On Wednesday, we decided not to hike a volcano, but we still hiked. We begrudgingly paid the ‘extranjera’ price (as it noted on our factura) to hike the Mayan Nose, the climb from Santa Clara with beautiful views of Lake Atitlán on a clear day.

My favorite view isn’t the lake, as beautiful it is, it’s the cemetery in Santa Clara. The colors are bright, Easter-hued, and the happiest place to look at from above. The other buildings look established: the town hall, the Catholic church, but nothing looks as beautiful as the painted above-ground tombs of the cemetery. I love to look at it because I’ve stood in the cemetery many times, and it reminds me how powerful perspective is, and how far I can climb in 30 minutes to have a totally different vantage point on my daily life.

But if you turn the other direction 180 degrees, you can see Lake Atitlán. There was an Evangelical service going on at the first lookout, which we readily avoided, and hiked to the tippity top of the Nose. I had things on my mind, the last time I hiked the nose and walked down to San Juan I was on a date. Things are different now. But I was very glad to leave the house and be in the good company of Abby. We began our descent to San Juan after we took the world’s most ridiculous, timed jumping photos (by propping the phone against a rock and trying several takes). Sometime during the photo shoot, the clapping and repetitive singing stopped from the church service below. Things went quiet. It was us and the lake. We left as a French family walked up to the lookout.

The ground was extremely dusty <<when was the last time it rained?>> we wondered. I balanced from rocks with my tried and true, dusty sneakers who I have, yes, patched and glued to prolong their use. In 55 minutes we made it down. While we made our way we talked about life, work transitions and the precarious situation the lake is in. It’s health is waning and their isn’t infrastructure to clean the waste so it all gets dumped into the lake, indirectly. The communities around the lake are working to solve this issue, but the money is hard to find and is being raised from foreign donors. All of this because Abby’s boyfriend is on the board of “Amigos de Atitlán.” I enjoy Abby. When we are together it is as chill as ever and like no time has passed.

I would have been at work had there been work, but I am training my teachers to the convenience and availability of their schedules, so Wednesday there wasn’t work. I felt a little bad when a student called me and asked me to attend her project. Granted, she called me two hours beforehand so I couldn’t be there. But I appreciated the gesture. She was presenting on her ‘proyecto de vida,’ her life vision board. She is one of my most enthusiastic and passionate students, even though she got sick and couldn’t walk for part of her 8th grade year. It meant a lot that she thought to call and invite me. A phone call is still a valuable gift in Guatemala, where you have to pay to make the call. We continued on our way. As we saw a group of dudes resting under trees up ahead, Abby looked to grab a rock and I said: “they’re taking naps. They’re not going to mess with us.” I spoke to them in K’iche’ and they responded as jovially as ever. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be safe. We were balancing on rocks the whole way down and the moment we needed one, there were none to be found.

We passed through the entrance of San Juan and called Cindy, Abby’s friend. We waited for her in town center, bought cold water and chugged it until we saw Cindy’s recognizing expression, running towards us. I greeted her with a cheek kiss and we walked to her house. As we walked into her house, it wasn’t the vibe I expected: yoga mats, a couple cleaning their shoes and one dude relaxed in a hammock. Pura Vibra de Hippie. Cindy directed us to sit on a yoga mat and offered Abby a puff. I was not so thrilled about the vibe there but the people were nice and asked us questions, and Cindy had such a kind smile and energy.

I reminded Abby of my need for coffee and we made the walk across town to the tucked away Italian Restaurant “Idea Connection.” It’s not on the lake but they serve good coffee and Italian-style baked goods. We sipped our coffee and talked about work, school, our plans, Abby and I in our second-language Spanish. When Abby went to the bathroom, I told Cindy I also studied theatre (as she is getting her Master’s in Theatre). Her eyes lit up and we talked about theatre, myself guessing at terms I’d never used in Spanish before and listening to acting theorist names like ‘Brecht’ pronounced in Spanish. I never talk about theatre in Santa Clara. In fact, I don’t really talk about it in Guatemala so it was like dusting off a scrapbook I lived ten years ago. Abby and Cindy speak the type of Spanish you only hear around Antigua and the capital. It’s much more conservative in the pueblos. Despite the words and phrases that reminded me of my most recent relationship, it was easier to forget my sadness in the presence of their joy and contentment. And Italian chocolate bread.

We walked back to the town center and grabbed a tuk-tuk back to San Juan, Anna confirming the price before we stepped in. Our driver was a flirt and wanted to know all of our names. I was not impressed. I spoke to him in K’iche’ though he didn’t understand it, said he was from the coast. Well, I’m from even further so he can learn. We decided to stop off in San Juan instead of San Pablo because there was a picop (yeah that means pick-up truck) filling up with passengers to go to Santa Clara. We bid Cindy goodbye and stepped into some típico shops. El lustrador was also waiting for the truck with perhaps his dad or just a man he was working with. He is probably 9 now, a kid from Santa Clara, who always hugs me and repeats the same four English phrases: “Hello How Ahd you, What is Youhd Name, My Name is Yon, Nice to Meet You” (which truthfully is more than most in Santa Clara can say in English). He always tells me he is trilingual.

We stepped into a típico shop knowing that everything is massively overpriced. I spoke in K’iche’ to the women vendors who laughed, but didn’t lower their prices (bummer). The special thing about San Juan La Laguna is that they have upheld the tradition of naturally dyeing their fabrics. They use fruits and natural paints, so it’s pretty. The cotton is so soft and the handiwork is quality, but the prices are geared to tourists con puak’, not volunteers. I fell in love with a long cotton sweater that went down to my knees, black and lavender, I imagined myself in my Spanish classroom in Tucson wearing my woven sweater as I looked in the long mirror in the shop. It was a good feeling. But the price was Q225. That’s only $30 for something that would be a one-time splurge, but it’s also a quarter of my monthly rent here. I’ll think on it. If it’s still there the next time, I’ll buy it. I ran to an ATM and bought a scarf for my boss, worth the price when it’s a gift for a great boss. 🙂

And after another 20 minutes, the picop took off and we made a slow and steady winding incline to Santa Clara. It was the least thrown around I’ve been on one of these picop rides home, and the pace was nice because the temperature was dropping as the clouds had already set in. It wasn’t a very nice view of the lake because of the clouds, but it was still nice to be on the side of a mountain overlooking the surrounding pueblos. Home.

And we made it home for dinner (Abby’s second tamale) and I reheated the usual potatoes and vegetables with hot sauce. We started more Boy Meets World. We decided we should make an Abby and Natalie vlog review of each season with our favorite and least favorite seasons. We even got to the season where Matthew Lawrence is introduced as Shawn’s half-brother! I digress.

We sipped hot chocolate and finished the last two episodes (that we were gonna watch) snuggled up under the sleeping bags in my bed. I think pajama parties are good for mental health. And day trips on Wednesdays because you can.