We crossed the border at Cuidad Cauahtemoc. The Mexican side went smoothly, taking about an hour to process the paperwork for both my immigration and the import papers for the bike. Once we crossed the border, however, it was absolute chaos! First, some guy waved us into a little roped off area. He was not wearing any sort of uniform, and the place was swarming with Indians, beggars, children, chickens, goats, stray dogs and just about anything else you could imagine, so I’m still not sure if this was an “official” part of the process or just some guy who liked to fumigate things. Regardless, they proceeded to fumigate my motorcycle with what appeared to be a pesticide, but I’m not sure. Whatever it was, it cost me about US. Then I proceeded to maneuver through a sea of people until I came upon what I believe was customs. These guys had on rag tag uniforms, so I am fairly certain this was part of the necessary process, but again, I can’t be positive. I had a difficult time understanding the Spanish of the border guard, as he was speaking very quickly, so I just started handing him paperwork. He was very impatient, but somehow in my pile of documents he found whatever it was he was looking for, made several copies on a circa 1975 copy machine, stamped some things with a rubber stamp and asked for some money. They only accepted Quetzals, the local currency, and at the time, all I had was Mexican pesos so I was forced to venture back out into the chaos to find a money changer. Fortunately Philippe had been diligent and researched the exchange rate the day before, so after finding a rouge “hombre de cambio”, we managed to haggle and got what turned out to be a pretty good exchange rate. When it was all said and done, the total cost was somewhere around quetzals, about US.

Once inside the country, it was a bit of culture shock for me. Even after Mexico, I wasn’t really prepared for this. The sea of people, smells, the shacks that lined the street with junk that poured out into the streets. The stray dogs, dirty children half clothed, the filth. The busses that were so full that people were on top, on the sides, hanging off the back bumper and out of the windows, as the bus tried to make its way through a sea of people that seemed impervious to its existence. I had never seen anything like it before, it was quite daunting, and all I wanted to do was get away from it. It felt like a very hostile environment.

Guatemala in general is very different than Mexico. First thing I noticed was the difference in noise. Guatemala is much quieter (other than my hotel which is the noise center of Antigua), which has been a nice change. But it is more than that; the indigenous population is considerably higher than even southern Mexico. In the small villages, it is almost completely Indians in their brightly colored dresses, carrying baskets of the days find on their heads. When we first pulled into a village, I wanted to take pictures so badly, but as I had been warned many times before, the locals did not like to be photographed. I had heard stories of a Japanese tourist being pulled from a tour bus and hung in broad daylight for taking pictures (must be one of the most honorable ways for a Japanese tourist to go!), so I decided it might not be a good idea. Regardless, it was a sight straight out of a National Geographic issue. Incredible to see.

Originally our plan, or lack thereof, was to get past the border and figure out where in Guatemala we wanted to go. We survived the border and the really scary border town unscathed, but, in retrospect, I think we were both really shaken because it wasn’t until we had driven some 150 miles into the country before we realized we had no idea where we were going. It was then we thought to stop and look at a map.

I remember reading about Lake Atilan and how beautiful it was supposed to be, and as it turned out we were already unintentionally well on our way in the general direction, so it only made sense. There we found one of the most beautiful lakes I had even seen, surrounded by 3 different volcanoes that towered over the sparkling blue water and jungle. The first stop was the largest city around the lake, Panachel. It is a really cute, albeit rustic town filled with the establishments intended to milk tourist of their money. The streets were lined with restaurants, bars, Indians hawking their colorful wares, tourists and hotels. We managed to find a cute little posada with a plant filled courtyard, just a bit off the beaten track, and settled in for a few days. I believe the room cost about , split between the both of us and the food was even cheaper. From there, we went on a hike that took us into the jungle to photograph monkeys (well, actually I went on the hike. Phillipe went with, but when we got to the entrance, he realized the National Park Service charged for entry, he backed out. Man, he can be cheap sometimes!), explored the town and had a wonderful Italian dinner in a little café where the music was incredible! It was a nice little retreat, and gave us both a chance to get used to the currency and ways of life for the Guatemalans.

We stayed there for 2 days, getting caught up with laundry, bike maintenance and the like, but then it was time to go. I have a friend back in Atlanta who’s father actually lives in a tiny village on Lake Atilan called San Marcos La Laguna, and had been in touch with him via email. He invited us to visit, and it was all the excuse we needed. Off we went. The lake was so pretty, surrounded by volcanoes and jungle, and had 4 small villages between Panachal and San Marcos La Laguna. It was the perfect reason to go the long way around the lake, so we thought we’d make the day of it. The road was small and windy, but the villages were absolutely amazing and the scenery incredible. The road was lined with brightly dressed indigenous women carrying baskets on their heads, donkeys carrying back breaking loads of sugar cane and firewood, children playing in the streets. I was having the time of my life, until the road changed that is. After the 3rd village, the road turned from a nice paved road to a really difficult dirt road. It was a real struggle to keep the bikes upright because there was so much really fine sand that traction was next to impossible. It was very isolated, as most people had more sense than to try to go down this road. It was about 6 miles after the pavement ended, that’s where it happened.

The road took a sharp turn to the right, then back to the left and straight up a hill. It must have been 20 degree climb, or more, because it was a very slow going. Just as we crested the hill, two guys dressed in army fatigues with black ski masks jumped out from the bushes directly in front of us. One had what appeared to be a 12 gauge shotgun with a pistol grip handle and the other had a 9mm semi automatic handgun. It was the bigger of the 2 guys, who had the handgun that ran up to me. The gun was less than a foot in front of my face. The other guy with the shotgun went directly to Phillipe. I don’t know which one said it, but the message was clear. “Su deniro o su vida” – your money or your life. The whole thing happened so quickly, there was no way we could have avoided it. Let’s talk a minute about what was going through my head at the time: first, I was actually relived to hear my money is what they were interested in. My first thought was that they were Zapatistas, Sandinistas, Comunistas or some other political faction I had never heard of before, and that I was about to become a hostage, or worse, for their cause. Secondly, I was scared out of my mind! I remember telling the guy “no problema”, which may have relaxed the situation just a bit. At the time, I was not carrying much money, which I knew may exacerbate the situation. I handed him my wallet, with Limpera (about us) and a credit card or two. He only was interested in the cash, and handed my wallet back to me. He demanded I open my cases on my bike, but I played the “I am gringo, no speaka’ de Spanish” routine and he bought it. He went through my pockets looking for valuables, as I held my hands in the air, but was looking in the wrong places and found nothing. Philipe had some more cash than I did, plus a nice digital camera and that seemed to appease the other guy with the shotgun. He then came over to me, but I could tell he was ready to get out of there. As they ran off, back into the woods, the little guy with the shotgun grabbed the sunglasses off my face. I immediately said in English “Oh come on man, I need those”. He handed them back to me, and off they ran. As they ran off, Phillipe asked if we were heading in the right direction. The one who tried to steal my sunglasses turned around and pointed us in the proper direction. Afterwards, when we arrived in San Pedro, we visited to police to tell them about what had happened. They told us to come back the next day. Crazy, huh?

By the time we got to La Laguna San Marco, we had quite a story to tell. Later, were to meet some girls from Argentina. They were there, doing volunteer work for the poor. They just happened to be eating lunch in the centro when we pulled into town. The inhabitants of the village were 100% indigenous Indians, it was very remote. They said it was like watching “Back to the Future” as the Indians watched us in amazement, as it was doubtful they had seen the likes of us and our futuristic machines before.

After some extremely convoluted directions, we finally arrived at Raj’s house. I had never met him, only traded email, but he had been kind enough to have invited us, so we went. It was quite surprised when we finally met! He was a short Indian man (as in from India), in his 50’s, who had very long hair and a very small build. He was a little like the “guru” people climb the mountain to consult, extremely patient, yet like he was going to break out with the secret of life any moment. He was also extremely gracious, greeted us, and showed us his beautiful, although extremely rustic house that he designed and had the locals build. Once we got the formalities behind us, he told let us know that he had some other guests, so all hopes of indoor beds were gone, but that we were welcome to set up a tent or 2 on the roof of his house and camp out. With that, he added there were only 2 rules of his house; “No drugs and no meat allowed”. OK, no problem, Neither of us do drugs anyway, and I can go a day or two as a pseudo vegetarian. Anyway, we were actually kind of excited about the camping, as it is extremely difficult to find a place safe for camping in Latin America, and we had our gear. We set up our tents and had some pasta, sans meat.

That evening he invited us to go with him and his other guests to meet another “gringo” who lived close by. Mark was in his 70’s and had sailed around the world 9 times in his life. Although he was plagued with arthritis now, he was still full of life and entertained us with stories for hours. As you can imagine, they were quite intense. He had also built his house, right on Lake Atilan, by utilizing the help of the locals. One day his stone mason told him he needed a wife (after his recent 6th divorce). He proceeded to go into town and recruit a local woman, and they were married shortly thereafter. When we arrived, she was sitting in the corner, cross legged on the floor, weaving that bright indian fabric. I thought she was the maid, in her traditional Indian dress and was quite surprised when I found out she was his wife! She spoke the local language, and a little bit of Spanish, he only English. He seemed very happy, as did she. Who am I to say? Anyway, it was an evening I don’t think I’ll forget soon.

Despite the warm reception and entertaining conversation about philosophy with Raj, the next morning came and it was time to move on. As incredible as this amazing place on the lake surrounded by volcanoes was, we had other places to see. By lunch time, we were well on our way to Antigua.

Antigua is a nice colonial town whose main source of revenue is tourism. There is a beautiful volcano that looms over the main church and town centro, and it made for some dramatic photos. We were going to hike the volcano, but warnings about recent robbings along the way kept us spending our money in town, as the tourism board had intended. That was all we needed, time to venture on. We cross the border into Honduras tomorrow, the adventure continues!