After breakfast, we departed for the Lakes of Montebello, via Juan Carlos' bus. As we drove out of town, I noticed a long line of women waiting to purchase chickens. Another woman and young child sat on a street corner, huddling in the cold morning air, begging. Heart-wrenching reminders that we're in a third world country.
On the way, we stopped to visit a family (relatives of Juan Carlos) who live in the village of Amatenango de Valle, located in the highlands outside of San Cristobal. The four children, three boys ages between eight and ten and a little girl named Ana, maybe six or seven years old, live with their parents and grandfather. They live in a small house on a hill surrounded by corn fields which cover ever inch of ground, all the way down the inclined hillside, in between rocks and trees and huge boulders, to the edge of the river below; no soil is wasted. Their home is built from wood and cinderblock, with a ceramic tile roof to let out the smoke from the cooking fire inside. Bright yellow and pink crocuses peek out from a fence on the side of the house. A small altar to the Virgin Mary is set up in the center of the one room home, against the back wall. To the left is a row of shelves for storing corn in it's various stages from seed to ground meal. Below the shelves are huge ceramic pots holding water. On the other side of the room are a few benches set up in a half-circle, with hammocks hanging above where the family of seven sleeps.
These people are poor, and they live simply, but they are some of the warmest and happiest people I've ever met.
The Amatenango, like many other Mayan tribes, work hard to maintain their culture. The men are in charge of the agriculture. They grow beans and corn, the staple crop of all the Maya. The women are charged with keeping the flame of their ancient culture alive. They are renowned for their pottery, which is made with the same techniques they've been using for thousands of years. The knowledge is passed from mother to daughter.
Here is an excerpt from an article about the women of Amatenango, which Professor Tromans emailed to all the students prior to our trip, along with several articles. He emphasizes that the more we know about the places we're going the better time we're going to have on this trip :)
"The women from Amatenango learn the art of pottery by an oral tradition that has remained unchanged for centuries, a tradition that began long before molds were created, and pottery was baked in ground-level, open-air bonfires. The secrets of their craft have been handed down from mother to daughter for generations. [. . .]
Households in Amatenango are potter's studios, where several generations of women, young and old alike, work at molding, painting and firing clay. There is not a single woman in Amatenango who ignores the art of making pottery. Meanwhile, most of the men are dedicated to farming. Early on when boys are shown the machete, the girls are introduced to their first chunk of clay. [. . .]
Land of the women potters, citadel of tradition, Amatenango del Valle is a village filled with creative women whose work is a form of art that combines the four elements—earth, wind, fire and rain—to create objects that reflect their culture and individuality. They are the living guardians of traditions centuries old, and to spend time among them is to enter a space of such purity and simplicity that one finds it hard to leave."
The Mother happily offered to demonstrate for us the way she makes pottery, and even allowed us to take pictures! Photos are actually very rare here. The people of Amatenango generally don't like their picture taken.
Meanwhile, the kids hovered around and goofed off, excited to have visitors. Unsure of whether we understood Spanish, the two younger boys unabashedly commented, giggling, that Chelsea is so white she looks like milk! "Leche" was then added to the list of nicknames she's been collecting on this trip. Like most Mayan children in Mexico, these Amatenango kids learned early on that good money can be made by charging tourists a couple pesos to take photos. We, of course, have grown accustomed to it as well, and were ready with pesos in hand. They posed and smiled enthusiastically for all of my pictures (which I am particularly proud of), and seemed genuinely thrilled when I turned my camera around to show them the pictures on the screen. I don't think they had seen that before. One boy's face held a look of pure amazement as he listened to headphones for the first time.
Ana, who seemed to have taken a liking to me, grabbed my hand and pulled me over to proudly show me a few of the small ceramic animals she had made (something the young Amatenango girls do for practice while their mothers are teaching them how to make pottery), and I happily purchased a couple of them for a few pesos, telling her she does wonderful work. I also bought a pair of traditional ceramic doves, made by her mother, for my mom.
After that awesome visit, we headed out to the lakes. It had been a long time since I'd seen mountain lakes, and the sight was breathtaking!
A bunch of us walked down the forested hillside to a dock at the edge of the lake, where kayaks and wooden log rafts were available to rent. Naylynn and I paid sixty pesos each (ouch!) for one kayak, and Howie and Sam took the other. The rest of the group climbed onto the raft.
We paddled out towards a little island in the center of the lake, and it felt amazing to glide through the clear water, just like I used to do as a kid in Connecticut. The tiny island was probably less than a hundred feet in diameter. We tied up our kayaks and climbed out, through the sticky mud and onto the grass. We immediately stripped down to our swimsuits, hung our clothes on a nearby tree, and had a spectacular time jumping off the huge boulders and into the water. The water was so refreshing, cold and clear just like the cenote.
After a while, we paddled back to the shore to meet up with the rest of the group. We walked through the forest to another lake, this one divided along the center by buoys. The left half of the lake belonged to Mexico, and the other half to Guatemala. There was a small village on the lake's shore, and some young boys fishing. I doubt whether they cared if they were officially Mexican or Guatemalan :)
We hovered around the post marking the border for a while, then the professors semi-legally led us on a short walk up a trail on the side of the lake, and right into Guatemala without ever being asked to show our passports! I don't know, maybe we thought some customs officials were going to suddenly jump out of the trees an arrest us, or something. . .
We only went in so far as a small market right on the border, where I picked up an awesome Quetzal keychain (the quetzal is the national bird of Guatemala and also the name of their currency) while Juan Carlos, Martin and Sam entertained us all by playing the marimba :D
We walked back to Mexico and once again boarded Juan Carlos' bus, where we all fell asleep immediately (as has become the custom). When I awoke, yawning and stretching, I suddenly felt something snap and come lose. Reaching under the back of my shirt, I realized the clasp of my swimsuit top had broken! In a stroke of genius, Joann found a stretchy headband in her bag and used it to tie my top back together. I awkwardly managed to pull it back on just in time for us to arrive. We got out and hiked up a steep trail, sweating in the mid afternoon humidity. The trail was rocky and kind of slippery, and the steeper parts had logs forming a kind of stairway. Along the side of us was a tricking stream, with occasional deep pools of enticing water -- a torturing sight to we overheated, perspiring gringos. The water was turquoise blue and magical looking, the way it swirled around the smooth rocks.
We eventually began to hear the sound of rushing water, and soon came into sight of the immense Chiflon waterfall. We climbed up the metal staircase to the observation platform, our fatigued legs threatening to collapse like wet noodles. As the mist generated by the mighty cascade immediately began to cool us off, we stared down the hundreds of feet drop to where the waterfall crashed into the river below.
Some of the group members took a zip line across the waterfall. I found it pretty epic to watch, but much too terrifying to actually try!
We headed back down, and finally were able to take a dip in the cold stream, swimming to our hearts content until again boarding the bus.
As we drove away, we spotted the Chiflon waterfall like a glowing white pillar in the distance. Soon, we were asleep.
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