The Most Beautiful Lake In The World

Such was the claim made of Lago de Atitlan by Aldous Huxley. In Beyond the Mexique Bay, the writer compared Atitlan to the famous Lake Como in the Italian Lake District, which already touches on the limit of permissably picturesque, adding of Atitlan that it is Como with additional embellishments of several immense volcanoes. It really is too much of a good thing. Enough said?

If Antigua is Guatemala's beating tourist heart, then the accompanying cliche is that Lago de Atitlan is the shiny jewel in its crown. The lake was a scenic three-hour ride over winding mountain roads and rugged terrain, with vistas of green valleys and golden fields of ripening maize. People visit to lounge around (as we unexpectedly spent the whole time doing), climb volcanoes (which we meant to do but couldn't) and dive (not an option). There are 12 major settlements around the lake, just as many, it is said, as there were apostles. Our destination was Jaibalito, a tiny Kakchiquel Mayan village clinging on to a steep rocky hillside on the lake's northern shore.

Below: Scenes on the road - roadside souvenir stalls and our fill of volcano views - though these were taken when we were going back towards Antigua after my Atitlan spell. People, Guatemalans in fact, do actually buy these twig reindeer (massed to the right of the picture just below). The sight of wooden antlers wedged between blurred bodies on many passing motorcycles was not uncommon.

Most tourist shuttles terminate at the town of Panajachel (Pa-na-ah-chel, most accurately pronounced like a mighty sneeze), on the northeastern shore, from which lancha (speedboats) routes radiate to the many towns and villages scattered around the lake. We got off at the public docks, and half-expected to witness the inevitable carnage which ensues when zebras and wildebeests gather on the steep banks of the Mara River and crocodilian shadows lurk purposefully beneath its gray waters. The nightmare didn't materialise, there were berths enough for four boats, and passengers waited patiently inside. We were very nearly conned, though, by a tout who quoted us three times the regular fare to the docks at Jaibalito.

Below: Mary attempts to blend in on the lancha from Panajachel.

It was a smooth twenty-minute ride to the dock of La Casa del Mundo where we would stay for two nights. We were amongst the last passengers, and it being market day also the seats behind were occupied by the resplendence of Mayan women with their miscellaneous ware scattered around - large plastic pitchers, cartons of soft drink and brightly dyed fabric in contrastingly drab bags. The women conversed softly in their Mayan tongue, one of over twenty within a language family that didn't sound like anything I've heard before. Each uttered syllable was a brick in a wall before which I stood beside incomprehension.

La Casa del Mundo was built into a cliffside just east of the actual village of Jaibalito. Several flights of stone steps led us up to first the reception and then our room just above it. This was the room that was smaller than the bathroom in Chez Daniel. The view, however, brooked no comparison. From bed and balcony, we were met with each waking gaze with grace, majesty and power - the slumbering giants of Toliman and San Pedro above the shimmering water of Atitlan.

Below (top to bottom): La Casa del Mundo's private dock, launching pad for boat and bum alike; balconies rarely get any better than this.

Wide, breezy verandahs under leafy shade, equipped invitingly with deck chairs, hammocks and plenty of sunshine, screamed out for guests to simply do nothing. Which we did. There was one tiny spot of bother, though it still afforded us some mirth. The wind on Atitlan tends to pick up towards mid-day, and whilst we were there impish noontime easterlies whipped up an unruly broth close to shore which defied our efforts to keep ourselves dry.

Below: Fun in the sun, right by wind and water. It might not be noticeable, but the hammock in the second photograph below was wet too.

Being away from the hullabaloo in the populous areas of the lake does have its downside. While the small cafe on site serves a decent range of affordable options, dinner was an expensive communal affair. At US$16 a head, I expected something better than vegetables bruschetta. The closest alternative was a five-minute tramp to the waterfront Club Ven Aca just next to the village. I suppose you can't have both world-beating vistas and food at the same time without having to fork out wallet-beating prices.

Below (top to bottom): Portraits of a day - Morning reveals, Afternoon ravishes, Evenings refreshes and Night reposes.

And so indolence gnawed away at the hours. One night passed, then two, and the rest of our lives was placed firmly before us once more. Paradise on earth always has an expiry date, for erosive time leaves nothing unscathed. We caught a lancha back to Panajachel, our rucksacks and hearts heavier with each step hence which would bring us closer to home.