The quiet Australian

Life's tough in Xela

For a while I’ve had an unnerving feeling that my abject knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese has seen me unwittingly channelling this man in my travels through South and Central America.  People have asked me how I’d managed to travel with so little language ability, but when you’re scraping the barrel any fellow traveller with a base knowledge is able to provide great assistance and for a while there I was describing myself as a language succubus, until its correct meaning was pointed out to me.

I can thankfully say after 25 hours of intensive lessons at Celes Maya in Xela I can speak Spanish with the panache of your friends not very sharp, but you're too polite to say, 3 year old. I really enjoyed the week of Spanish lessons and was fortunate to have as a teacher Carlos, who has a shared passion for football and history. 


Through our discussions I learned that Guatemala, and Xela specifically, had the only railway in the countries history that took the Germans 10 years to build, but only operated for 2 years from 1930 to 1932 before a new Guatemalan Dictator on advice from the US expelled the Germans and ripped up the railway. 


Carlos and I also discussed in depth the recent European Cup, the gradual slide of the Australian team, the lead up to the 2014 Brazil World Cup and of course the local favourites and reigning Guatemalan champions, Xelaju MC, the MC standing for their most talented player Mario Camposeco who in the 50's turned down offers to play overseas only to die in a plane crash at 25, and has been immortalised in abbreviated suffix ever since.

As fortune would have it Xelaju MC were playing midweek in El Classico, the local derby with San Marco.  From Carlos' description I imagined a heaving, packed stadium constantly on the brink of chaos. The reality was a bit different, more suburban Australian stadium with vendors selling hot water for the local tea.  Still the standard was surprisingly high (maybe I've watched too much A-League) and Xelaju MC came back from a goal down to win 2-1.


Departing Xela with my new found infant language skills I headed to the beautiful Lake Atitlan and specifically San Pedro La Laguna that Wikipedia calls the 'naughty village' due to its renowned nightlife.  

Lake Atitlan

The bustling San Pedro docks

I'd like to say I rocked it till dawn every night, or at least the Government regulated closing time of 1am, with 61 of my closest Israeli friends, but since I've been here I've been wiped out with a flu I'd been fighting since my last day of lessons in Xela. 


I'd tried to ignore it and on Sunday night headed to the local British pub for a traditional Guatemalan feast of roast, gravy and beer, which I then followed with a 4am hike up a hill referred to as the Indian's nose to watch dawn rise with a French couple and our guide over Lake Atitlan. 

San Marcos

Oddly enough I deteriorated after this and have spent most of the time struggling around San Pedro, a town that in the morning when the sun is shining, the Lake is glassy and the humming birds are flitting about between the trees borders on paradise. 


Even though it's the most happening of the numerous towns that surround the Lake the pace is pretty slow.  Taking a boat across the Lake to San Marcos la Laguna, I found a place where time has almost stopped. Not surprisingly it's a haven for hippies and alternative therapies, there's more foreign run massage, yoga and meditation places then a person could want for.  I couldn't help but wonder what the locals make of all this when an hour massage costs $US40, which is just under the average weekly wage of a Guatemalan.