Before I begin I’d just like to say that my previous post on Semuc Champey was very cleverly written in haikus, and wordpress messed up the formatting and obscured my genius. Go back and reread for maximum poetic pleasure.
Happy Christmas, merry new year, feliz año, arriba! My apologies for lack of grid activity for the past weeks, I’ve been too busy experiencing moments to distance myself from them by trying to record them (thanks Sontag). Live in the present etc but also celebrate the past by recounting awesome shit you do to make yourself feel more awesome in the present – i.e. write a blog that makes you sound like a sicko. Thus:
Christmas and New Years has been spent on the cinematically beautiful, ludicrously unreal pocket of paradise Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, a scrumptiously gorgeous high altitude lake surrounded by volcanoes. Sounds like the setting of a Pixar movie, plays more like a cross between Spring Breakers and Nim’s Island. We’ve swung between equally fun extremes of partying at Ke$ha level and relaxing at Chicken Joe level. For the first time we’ve hooked up with other Aussies – some mates from home and some new collector’s edition buddies. It’s been a while and there’s a lot of messy ground to cover so I won’t delve into details, but here are some important moments that stick out in the colourful kaleidoscope of Lake Atitlan.
The morning of Christmas Eve til the early hours of Boxing Day were a blizzard of barefoot bendering through the alleys of San Pedro – we crashed a house full of Aussie med students and abused their drug knowledge, marvelled at the worst DJ in history at the only club in town (lion king remix into major lazer), exchanged secret Santa gifts within our new family (Ilias, Harmony and Millie), and did not even contemplate sleep. Ho ho ho, we were certainly very far from ham and crackers at home.
One sunny afternoon after lakeside picnicking, including glutenless empanadas (!!) we temporarily left our bodies with the help of DMT, the naturally occurring substance produced by your brain at night when you dream. Smoking DMT takes you on a 10 minute journey into a surreal alternate universe projected onto the backs of your eyelids, almost like a waking dream that you’re aware of. Fun and fascinating (and, mum, one of the safest drugs to consume). I’m including this anecdote because it was special, and misrepresenting my experience in the name of PG friendly writing was relevant to the 16 year old Ella who was first in need of directions in Africa, but as a newly crowned 21 year old I’d rather have honest and informed conversations with my fellow adults than pussyfoot around topics that worry people.
On that note, Central America has opened my eyes more and more to the massive impact of drug tourism. People literally will fly around the world chasing a cheaper high – and the effects of this demand for gringo-friendly narcotics are simultaneously crippling and necessary for the Guatemalan economy. On one hand, tourism is the major source of revenue in Guatemala, and you can be sure that if drugs weren’t available here, the tourists wouldn’t come. However forcing a population to cater to a druggy economy comes with all the scary side effects of illegal trade: gang violence, corruption, militant police, and addiction. Not to mention that if Guatemalans are making money off drugs they’re unlikely to attempt to make money off positive, sustainable pursuits instead – the economy can’t grow without stimulus for growth, and we’re back to dealing dope to dopey travellers.
Over New Years we sparkled ourselves up and boarded a boat to Cosmic Convergence, a psytrance/lifestyle festival on the other side of the lake. Through the glittering gates we Entered the Void – have you ever seen yoga masters lose their minds to 200bmp screamo-psytrance? When bendy people dance sometimes you’re not sure if seizure or sun salutation. We witnessed a set of unidentifiable genres of music mashing together to somehow work (psy + flume + Afro rock + meditation dub + iPhone sound effects + hip hop MC = ?!), the best beatboxing I’ve ever seen, whole new instruments and acts who were more performance artists than DJs. If the music was unique, so was the crowd. Think Mayan warriors with the whites of their eyes tattooed black crying as the sun rises, fat Germans muzzing out in yellow track pants, one guy sitting right in front of the speaker so deep in meditation he didn’t even realise his whole body was being moved by the vibrating bass, leg-rubbing marriage ceremonies by lake locals, drunk Mexicans and sober Mexicans, fairies and puppies and children, soup genies, glitter goddesses, bad singers, renegade stages, magic tricks, useless skills, lots of leg hair. I felt quite ostentatious in my fur coat and new balance sneakers amongst a very vegan hippie community and one of the many lessons I came away from the festival with was that I’m not a doofer. The wonderful, welcoming, loving, peaceful population of dreadlocked, kombucha-drinking, friendly freaks who frequent festivals like cosmic convergence are too inefficient and nice for me. As we learned at El Jardin, I revel in the rat race and phat beats made by computers are more my jam than drum circles. At the same time I’m so glad I have swum in the puddle of that lifestyle properly and I wouldn’t say no to dipping in again – but I’m a tourist, not a full time treehugger.
I’ve also been showered with perfect presents by Thorsten for my birthday and eaten a snickers every day, so all in all Lake Atitlan has delivered. Us two partners in crime have said goodbye to the fam and are off to Antigua to climb Acatenango volcano (has been described as ‘hardest thing ever’, hopefully this is not true).
Cacao ceremonies and Caucasian Rastafarians,
PT
inneedofdirections 