I strode straight past the bus, and headed towards the edge of Lake Atitlan.
It was a hot day, and beads of sweat trickled down my face as we walked through the crowded market. I walked passively as people jostled by, pushing and shoving from all sides. The plastic bag holding the Guatemalan purses and trinkets I had purchased was wet and slippery in my hand. I pushed through a cluster of confused tourists, and rounded a corner, heading back towards the brightly painted old school bus our group used to get around. Instead of stopping, however, I strode straight past the bus, and headed towards the edge of Lake Atitlan. A slight breeze blew in from over the water, carrying the faint, delightful fresh smell of mossy vegetation. The lake was breathtaking. A vast expanse of water reached out in all directions, entirely surrounded by tall, hunter green mountains. The sun shimmered on the lapping water, transforming the azure liquid into a lake of gold. The cool breeze tickled my cheek, carrying the invigorating promise of rejuvenation in the gently rolling waters.
We sped across the lake, skimming along the top of the water. I exhaled, letting go of the thick, hot air, and inhaled deeply, quenching my lungs with the cool, fresh lake breeze. I watched as the town grew smaller and smaller, its vividly bright buildings and cobblestone streets disappearing in the distance. I felt deeply secluded from the outside world. The boat clunked to a stop, and I threw my bag over my shoulder and walked down the gangplank, stepping onto solid land. The landing was made of light orange stone and was cut off from the rest of the land by a wall of trees. I headed for a path that cut through the center of the grove. An exotic paradise spread out before me; tall palms grew in clusters, shockingly hued flowers reached over the ground and up towards the top of the canopy, hammocks hung in little clearings, strung out between trees, and little water fountains dotted the landscape, excitedly babbling over the sound of birds cawing in the tree-tops. We hiked uphill until we reached a tall, light tan building made of smooth stone. We walked up a flight of stairs, protected by a twisted, wrought iron banister. The building turned out to be a hotel, and stepping inside, a cool blast of air hit me, instantly drying the sweat on my face. I headed back down to the lake.
Winding around the side of the hotel along the waters edge, the lake spread out before me. Small, stone patios stuck out from various points on the mountains side, blending into the natural scenery. Bright flowers spilled over the balcony edges, contrasting magnificently with the lake’s teal blue water. On the lake edge, more of these balconies served as jumping off points to dive into the lake. I gazed down, watching the swells lap against the rock wall below. I looked out over a small cove, surrounded on three sides by vividly green trees growing up the side of the mountain. A small wooden house on stilts clung to the steep mountainside, partially obscured by the dense forest. I sprung from the balcony. The cool water consumed me, washing over my head like a breath of fresh air. I surfaced and opened my eyes, looking back up at the hotel that spread high up the mountain and the bright balconies. Then I paddled around to look out over the vast expanse of aquamarine water that melted in with the emerald mountains far in the distance. I dunked my head under and swam back towards the edge. I rested my feet on a flight of steps leading out of the water. My toes gripped the slimy moss and I climbed out of the water, emerging onto a small platform, and headed back.
I wandered around the lake and the beautiful hotel, Casa del Mundo, taking photographs, trying to document the exact look and feel of the place, to capture the blissful aura of this day; but no image seemed to get it exactly right. After a while, I gave up and turned my camera off. Walking down to lunch, surrounded by exploding flowers and tall trees, I took a deep breath of the warm, fragrant air and exhaled, letting all feeling of responsibility go with the old air. Just for a moment, I let go of my responsibility to be a “good traveler” and document every moment of my journey for posterity; I let go of the feeling of having to be somewhere, or to do something or to achieve a certain experience. I let all of it slide away, and felt the sun beaming blissfully on my back as I breathed in the moment, and let myself reside wholly in the present, free of care or concern.
