Guatemala // Solo-Traveling
The BIGGEST, loudest, craziest college student’s holiday was approaching.
Spring Break is supposed to be a week dedicated to partying and going wild with friends.
Cancun, Miami Beach, Fort Lauderdale are among the top destinations. Roommates meet weeks in advance to plan the trip, attend concerts, get wasted, and build lifetime memories.
I did that, and it was okay. This year, it wasn’t the case.
I am not really the party guy among my friends. I had crazy night time adventures too in my previous years, but I’m getting to a point where I’d rather invest my time and money in doing something else.
I wanted to see the world like I never did, visit places where life is different than what I ever saw anywhere else.
So, I picked up my laptop and opened Airbnb.
Guests: 1 Adult
Check In: March 4th
Check Out: March 16th
Destination: Anywhere.
Search.
Soooo many options came up. You may not have the same safeness that hotels can assure you, but traveling with often Airbnb adds to your trip priceless sensations and experiences. Something that any luxury king size hotel room could never give you.
What I value the most when I travel, is how close I get to the locals there.
How “local” can a random tourist really be? That’s what Airbnb can give you, together, of course, low rates.
Anyways, this is where I stayed.
But the best part is how I got there.
That’s Lake Atitlán, overlooked by the active honomym Volcano, which I hiked overnight while it was erupting.
Told you my parents better not know about it.
So, how did I even reach that marvelous Airbnb?
Well, that’s a whole story.
As soon as I jumped off the plane, I was approached by a small man in his sixties holding a pistol temperature checker.
He was alone, and had to take the temperature of every single passenger of every single flight landing during that hours.
Good luck.
Maybe not the “most fair” thing, but the moment you step out of the plane and start walking inside your destination country’s airport, your brain creates a series of assumptions and ideas about the place you are visiting that are based on your first sensations and emotions.
This is why airports are constantly renovated. Tourism workers know this very well.
What I subconsciously felt:
- humanity
- poverty
- warmth
- aggregation
Turns out I was kinda right. The moment I walked out of the airport, I was seated in the backseat of a taxi cab, and I didn’t even know how that went on. It happened so quickly and passively that I couldn’t even realize where I was for a moment.
His name was “Rodri", he was driving with one hand (the other one was holding a Corona), an unbuttoned shirt, and playing loud Bachata Music. Although many would have said the opposite, the guy transmitted me a magic sense of serenity.
- Donde?
- Atitlàn.
- Bueno.
By the time we drove five minutes, Rodri stopped the car, went into a gas station and offered me a “Gallo” beer, the most popular in Guatemala.
Side Note:
Before the trip I had no idea how to speak Spanish, but for some reason I felt like I knew it all along and some words naturally started to come out of my mouth. After driving 20 minutes, I already knew about Rodri’s, family, job, and a list recommended places to visit.
Rodri drives super slow.
A lot of smiles, dances, and stroke-by-the-language-barrier conversations happened in his old, light grey car.
The first stop of our journey is Antigua.
I could see that Antigua is the main destination in Guatemala.
Despite a lot of poverty, I noticed thriving businesses such as restaurants, tour operators, supermarkets, gyms…
And so many Tuk Tuks. Which I had never seen before.
Before saying goodbye to Rodri, he told me to wait in the main square (Plaza Central) for a chicken bus driver, whose name was Hector.
Hector was supposed to pick me up and drive me to the opposite side of the lake where my Airbnb was, which was on the listing, was called “Casa de Castro.”
There, I would jump on a boat and reach the other side of Atitlàn.
Without knowing how, who, when.
For some reason, I trusted all of Rodri’s words.
He also added to check around myself before boarding the chicken bus. He said that policemen don’t like it when tourists travel unlawfully, and that I could risk being searched in case they saw me.
And there I was: traveling unlawfully, alone, in the middle of nowhere in Guatemala.
Wish I knew I couldn’t take a chicken bus.
After two hours, Hector showed up.
That was already a big relief, especially since no policemen were around the moment I jumped on the “bus.”
Matìas?
Si.
Bueno. Adelante.
I shared the journey to the lake with two local guys and a third solo-traveler, which were quite silent.
I was sitting in the front, next to the driver.
I decided to break the silence and - again, magically - engaged in conversation with Hector.
He is the owner of a tour operator agency. He does all kind of stuff, from hikes to mountain climbing, snorkeling, rafting and much more.
When he asked something about me, I shared the fact that I study marketing and that, after checking his social media presence and logo, I could be able to help him out with branding his services.
That opened up the conversation and led him to share more about himself.
And about that chicken-bus, which I wish he did not do.
Turns out it was a stolen vehicle, and that policemen were still hunting for it. As I noticed along the way, the plate was in fact missing.
That got me a little bit. But I found myself in such a weird positive confidence in what was about to come, that I stupidly did not even consider that something bad was literally impossible to happen. Hector was driving with a smile on his face bigger than the sun.
I could not stop noticing it. People just smiled. To anyone, and for whatever reason.
During the three-hour drive, we stopped along the way to admire incredible views. And a lot of poverty, too.
By the time we got to Lake Atitlàn, it was dark.
Hector let me play music the whole ride, and I was explaining him the meaning of the quite simple English words he could not understand.
That chicken-bus ride will always stay with me: seeing the amount of happiness in people’s faces, considering the very little they had, filled up my soul with joy. I was the only one left on the bus, the three other people jumped off well before me.
Me and Hector said goodbye like old friends do.
I watched him drive away and disappear in a dark forest.
It was now time to jump on a boat, cross the lake, and somehow get to my Airbnb, which looked quite uphill from the pictures I saw.
A boat was supposed to wait for me at the lake.
Except no one was there.
I was alone.
I stood in front of the majestic, darkest Atitlàn, with very little phone battery, no water, and no clue about what to do.
I started thinking about my trip so far, and began reconsidering all the good thoughts I had about these smiling people.
They treated me so well from the beginning, and I have been very nice to them too.
What could have possibly gone wrong?
Maybe I said something insulting?
Or perhaps, to them, I was just another American tourist to make fun of.
About half a hour went by.
Nothing.
I started to pick myself up and go look for someone that could at least give me some food.
But the moment I moved my first steps, I heard something from very far away.
It was a horn.
I squinted at the black, gigantic expanse of water that stood at my feet, and noticed a dim light, slowly moving up and down.
A boat.
Someone was coming.
I didn’t know if it was coming for me, but my heart started racing. I felt so energetic again.
I took back everything bad I said about these people, and began waving and screaming to that small, barely visible point of light that was making itself more and more bright.
After about fifteen minutes, the boat arrived.
I was approached by a guy about my age.
He was wearing a red hat with all the confidence in this world. I could see that it made him feel like a real boss.
Despite his young age, I sensed that the guy felt proud of his job and behaved like a long time seaman.
Matìas?
Si. Tengo de llegar a San Marcos.
Bueno.
Side Note: For some reason, everyone knew my name even though I NEVER heard Rodri or Hector saying it to ANYONE.
He took my luggage and threw it on the top of the boat with no hesitation.
I was pretty worried that the bag would fall in the lake, but he looked so used to do it that I didn’t dare to ask.
So, our lake-crossing journey began at about 10 PM.
All the rudeness the guy showed me in the beginning, slowly faded away the moment we started talking about soccer.
I noticed he was wearing a fake Manchester United jersey. That was probably the first “branded” t-shirt I saw.
His name was Santiago.
I was sitting next to him on top of the boat, sailing in the darkness.
All I could hear was the boat’s engine, the birds, and the wind. A beautiful sensation of freedom fell over me like it never did in my life.
It happened in a moment where God knows where Santiago was taking me, with no phone signal whatsoever, under a sky full of stars.
That moment defined what happiness signifies to me. It’s a state of mind, no matter where you are, with who, or when.
But “the best” is yet to come.
After about the first twenty minutes of the journey, I started to hear some voices.
I thought me and Santiago were alone, but when I descended the roof and looked under it, here is what I saw:
The boat was FULL of Guatemalans.
I could count at least twenty of them. If you brought such a boat in Italy, I don’t think more than eight people could fit in there.
They were all silent, with a smile on their faces. Some of them were sleeping, and other woke up as soon as they heard me jumping off the roof.
They all looked at me as if I was the first person who doesn’t come from a village surrounding Lake Atitlàn.
None of them said nothing. It was all in their eyes: fear-mixed astonishment.
After five to ten seconds, they all resumed what they were doing before they saw me.
Staring at the lake, looking and whispering at each others.
I learned from Santi that they were all moving from village to village, returning from a work day.
In Guatemala, nobody knew what COVID was, or maybe they were just ignoring it.
At that time COVID was beginning its slow ascent to become a global pandemic. When they heard the word COVID, either by some tourists or on the TV, they all turned their nose up.
Meanwhile, we were getting closer to San Marcos.
All I could see was a handful of dim lights, and what looked like a small pier.
I went down one more time to look at everyone, and started to pick myself up for the next journey to Casa de Castro, my place.
With who, how, or what, I didn’t know. Midnight was approaching.
Santi was sad to see me go away. I though he was about to cry when I hugged him for my first and last time.
Before he sailed away, we promised to meet again in my next two weeks in Guatemala.
Except we didn’t decide where, or when.The moment I stepped on the pier, I was approached by two kids.
Adding up their age, you were left with no more than twenty years.
¿Dónde tienes que ir?Casa de Castro.
Bueno.
Francisco and Manuel were two chubby children that offered to drive me (yes, drive) to my place.
And there I was.
In the hands of two kids.
They ordered me to follow them as we entered San Marcos.
It was not before a ten minute walk that we reached the center of the village.
So many lights, people playing, old ladies knitting, babies crying, soccer balls, avocados, dogs.
And of course, Tuk Tuk drivers. They all looked like Harley Davidson owners.
Their vehicles were personalized with big stickers such as “El Diablo,” or college-style numbers.
San Marco’s Times Square!
The oldest driver I saw was no more than sixteen.
The moment I stepped in the square, every single one of them turned at me.
Stared five seconds.
And then the chaos began again.
All this mess was hidden behind the hills.
I never expected to see something like that: from the boat, San Marcos looked dead.
By the time I realized what I was witnessing, Francisco (the Monster hat owner in the video) and Manuel were already way ahead of me.
Señor Matías!
I better hurry.
When I realized I hadn’t eaten in the last nine hours or so, Francisco and Manuel were still walking me to our private Tuk Tuk.
The thought of spending the first night in - hopefully - my bed without my stomach full, slowly began to scare me.
I asked them if we could stop somewhere and buy some food.
We went to a thirteen year old butcher.
WHY ON EARTH WAS THIS VILLAGE LITERALLY RUN BY KIDS?
I started to think that my Airbnb host could be fifteen years old, if I was lucky.
I payed my chicken 20 Quetzales, about $2.50. Asked for a bag, and waved at the kid (kid, of course).
I'm the worst cooker ever: I did not have the faintest idea as how to manage that piece of meat I just bought.
I left the butcher pretty clueless. "YouTube tutorials will save me," I thought.
Hopeful to find a valid walkthrough video, I jumped back on the Tuk Tuk.
The driver was pretty silent, while Francisco and Manuel were very energetic. On our way, another kid jumped on the back.
Adding up the weight of my luggage, I felt like the Tuk Tuk was about to explode.
We started to take more and more turns that were slowly leading us further away from the center.
The road was dark.
The only thing that lighted the way were the Tuk Tuk’s dim front lights.
My iPhone’s is torch definitely more powerful.
No more lights, or people, or dogs.
Just us five, a very fatigued vehicle, and a super bumpy road.
Our heads kept hitting the roof of the Tuk Tuk, the road was wrecked.
We were beginning to go uphill. That comforted me, because the Airbnb listing I saw showed pictures took from a hill overlooking the big lake. On the other hand, however, if anything were to happen to me then, nobody on Earth could ever find out.
And by the way, why the hell were there four Guatemalans on the Tuk Tuk?
The thought just came to be, and widened my eyes for good.
Shouldn’t I be alone with the driver?
Before, I overheard Francisco telling him my destination, and he nodded his head yes with no hesitation. He definitely knew the way.
But still, three extra passengers.
Suddenly, I considered that It would have been very easy for them to point out a gun at me. Or run away with my luggage.
After all, San Marcos did not look like a very surveilled place; the last policeman I saw was in Antigua, about six hours ago.
Every extra turn we took added a few beats per minute to my heart.
We got close to what looked like a walkable path that faded into the dark forest: the driver pulled over.
“Casa de Castro,’” he said.
“Casa?”, I thought. What does he mean, “Casa?” All I could see was trees!
I jumped off the Tuk Tuk, looked around myself, and replied:
Donde?
Aquì!
He replied with insolence, and gave me that look that makes you feel stupid. Like, c’mon! Don’t you see it?
I was silent, but I think my body gesture spoke for my mouth.
Francisco and Manuel looked at each others, nodded their heads in disgust, and moved a few branches.
They were hiding a wooden door that resembled the listing’s picture.
Oh my God, that’s it!
Gracias! Gracias!
They took me to my destination.
But they all didn’t look that satisfied yet, and started to slowly walk to me.
With their hands in their pockets.
Four black shapes were now circling me: the darkness and their hoodies were hiding their expression.
They were closer than arm’s length distance.
…
A voice:
Senior Matìas?
“What?” I blabbered, followed by a long exhale.
¿Puede darnos dinero por favor?
Inhale. Exhale.
An entire mountain just fell off my shoulders.
Poor kids just wanted their tip!
I never felt so happy to give money to anyone in my entire life.
¡¡Sí!!
I gave them what came out of my pockets, and did my best to evenly split it.
Now I see why the fifth guy jumped up on our Tuk Tuk: he wanted money.
They wanted my money.
THEY WANTED MY MONEY! YAAAAYYY!
Not sure in what other context on Earth can such a sentence have a positive meaning.
Okay, so that’s what relief means!
I climbed up the path and rang the doorbell.
Matìas?
Sì!
Started to think you got lost, buddy! Come on up.
Finally someone was speaking in English!
I made my way up following the garden path; Castro was there waiting for me with two avocados in his hands and a big smile on his face.
I remember that vision to be quite alleviating.
His house was nice. A villa surrounded by a well kept garden, tall palms, and chairs hanging from trees.
He showed me my way to my place, just two minutes walk from his, and wished me goodnight.
The place was special. It looked like an helicopter perfectly laid the house in the middle of all those branches.
I didn’t notice how tired I was until then, so I said to myself that I’d have left the chicken for tomorrow, not too convinced that the real problem was my tiredness.
My head smashed the pillow beneath.
I felt at peace.
I felt in the middle of a dream, and despite the adverse conditions, I didn’t want to wake up.
