The water laps onto the shore caressing the mind to rest from a long days journey from the bowels of LaGuardia. The wind fetched from across the lake and down one of the brilliant volcanos lightly rattles the windows. In the morning light before the sunrise, there are lone fishermen in small canoes juxtoposed next to a steep cliff. We awake briefly to take in the sight, the air and the serenity of Lago Attitlan.
Our travels from Brooklyn to here were nearly flawless but definitely not direct. After a wait for the wind-delayed regional flight, we got the last two seats on the plane. Luckily a few of the standby passengers had left or were not waiting at the gate when their name was called. In Richmond, the Day's Inn provided a clean drab bed to sleep on. The middle American street lining the perimeter of the airport is wide, impassable for a pedestrian and provides a seemingly endless chain of chain hotels and Waffle Houses. There is a pool but the miles of concrete and lack of green living things makes it uninviting to those with sight.
At the airport we get confirmed seats to Charlotte and on to Guatemala. Guatemala City's airport covers the only flat portion of the gargantuan sprawl of Central America's largest city. With a fresh cup of the omnipotent NesCafe (If you are wondering, Guatemala does grow wonderful coffee but it gets exported!), my friend and her canine meet us at the airport.
Our vehicle winds through familiar countryside before we drop down the few thousand feet to the majestic Lago Atitlan, a lake reminiscent of Titicaca in Peru and Tahoe in Nevada for its granduer. After a light, though heavily buttered, cena tipico we get an overpriced lancha ride across the lake under the umbrella of every star in the northern sky. On the dock, the quiet of night envelops as the lancha returns from where it came. We stumble up a steep stone staircase to the sound of glasses clinking and pleasant after dinner conversation in the main dining room of the Casa del Mundo.
No comments:
Post a Comment