Today, I'm sitting on the beach in Panajachel, a hippie haven in the Highlands of Guatemala. It's a real tourist destination, but it doesn't feel cheesy or inauthentic. Everyone is incredibly relaxed and laidback. I wouldn't call it welcoming because I think cities that feel too welcoming feel insincere, but it feels comfortable and open. Everyone is to relaxed to be welcoming.
I wandered through the town with my roommate, and I used my limited Spanish to bargain for some interesting textiles and trinkets for my friends and family. Handicrafts are everywhere. I've gotten change purses, scarves, woven cloths, a wraparound skirt, some beaded bracelets and a few other goodies today for about $100 US (maybe 800 Quetzales). Today I learned a quick trick to tell whether something is handmade: Smell it. Rural Guatemalans cook over an open wood fire, and handmade corn tortillas are a staple. The two leave a comforting and familiar smell in everything. (Day after I return home, I pull a sweat shirt from my still-not-unpacked suitcase and breathe deeply. That corn-and-campfire scent lingers, and I'm nostalgic.)
Here in Panajachel, there's another smell in the mix: flowers. Lavender boulainvillea are abundant, and other flowers, whose names I admit I don't know, are everywhere, and their scent is heavy, especially in the morning and at sunset. Guatemala, my Lonely Planet guidebook tells me, boasts 550 species of orchids, 1/3 of them endemic to Guatemala.
This country reminds me of Korea, where I spent 2005 teaching English. Guatemala, like South Korea, is a mix of old and new, prosperity and poverty, modernity and tradition.
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