My world, it spins.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

San Pedro La Laguna

San Pedro La Laguna is a fascinating place. A thriving small town on the south shore of the beautiful Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, it's a real magnet for tourists. The functional centre of the town is at the crest of an aggressive hill, 8 minutes' walk from the waterfront pedestrian village (affectionately known to locals as Gringolandia) where the majority of hotels, bars and restaurants can be found. 


The town's centre is almost exclusively the domain of locals speaking one of four Mayan descended languages. Surrounding the civic square cum basketball court are numerous well-stocked shops and a characteristic produce/meat market staffed by half a dozen aging Mayan women who amicably endure my efforts to speak Spanish, ever attempting to upsell me from just onions to chiles, cilantro, cocoa and beyond. Somewhat disappointingly, this part of town is much lesser visited by the throngs of visitors to Gringolandia just down the road.


Gringolandia is certainly not without its charms. Its network of narrow alleys and dirt trails is suitably navigated only on foot excepting the occasional bicyclist. The at first confusing network leads one past a dozen bars & restaurants, a handful of internet cafes, several places of paid lodging, and six (give or take) competing Spanish schools (not forgetting the predominant languages here). In addition to the scores of wayward travelers who oftentimes find themselves quite resistant to departure, there is a semi-permanent population of ex-patriots from several countries who, evidently, have elected not to leave. Salis si puedes (leave if you can) is another affectionate moniker for this wee pedestrian village. It should also be noted that despite prolific signage condemning the sale of drugs, difficulty has no strong ties to acquisition here.


In recent weeks, there's been a bit of an uprising in San Pedro. Members of the local evangelical church who, incidentally, seem to hold great sway over the police force, have been embarking upon nightly parades of Gringolandia, evicting clients en mass from each and every bar. The alleged violation is a cliché noise complaint, but I believe the reasons are rooted in a perception that bar-goers are pledging allegiance to the rosy old  man with horns and a trident. Resident foreigners argue that this practice of early closure (around 11pm) is illegal in a country where bars almost universally close at 1am. I too found myself dismayed at repeated early termini and (objectively, of course) questioning the validity of the complaint.


On my last day in San Pedro, clarity swelled. Around four in the afternoon the sounds of a musical ensemble commonly associated with the image of Che Guevera came a-thundering down from a hillside hotel room. To each his own, but when a gathering of inebriated tourists (4pm on a Sunday) can be heard from 500m away  hollering, “motherfucker” chorus after chorus, I find myself siding with the evangelicals. Just like a pendulum, suggests my friend K., San Pedro is upswinging from a period of bold bingeing and now it's time to purge. Para mi, Gringolandia is about due for a long stint in detox.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

I wonder: Did you join the ranks of ex-pats resistant to departure, or did wanderlust triumph over the appeal of Panajacel.