The People of San Marcos

Trying to describe the people of San Marcos is both fascinating and challenging.  There are two distinct groups and some definitive sub-divides within them.


The most obvious divide is between the Indigenous and the 'Gringos' (used loosely to describe all the foreigners), demonstrated both through the geographical division and the underlying tension evident if one engages either in any length of conversation about living here (and with each other).  Amongst the Gringos themselves, there are the microcosms.  The long-term residents, the newer residents, longevity still to be determined and, of course, the tourists.

Geographically, there are essentially two towns here - the Indigenous town at the top of the hill, and the gringo town area down towards the lake.  The gringo town is essentially one great big square, more or less surrounding the Pyramids in the middle.  Most of gringo life here takes place on one main path.  This path contains Restaurant Fe, where I work, Blue Lili Coffee house where I often hang out, a little Tienda (convenience store), an Italian Tapas place (our direct competition) and a little clothing, jewellery and kitch store.  Littered along the path are fresh fruit and veg vendors, jewellery vendors, and an indigenous home / storefront where they sell avocados and empanadas.  (3 for 10Q . . . that's lunch for just over $1.)  

The gringo population here is probably about 300 (give or take) . . . .not including tourists, but it's a hard count to take, because even the 'residents' here are so transient.  People come for a week, and stay for months. . . . . and become part of the community . . . and then leave.   Really, I am one of those 'residents' right now . . . and yet I've only been here 3 months, and plan to leave again in another 2 or less.  So it's a hard count to take .  . . and makes for an interesting community dynamic. There are some who have been here for several years, and always new settlers who figure they will stay for a long time.  Only time will tell.  It's also common for folks to spend part of each year here, and go back to somewhere in North America the rest of the year.

I have no idea what the population of the Indigenous part of town is.  Larger and certainly more stable than the gringo part.  The cultural divide there is huge and visible.  From the money they earn, to the clothes they wear, to the lifestyle they lead. Most of the men dress in the usual gringo style jeans and a shirt, although there are still some who wear the traditional clothing.  By contrast, the women almost entirely wear the customary costumes - beautiful coloured shirts and long skirts . . . a ton of fabric gathered at the waist in a snug wide belt.  (I'll have to post pictures on these)  A friend of mine has one of those skirts and wore it one night to sing . . . said she'll never do it again.  I'm not sure how they move with such agility in those skirts.

What amazes me the most though is what these people carry.   The men carry hundreds of pounds - wood, concrete . . . building materials . . . on their back in a strap that they wrap around the front of their head - really using their forehead to carry that weight.  The old man who delivers wood to the restaurant where I work looks like he's in his 70's or older.  (Frankly, he looks about 105, but I'm assuming he's not really that old.)  The women (from young to old) carry everything on top of their heads.  They walk around with baskets of breads, produce . . .whatever.  One of them comes into my yard once a week to sell me fresh vegetables, and I've helped her put the basket back up afterward (NO idea how she'd do it herself!!!  That basket must way well over 50 lbs.  I still can't get over what these women carry up there . . . or how they balance it all, seemingly effortlessly!!!



Although the travel books mention that the indigenous have other languages – there are language schools here where you can learn K’ech Kel as well as Spanish, that is but one of the 12 dialects that make up the lake area alone.  And what no one really mentions is that for all of the indigenous, Spanish is a hard-learned second language . . . not their first, and not one that most of them were born into.  It is only in the last 10 or so years that they have been obliged to learn Spanish to accommodate the tourist trade that has become so much a part of their lives. Now they are being told they should learn English as well.  As far as I can tell, overall, theirs is a much simpler existence . . . except where we have arrogantly come in and impacted their world.

It is both fascinating and sometimes painful to witness the impact of our (foreigners) presence on the local population, and concurrently to watch the impact on the gringo population, both of being here in Guatemala amongst the indigenous, and of living in the bubble that is this community.  Like many small towns, drama and gossip are endemic to the size and proximity of the community members.  Given the one-square-path geography here, you can imagine that the bubble is that much more intense.  The nature of San Marcos, on a sacred lake, and directly over ley lines, amplifies the intensity.

I can't tell you what draws indigenous and other Guatemalans (not born here) to settle here , but the foreigners come from far and wide for a variety of personal reasons, but the themes are consistent.  San Marcos is a mecca for healing - physical, spiritual, emotional.  People come specifically to study at the Pyramids, or more generally for the yoga, meditation and body work that are so widely available here.  As noted previously, people often come for a day or two, and stay for weeks, soaking up the energy, the services, the lake and the vibe. 

Like many healing-focused communities, the paradox is powerful.  It is those most in need of healing that often come and settle in healing places . . . and so, among the gringo community, the drama and dysfunction here are as readily available as the healing services.  Having said that, there is also a wealth of welcoming, community, love and laughter.  Making a place for oneself here is as simple, really, as just doing so.  Creating what you want . . . and then sharing it.  I am frequently surprised by how easy it is here just to start a business idea and make it go, or to make friendly acquaintances.



A quick aside: I've used the term 'friendly acquaintances' but I'm not certain it's quite the right one.  Friends would be over-stating, but acquaintances feels too fleeting.  True friendships take time to develop . .. . and I'm never sure what to call those new 'friends' that might with time become true friends, but also might not. Similarly, what do you call those casual 'friends' that you hang out with, see regularly, like . . . but aren't those deep friendships you really, really rely on???  We are missing some key words in the English language to describe layers of friendship) 

I'm certain I have more observations about the people here, but lest it drift into another 2 weeks of thinking and composition . . . I'll leave it here, and add another entry when I'm ready.

Reflections at the 3 month point . . .

I have again gone for a number of weeks without blogging.  When I look in my journal I notice that it too has been sadly neglected.  My excuse has been that I am simply too busy . . . or alternately, that life is too intense to be put into words.  Neither of those is fully truthful, however, neither is fully a lie either.

From a blogging perspective there is the question of just how transparent I want to be about my inner journey . . . and especially when that inner journey is so dominant, how to keep an interesting record of the outer journey, which in some ways has become almost mundane.

Over the last 7 weeks, since I finished the Moon Course at the Pyramids, I have settled (externally) into a routine of working 5 nights a week as a waitress, teaching my dance class one night a week, and a hoop class one afternoon.  I have taken two massage courses: Indian Head Massage and Foot Reflexology; both were amazing.  I have taken the usual trips over to San Pedro or Panajachel for groceries and other miscellaneous supplies, and even hooked myself up with yet another prospective job (doing transcription) on one of those trips.

Some weeks I make it into the lake for a swim almost daily, and others are so full (especially course weeks) that I have gone days without giving myself time at the lake, only to find myself at the familiar place of overwhelm and resentment from my poor self-care.  Those have been powerful learning moments for me - because, really, this is not the place to be stressed out trying to do too much.  If I want that, North America would be happy to provide the venue for it with FAR better pay.

Mind you, stress not-withstanding, North America might also provide me with the venue for a full night's sleep - which I haven't had in weeks.  Between the 2 beautiful dogs that bark right outside my window at all hours and the dyslexic rooster across the pathway that crows at 2am every morning . . . I don't think I've slept through the night more than once since I left the pyramids.  I admit, I think I may sleep for days when I return to Canada. I honestly don't remember downtown Toronto being this disruptive to my sleep pattern.  Perhaps it's just selective memory??

Today I spent the afternoon in Pana trying to renew my visa . . . except that the place to do it simply never opened.  No one seemed to know why.  I hung out, went for lunch, returned, went shopping, returned . . . figuring I'd just arrived in the midst of their lunch / siesta break (2 hours is common for lunch here) . . .but no one ever showed up, so I returned to San Marcos unsatisfied.  It appears I will likely be paying late fees to renew my visa.  I feel, in this moment, that there is a powerful metaphor here . . . but I'm not sure yet what it is.

The inner journey of the last several weeks has been both parallel and almost in dissonance with the external journey.  Even as I have settled into routine, and begun to establish myself within the community, I have been plagued with homesickness.  And yet, when I have contemplated simply packing up and heading home, I have been equally affected with a clear sense that it's not time yet, that I have not seen, heard, experienced and learned all that I came here for. This combination sometimes inspired in me a surprising resentment - like I want to go home, but don't feel I can.  It's an unexpected and odd sensation. 

It has served to highlight, however, some old familiar patterns, and some clear and current questions.  I am humbled to discover, for a clear extrovert - known for my ability to engage and build relationships, how long it takes me to truly invest my self . . . . how much of me I hold just outside the situation I'm in . . . one emotional foot out the door.  It appears I am, just a little (maybe a lot) afraid of commitment . . . and seeing it here, I can see it in other parts of my life - over and over.

I can also see, with real clarity, the parts of my life that I am excited to return to, and the parts that raise real questions for me.  When I have paused to contemplate returning home, I realize that on some level I have been living in transition for almost 2 years; since I left my government job.  Cortes Island is my home - I feel that keenly, and yet for the entire time I have been there, I have been on and off island almost constantly.  Similarly, I feel a deep and keen connection to my work team . .. and yet I know that I am not really contributing at the level that I am capable, nor am I gaining the fulfillment from my work that would be possible if I were more fully engaged. 

And so I am left to ponder - what is it that I am returning to?  What is the life I want to be living?  What will it look like to return home and start again?  Am I starting from scratch, really?  What will I actually be starting with?

And in true human style, I have been so busy obsessing over such questions that I have often forgotten to be present right where I am - in San Marcos, on a sacred lake, formed and surrounded by volcanoes, amongst a beautiful community of interesting people, eating Avocados that fall from the sky, bananas and mangoes for pennies . . .

And so I face a cross-roads as I seek to renew my visa and create the option of another 3 months worth of time here.  How long do I want to stay?   Am I ready to contemplate heading home, or is there more to see, do, experience? What is that I really want out of this trip, and what do I need to do to experience that?