a photo of them.

La Merced, in the center of Antigua, is the only one of many building that survived a huge earthquake in 1773.  At the time of the earthquake, Antigua was the capital of Guatemala.  Since the city lives on a fault line and earthquakes were frequent, the capital was moved to Guatemala City.  

We attended mass at La Merced and enjoyed the food vendors that who occupy the church square after mass. 

In the same vein as earthquakes, Antigua is home to a very active volcano, Volcan Fuego.  The city is flanked on the south by this and two other volcanoes, making for some beautiful views.  Volcan Fuego is typically active every week.  When we arrived, she was spewing steam and ash.  When we left, she was in a full blown eruption. 

Our hosts, Oskar and Chiki.  This picture shows very serious people, but really, they are a loving and laughing couple. 

And finally, a goodbye to our bathroom.  A very good goodbye to my green towel. We had our own bathroom, which is a luxury.  But that green towel never stopped shedding green lint on me after my short showers.  

After three weeks, our Spanish language skills improved.  We met people from all over the world in our home and at school.  We experienced a culture completely different from our own.  And our passion for travel and meeting people from countries other than our own, continues to be fueled.

Thank you, dear readers, once again, for tolerating my need to write and share my experiences.  It is through these musings that I gain a better understanding of my travels and what I have learned.  Until the next time we hit the road, in about seven weeks, take care, peace and God bless.

A Typical Morning at School in Antigua

2016-02-11

A Typical Morning at School in Antigua 

As we fly home, it occurs to me that in three weeks on the road, I've written only four posts. Usually my head is filled with the wonders of our trip that I can't stop writing. The fact of the matter is that my head was filled with Spanish all day, every day. Just dropping off laundry is a thought process. During every meal, on the streets, in the stores and shops, I had to think. Think hard. Listen carefully. Put together what was being said, translate it, formulate a reply and try to pronounce words properly. My mind was overwhelmed most of the time and trying to write in English ended up being a mixture of  'Yoda Speak' and 'Spanglish'.  

For some reason, I had a weird internal clock going for most often time we were in Antigua. While everyone in the household was fast asleep, I was up around 4 or 4:30. I would wander into the kitchen in my slippers and fleece, start some water on the propane stove and prepare my instant coffee.

Our Kitchen

By 4:45, I would be studying. Conjugating verbs, learning numbers, figuring out sentence structure and completing homework. I knew when I went into this that I learn by writing and by repetition. Much repetition. Saying something 20 times, getting the pronunciation correct, putting the words into a sentence with correct structure and repeating again 20 more times gets me close. But I may forget all of it during conversation. 

John would usually wake a bit before 6 and we would figure out who takes a shower first. The shower was always a challenge. The water pressure in Antigua is almost water pressure. When all was well, we could shower and have some hot water. More typically we would be hoping for enough pressure to activate the instant water heater in the shower head. 

Three mornings the water stopped completely when I was showering, twice with a head full of shampoo. The worst time for me was when the water stopped for over five minutes and John resorted to getting water from the wash sink to rinse my hair. Having no water is such common occurrence that Chiki always had a large sink filled with water. The room temperature was hovering in the mid 50's. My darling John found a bucket to retrieve water from Chiki's wash basin and doused the shampoo from my hair. I'm sure there were obscenities, in English, that flew from my mouth, but most of the shampoo was out. Good enough. It wasn't until later in the morning as we sat in the sun for lessons, around 11 AM, that I finally warmed up. That morning, John lucked out and had water for his entire shower, but he certainly had his share of waiting minutes for the water to come back. Lessons learned-shower in the evening. Many parts of this world would be happy to have the water that Antigua has. It is so precious and required by every living being. I won't get on my soapbox now, but this precious water is taken for granted by most us, most of the time. Soapbox topics will wait for another time.

Breakfast was usually just after 7 AM. Our typical Guatemalan breakfasts consisted of rice mush with fried plantain, fresh fruit and tortillas, or eggs with fried plantain, refried black beans and tortillas, or pancakes with fried plantain and tortillas. Breakfast was served with healthy dose of coffee and Spanish conversation. Again, thinking is involved. Translation. Formulate an answer in my brain. Figure out the pronunciation and slowly reply. Slow is necessary, so I can make my mouth do what my brain is telling it to do.

Our classroom, in El Jardin, was short 10 minute walk from home. On the way we passed two little tiendas, two fresh tortilla vendors and plenty of school kids, also heading to a day of lessons. One sound of Antigua that will stay with me is that of the tortilla vendors, and the pat-pat-pat as they pat their product into perfectly wonderful maize tortillas. In every block, there are at least two tortilla vendors. At El Jardin, Juan (that would be John) and I split up and would wander off to tables that our teachers had set up. Plastic tables and chairs are interspersed all over the patios and walkways, set just far enough from one another to prevent each table being disturbed by the lessons at the next table. 

The mornings were cold, in the mid to upper 40's. Coffee was always the first stop in El Jardin, if for no other reason than to have something to keep my hands warm.

My teacher, Maribel, is a jewel.  Like me, she bundles up for the cold morning at El Jardin. She is an excellent teacher, a beautiful woman and a perfect match for me. We would usually spend the first couple of hours working on grammar, words and the dreaded verb conjugations. She intuitively seemed to know that I needed to write and say words many times to get them into my head. I take more time than most folks to formulate a sentence that accurately conveys my thoughts in English. In a language I barely know, I'm sure it was a tedious affair for Maribel, as she waited for me to remember the correct word, verb conjugation and pronoun and then frame the correct sentence structure. Our discussions varied from politics, discrimination, history, geography, industry, food and day to day life. She was as interested in learning about life in Hawaii as I was about learning of life in Guatemala. We frequently reached for a phone to get a reference for a topic the other could understand.

Promptly at 10, all lessons adjourned for 1/2 hour break, known as refaccion. A small room off one of the patios was swiftly filled with teachers and students, queuing up to buy some food. Guatemalan tamales, empanadas, tacos, or tortillas filled with meat or cheese. Every plate got a liberal dose of guacamole and various sauces and chopped vegetables. On our first day, I tried a white soup, sprinkled with a few black beans, that was so bland I wondered why anyone would want it. John explained that the soup was puréed white beans, which are far more expensive in Guatemala than black beans. We joined the other students in the large, grassy courtyard to enjoy the sun and visit.  Many of the students munched on the chocolate covered frozen bananas. I was usually too cold for that.

After refaccion, Maribel and I would often join Juan and his teacher, Marina.

Our two maestras would have us play games with cards or scrabble like letters, ask us various questions or have us ask each other questions. It was sometimes frustrating working with John. I probably frustrated him too. John's command of the language was more advanced than then mine when we started school. It was hard to understand his pronunciation. Just like Maribel, Marina is a patient instructor and after a number of sessions together, I began to enjoy them more and more. Working together in class with John gives us the building blocks to continue studying when we go home.

As classes concluded at noon we watched the students zoom out of El Jardin.  Juan and I helped our maestras put our table and chairs away and wander out of the area long after most students were gone.  On our walk home, we would strategize about what we needed to get done in the afternoon.  

Side Note...

This post was started on our flight home.  The plan was something along the lines of, ‘A Day in Antigua’.  Since this just kept getting longer and longer, I decided to describe only the morning.  The rest of the entries for our adventures in Antigua and Spanish school will be more in the form of bullet points.  Or, as I keep them in my writing book, ‘short-shots’.  

Little writing book...don't leave home without it!

Lake Atitlan and San Pedro

February 6, 2016

San Pedro De Laguna, Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

A week ago we tried to get out of Antigua and head to Lago Atitlan and one of the numerous towns that line the lake. Unfortunately, we didn't make it. John's tummy told him that a van ride of 3 hours wasn't an option. This weekend we are both in fine health and, after some communication mix-ups, were the last two people to get into our shuttle van and head to Panajachel, the largest town on the lake. Being the last two passengers to board has significant disadvantages. Being the smaller of John and me, I rode the jump seat in the middle, between the driver and John, which is akin to sitting on a board. Between the sharp turns with nothing to hang onto, no back support and riding for nearly 3 hours, I'll be happy to avoid that seat for any future van trips. Lucky for me, John was in the passenger seat. He provided support in sharp turns to prevent me falling into the drivers lap.

Our ride terminated, after numerous mountain passes and a long windy road down to the lake, in the midst of a busy intersection, not far from the boat dock. The road is lined with hotels, travel agencies, local vendors and men hussling every person getting off a shuttle to offer a boat ride to the city of their choice on the lake. Each of the men doing the hussle would tell us his name after inquiring about what town we wanted to go to. San Marco? Oh, my name is Marco. San Pedro? Oh, my name is Pedro. Santiago? Oh, my name is Santiago. Rather peculiar, eh? After a bite to eat, we let one young man sell us a ride to San Pedro de Laguna for Q50. Fifty quetzales is equal to about $6.50USD. And yes, his name was Pedro!

The ride on the lake was enjoyable and provided an opportunity to view the spectacular inactive volcanoes that the rise abruptly from the shoreline. They are rugged, very steep and home to many indigenous Mayan groups. We also had some time for conversation with our fellow passengers and some excellent people watching. The boat was around 30 feet long and was loaded with about 24 passengers. Nearly every place we visited during the weekend after boarding the taxi, we brought the average age of the group way up. We were easily the oldest in the taxi by over 30 years. The ride was beautiful, the weather perfect and scenery enchanting. Our water taxi docked in an auxiliary dock just outside of the main part of San Pedro, as the main dock was full of other water taxis.

We were getting set to ride in Alma, but the captain decided to put is on a bit bigger boat. There were more passengers than the Alma could handle. 

We joined the other passengers on a short walk to the main part of town.  San Pedro is typical of every Latin American town I've been to. On the fringes of the waterfront tourist industry, which is quite small, are some of the real people of the town. We walked past the homes and businesses of families who have lived their entire lives there, generation after generation, squeezing a living from the land and the tourist industry. Further outside of the main part of town is one of the many indigenous Mayan communities, whose residents have resisted change for hundreds of years. Both the towns people and the Mayans work the coffee plantations, which abound all over Guatemala. The businesses are run by both Mayans and Guatemaltecos and, while may not be thriving, they provide needed goods and services for the rest of the town.  

Our first job was to procure a spot to sleep for the night and one of the first places into town was Hostel Fe, that has a booming business with the 20-something crowd. At 2 in the afternoon, the patrons were already showing the signs of crazy-ass drunkedness. A bit later in our journey of San Pedro de Atitlan, we discovered that Hostel Fe is THE place for travelers in the 20's and 30's. Later in the day we walked by Hostel FE and saw one of our housemates from Antigua, soaking up some sun and kicking back. We decided to stop in and say hi, then proceeded to meet many interesting, well educated young folks.

One young Australian man said he often prefers to chat with older folks (that's us) in order to gain a better understanding of life. He asked us for one essential piece of advice we can give. John's advice-don't stay in one place too long. John, the philosopher, stressed that he is not talking necessarily about a job or a city. It can be a state of mind, a new way of looking at things, accepting change. The young man liked the answer and we chatted a bit more, before he joined the other youngsters jumping from the second story patio into the lake. It seems to me that the 20-something group of travelers, from all over the world, are learning some very important life lessons in their travel, one of which is tolerance. Tolerance is a value and way of life that, I feel, is in short supply in our world today.

As we continued our walk in search of lodging, we were nearly out of the main section of town where the hotels and restaurants are and found Hotel Maria Elena. This little place on the shoreline, run by a Mayan family, was scrupulously clean and had very comfy beds. For 150 quetzales, we scored. That's less than 20 USD. After we settled in, I dug out my bubbles to play with Maria, one of the owner's children. We had a terrific time, even though I could only speak a few words in Spanish. It seems that bubbles are the international language for kids.

We walked into the uphill areas of town during the afternoon, away from the tourist trade. On our walk, we were passed by a very large Mayan funeral procession. Close to 150 mourners, walking behind the casket with rosary beads in hand, were murmuring their Hail Mary's. Some of the Mayan villages have taken to Catholicism, while others will have nothing to do with 'religion', other than their gods that they have worshipped for centuries. Throughout the town are signs, painted on buildings and doors, telling the residents that only Jesus can save. It seems as though there is a struggle between various denominations for the souls of the indigenous groups that have not converted. On our stroll we saw Baptist, LDS, Presbyterian, Church of Christ, and Catholic churches. I think my biggest surprise were the number of Jewish kibbutzes in San Pedro. We came across three in a single block near the center of the tourist area, along with kosher restaurants.

Just one of the kibbutzes in San Pedro. 

In this town, with it's various denominations  abounding, we found a tribute to San Pedro, complete with a rooster, in the Catholic Church courtyard.   It seems that Mayans and Guatemaltecos work together without the same level of discrimination that we saw in larger, more urban cities. 

This young woman was rinsing the maize, under the supervision of a mother.  Or, more probably, a mother-in-law. 

The tuk-tuks are the easiest way to get around town and up the steep hills of San Pedro. They are a common site in all of the towns. We even saw a few on some busy highways. Beware as a pedestrian however, because they stop for nothing except a potential rider. 

Many homes and businesses in the non-tourist part of town have murals painted on them, depicting ways of life, various gods and staples of the earth that the Mayans have cultivated for generations.

San Pedro is filled with street vendors selling everything from fruit, bread and beautiful weaving to jewelry and crystal healing stones. I happened to get a lovely sculpted pipe from an artist named Pedro. Go figure.

A great photo of Pedro, but the artwork is in shadows. 

As our day passed into evening we visited various bars and eating establishments. We discovered a large number of ex-pats from England and Australia in one pub, ex-pats from all over the world in another and even met yet another man from London who has spent six months in a commune near our home (Cinderland, for those who might know our area). After dinner we hit the sack, as our brains were still exhausted from the week of classes.

Our return on Sunday, from San Pedro all of the way to Antigua, is one I don't want to repeat again. Our 'ferry', about 28 feet long and loaded with close 15 passengers, crossed the lake in some incredibly rough waters. Everyone was bounced around, held onto tarps in a attempt to stay dry and, after our 30 minute crossing, arrived at yet another auxiliary dock as a bunch of wet and battered tourists. Funny thing was, even with the super nasty ride, everyone was laughing, smiling and generally taking it all in stride. This was the easy part of our journey back to Antigua. After hanging out in Panajachel for a few hours, we were picked up by a very grumpy shuttle driver. During our ride to Antigua he passed other vehicles on blind corners, cut into traffic with only an inch to spare, nearly ran motorcyclists off the road and drove at an insane speed (120 km on posted 60 km highways) on curving, dangerous highways. We, along with the other 4 passengers, were hanging on for dear life. John was white knuckled from clinching the handle on the seat in front of him. I simply closed my eyes on the most outrageously careless acts and prayed. From an elevation of 5,000 feet in Panajachel, through numerous passes up to nearly 9,000 feet in elevation, this crazed man got to Antigua in 2 hours. The normal time is 3 hours. I shan't be recommending this tour agency for anything.

Back to Antigua with rattled nerves, we grabbed some pizza and beers at joint close to home and finally arrived at Oskar and Chiki's, ready for a good night of sleep.

We may go back to San Pedro for more Spanish education, as they have a number of very good schools. The people of the town, the scenery and the feeling of comfort make this a good possibility for future schooling. Fortunately, there are buses that go to San Pedro, so we can avoid another nightmare ride we experienced.