We’re going home – to GUATEMALA
Cat Ledger takes her daughter to discover her roots among volcanoes and Mayan temples
MY NINE-year-old daughter Fabiola and I arrived in Guatemala City groggy with jetlag and grateful for the welcoming embrace of the Barcelo Hotel. Sandwiched between Mexico to the north, El Salvador and Honduras to the south and Belize to the east, Guatemala has made less impact on the tourist market than Costa Rica (three countries away on the Central American isthmus).
Its image, it has to be said, isn’t great. The Foreign Office website carries warnings about a history of violent crime (5,000 violent deaths in 2015), but these are almost exclusively gang murders that do not affect visitors.
The reality, as in most tourist destinations, is that you are far more likely to suffer injury in road accidents, bathing in the sea or climbing a volcano – earlier this year, six tourists died of exposure on the 13,000ft Acatenango peak.
This trip quickly revealed that Guatemala is a fascinating, much under-appreciated place.
On our first morning, Fabiola tucked into the first of many buffet breakfasts – eggs, tortillas, plaintain and black beans, with mangos, bananas and papaya on the side. She was also entranced that so many people in the room looked just like her – ‘and they’re all so small!’ she exclaimed.
FABIOLA was born in Guatemala, and I was lucky enough to be one of the last people able to adopt from the country, in late 2007. During the lengthy adoption process, my social worker had impressed upon me the importance of maintaining contact with my child’s country of origin. So we ate authentic Guatemalan dishes, tried hard to make friends with Guatemalan people, and encouraged her to learn Spanish.
However, this was our first time back in the country, which I wanted her to see before her teenage years set in. We were on a whirlwind ten-day escorted tour of vast rainforests, volcanoes, Mayan sites and major cities.
We began in the city of Antigua and were gripped by our guide Carlos’s tale of the legend of the three volcanoes – Agua, Fuego and Acatenango – that formed the (often mist-shrouded) backdrop to our twonight stay at the Villa Colonial Hotel. Close to the capital Guatemala City but safer and calmer, Antigua is the favoured base for tourists. We relished the Maya music at the Musical Museum in Jocotenango, admired the drying beans at the neighbouring coffee farm, then refuelled with lunch at Posada de Don Rodrigo to the sound of its marimba band. We also visited the ruins of a cathedral, saw the many buildings destroyed by earthquakes, peered at 900 AD Mayan figurines in the museum, and sped through the cobblestone streets by tuk-tuk to buy souvenirs at Nimpot and have supper at Hector’s Bistro.
We left Antigua on the sweeping road to the highlands – coffee plantations, roadside vendors, dogs and cows, brightly painted buses and tuk-tuks flashing past. We stopped at Chichicastenango’s bustling Sunday market. Here, tourists soak up the culture and religion of the Mayan Indians – colourful and exotic in their traditional woven costumes – as they burn incense on the steps of Santo Tomas church and sell a variety of wares.
A dramatic descent of the mountains took us to Lake Atitlan, framed by three cone-shaped volcanoes –
Atitlan, Toliman and San Pedro and ringed by indigenous Mayan villages. We stayed for three nights in Santa Catarina Palopo, close e to Panajachel, and were greeted waiters in traditional costume bear hibiscus smoothies.
We kayaked on a lake, toured Pa jachel by bicycle, careered down zip-line at the nature reserve close and took a boat trip on the lake to v the indigenous communities w speak Spanish as a second langua and sell hand-woven textiles a clothes on every corner.
On a restful day off from trekk the tourist trail, Fabiola had the ho swimming pool to herself, and luxuriated in the peace and tra quillity. We then took an eveni flight to Flores on day seven a arrived at our secluded hotel, Vi Maya, magically lit up amid tropi gardens. Next morning we left t hotel parrots and lake crocodile
behind and set off with tour guide Miguel (‘Call me Mike’) to Tikal, a set of Mayan ruins standing in 222 square miles of dense rainforest.
Walking around the site, Fabiola was delighted by a vast Chewing Gum tree, thrilled to hear the menacing growl of howler monkeys in the trees, and spotted several families of spider monkeys swinging above her.
She inspected the trails made by leaf-cutter ants and peered inquisitively at a termite nest until distracted by toucans jumping from branch to branch overhead.
She was as excited as everyone when shown a small, rare bird, the Tody motmot, and positively blasé by the time an anteater ran across our path. She raced and I panted up a wooden staircase to the top of Temple II, from where we gazed for miles at other temples rising magically above the canopy, soaking up the sounds and smells of the jungle.
It felt as if we had the luck of the gods as we gazed from the summit, because there was hardly a tourist in sight, save for a sweaty American gazing up at Temple V and exclaiming: ‘This is f ****** mind-blowing!’
BACK in Guatemala City a day later, Fabiola didn’t seem to notice the armed guard in the bank, nor the young boy wielding a baseball bat as he ‘guarded’ the door to McDonald’s.
I knew there was another side to Guatemala than the one shown to tourists, but she remained blissfully unaware. Fabiola was too busy enjoying our final outing, a visit to the city’s La Aurora Zoo – even if she was seeing parrots, macaws and spider monkeys in cages, whereas she’d been among them only a few days previously.
However, seeing the jaguars close up and the quetzal – Guatemala’s national bird, revered as a god by the Mayans – was wholly new to us both.
After our intensely busy tour, I imagined that Fabiola’s head would be buzzing with all the fascinating things we had seen and done, but on our last night, as I packed our bags in the hotel bedroom, I asked her what was her favourite moment of the trip.
‘Today,’ she said, sinking into her pillows. ‘We’ve been out to Pollo Campero for lunch, had supper at McDonald’s, and now I get to watch Frozen on the telly – can you believe I’m so lucky!’ In spite of that, I know she can’t have failed to be deeply affected by our trip. She asked when we could go back almost as soon as our plane’s wheels hit the tarmac at Heathrow, and enthusiastically took to learning Spanish in the following weeks. As I looked in on her asleep in her room last night – the weavings and souvenirs she purchased during our trip hanging from the walls around her bed – I was sure her dreams were filled with temples, rainforests, exotic birds and all those lovely people she almost seemed
to recognise.