Day 19: Los Hombres de Hongos

We ate a lot of chocolate today. Setting off in the morning to explore around the lake, we found ourself heading via speedboat towards the hamlet of Santiago. And if we thought the town of San Pedro was chaotic, this took it to a new level. It was an assault on the senses, as we were accosted by tour guides, dodged out of the way of tuc tucs, and were ushered into each new shop displaying some of the most beautiful Mayan clothing and leatherwork. The culture was distinctly Mayan by the lake, with many people wearing traditional clothing and speaking in their indigenous languages. 

We were drawn into an art shop, and at this point we were all feeling the chocolate. We stood, wide eyed and open mouthed at the array of pieces on display. Birds eye views of work in coffee fields, seemingly constructed by geometric patterns, georgeous vistas of the lake and technicolour marvels of women dressed in traditional attire. As I wandered about the shop I felt a tug on my locs and turned to see the shopkeeper and her son pulling my hair. “!Me gusta!” they exclaimed, “Es naturale?”. I smiled and explained that they were, and I had been growing them for 2 years in my pigeon Spanish. I considered that they may never have seen anybody who looked like me before, and were as interested in my background as I was theirs. We spoke some more, and we all bought some art and said our goodbyes. There is a real warmth to the people I had interacted with in Guatemala. It’s a strange place, seemingly more restricted than the neighbouring Mexico, with many police checkpoints on the roads, lots of mask wearing and no smoking in restaurants. As I learned more about the traumatic history of the country, this strictness started to make sense. The people were small in stature, but with enormous hearts, very polite and welcoming; I felt comfortable here.

After another rickety speedboat home, we munched more choccy and lay back in our hammocks, blasting tunes. We contemplated life, between hilarious expeditions to acquire cigarettes and beer, and the subject moved to goals. We all agreed that more of what we had experienced the past 3 weeks should be on the agenda. And freedom. But freedom is an illusive idea. Freedom from what? And how does freedom balance with responsibilities. Was the previous few weeks freedom, or just hedonism? It was a kind of freedom, as Henry put it, “No job, no girl, no nada”, but I think true freedom is an internal battle. It’s less about where you are, but how you approach where you are. If you can be free from your own desires, your regrets and anxieties, and decide how you interact with the world from a conscious place, rather than from a reactionary or compulsive place, this is freedom.