Thursday, January 5, 2006

There was this one restaurant listed in the book, Clark's Luna Azul, that supposedly had great omelets and home fries. I love home fries and we wanted to go, but the directions were mystifying. Turn right at Hotel Mansion del Lago, go through the cornfield 300 meters, etc. Well where's Hotel Mansion del Lago? And which way are we facing when we turn right? And do most people really know when they've walked 300 meters down a winding road, even assuming they know what a meter is? Plus they close at 3:00 and like I said, we've been chilling.

But today we made a few correct guesses (the hotel is just above Pub Allegre and you're facing away from the lake when you turn right) and managed to find the restaurant. It's way out almost by itself and from the lake shore in front of it, we could see the main dock. We were the only people there, and we just sat and waited for our omelets and stared out at the lake, which was smoky gray today. Mist drifted past the hills across the lake and up into the gray sky. The gray chill of the day did not stop a group of local boys from coming down to the small dock and swimming, all in underwear except for the smallest, who was naked. It was very, very relaxing.

The food came. Michael loved it, I thought it was good, but not special. And with it came the cats, whom I named Greedy Sue (because she was greedy) and Juan (because he was orange). The omelet was a little frothy, so I didn't mind sharing. Poor little Juan didn't stand up for himself much, and I had to throw bits of omelet far away so that Greedy Sue would be distracted and I could feed some to Juan without Greedy Sue snatching it away.

After we all ate, Michael and I were wandering around the porch when a white guy stuck his head out the window. "Are you Clark?" Michael asked? "No, I'm not, but he's in there if you want him." The guy turned out to be from Missouri and comes down to Central America whenever he can. He mumbled a lot, so in my head I called him Mumbly Joe, because that's what I call everyone who mumbles, but his name turned out to actually be Joe. He was very nice. He ate a giant fruit and yogurt plate and a plate of fried plantains, offered us some pot, and told us all about how Lago Atitlan had been completely fished out, and they'd had to import new fish.

Having been at Clark's for six weeks, he was able to tell us all the local gossip - how the people next door were trying to do the hotel thing, but not having much luck. The last guests they'd had had been a European couple who didn't speak each other's language but communicated in English, who woke everyone up at 5:00 a.m. one morning. Apparently he was beating her and they were screaming and fighting and tearing the place up so that the police had to be called. The police, according to Mumbly Joe, tried to calm the situation down, but when the kids refused to be calmed, they were hauled off to jail. And so now the poor owners were trying to fix the place up again and hopefully attract some more guests.

I mostly just stared out at the lake while Michael and Mumbly Joe talked. The light was remarkable and the color of the lake kept shifting as clouds floated by. The boys made a lot of noise climbing up onto the dock and jumping off again, splashing and shouting at each other, but it was still incredibly peaceful. I finally saw why people have claimed that Lago Atitlan is one of the most beautiful places in the world. I still say you'd never know it from Panajachel.

Clark's Luna Azul had a big "For Sale" sign on it, so who knows what will happen, but check it out if you get to San Pedro. It's a nice change from the clamor of the spots on the main street, and Michael will tell you the food was amazing, but I still maintain it was just good. They also have rooms there, and there's always the spot next door, which will probably fall over backwards for you if you don't cause them to have to call the authorities.

 

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Lago Atitlan in a moody moment. View from Clark's Luna Azul.

Another view from Clark's, after the swimmers were gone.

Greedy Sue (left) and Juan.

Schools abound in San Pedro; this one offers weaving. I guess it's better to be seen as a backpack with legs than a dollar bill with legs.

Coffee is grown and processed in San Pedro.