Feb 8 – We are running low on quetzales, and Santa Cruz has no ATM, so today we took the public lancha (motorboat) back to Panajachel (Pana-ha-SHELL, or just call it Pana like the locals do). We’ve befriended Canadian sisters Monica and Mary from British Columbia, and Jim offered to cook supper for them, so we will go to the market and see if there are ingredients on offer that will make a meal.
As we approached the dock, a boat was just pulling away, but the pilot called out “Pana?” and when we nodded in the affirmative, he pulled back in so we could hop on. I sat next to an American retired couple who purchased a house here several years ago so they could winter here and summer in Maine. Now, that sounds like a perfect life.
Panajachel has all the hustle of a city, with touts approaching at every turn offering taxi rides, food and souvenirs.

During our search for an ATM, I spied these little cuties. Photographed from the back only, of course.
We were told that every town has its own design for traditional clothing. Ladies from Santa Cruz use blue and green thread, and the triangles represent the volcanoes.
Everywhere we walked a little knot of locals followed us, offering key chains and pencils as well as the more expensive woven, carved and leather goods. When we sat down in a restaurant to eat lunch, they followed us in!
We weren’t buying souvenirs today, so after finding the ATM, we looked for what other things of interest Panajachel had to offer. We found the church of course, Iglesia San Francisco.
As soon as we stepped inside, we heard this god-awful wailing. I feared we had stumbled into a funeral, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see a parade of people crawling on their knees, from the back of the church, down the hard tiled center aisle toward the altar, presumably exhorting the Lord with lamentations and prayer. What a racket!
We sat quietly in a pew, then watched as each person reached the altar, than started the long journey back up the aisle, on their knees, crawling backwards, still wailing. That was enough for me.
We’ve seen this form of penance before, at pilgrimage sites like Lourdes and Fatima. This was the first time we’ve seen it in a local church.
As we were about to leave, the caretaker of the church approached Jim and asked if we wanted to see the side chapels. He unlocked the gates and let us in.

Then he asked if we wanted to see upstairs. We gamely climbed into the choir loft, which was just a dusty space devoid of organ or pews.
Then he showed us another circular stone stair that led up to the bell tower. From the narrow step I was standing on, I would have to leap across empty space to access the other stair – no thanks! Of course, long-legged Jim was up for the challenge. Do you know what was up there? A bell!
That was enough excitement for one day. We found a modern supermarket, Jim bought provisions for the next few days, and we took the lancha back home to Santa Cruz.

Jim set to work in the big kitchen, managing to slice his thumb in addition to the mushrooms, peppers, onion, garlic and chorizo that went into his super spaghetti sauce. With fresh garlic bread, cold cervesa, and the good company of Monica and Mary, it was a meal that couldn’t be beat!
After supper, it started to get windy, than really windy. At about 8pm the town lost electricity, and we prepared for bed by candlelight. I wonder how long the battery in my iPad will last?

















There is a fancy resort down by the water, and several restaurants, but we prefer to support the local economy when we can. We found a little comida and ordered a simple lunch of chicken, vegetables and rice. Our Lemon Crush came with ice, which gave me pause for the first time on this journey – would the ice be made with filtered water up here in this untouristy place? We drank up, and happy to say, all was well.
Then it was back down the hill toward home. Watch your step – one foot wrong, and down the cliff you’ll go!









I can feel the stress of the day’s travels melting away. I think we’re going to like it here!













Up the hill was a school, a little tienda (shop) offering sodas and snacks, and (of course) a church. 










Lillian started up the mountain at a trot, with the twenty-somethings right behind. I started in the middle of the group, but before too long I was at the back of the pack, huffing and puffing. The trail was steep and dusty, and I knew I couldn’t keep up. So? Jim paid for a horse, and I climbed gratefully on.











There was a whole room of ceramics with faces, one of my favorite things.

























































We found an ATM deep in the darkened airport with the assistance of a friendly taxi driver (who didn’t even ask for a tip), then called our B&B for a pickup. Ten minutes later, we walked in to Hostal Guatefriends, a very nice place indeed, with a private toilet and hot water shower. We don’t expect this level of luxury everywhere in this country.













































So! A successful trip! Unbelievably great weather, no injuries, lots of fish and chips eaten, and 400 miles walked. Back to Heathrow, then home to Virginia, where everything is air conditioned, the cars drive on the proper side of the road, and it is assumed that you want ketchup for your fries, not Brown Sauce. Until next time!






























