Peace Corps Guatemala: An American's First Footsteps

I lived 20 minutes from Lake Atitlan, which is one of the most beautiful lakes on Earth that sits at the bottom of a cauldron with three towering volcanoes surrounding it. The principal town on the coast of these waters is called Panajachel, and I lived 20 minutes up a road that started from Panajachel and traversed this cauldron. Stay on that road for another 20 minutes and you’ll reach the top of the cauldron and the school where I worked. Due to Panjachel’s proximity to the water, a wave of tourism, economic growth, and gentrification swept the town in the past 20 years, so that’s where I found my bougie coffee shops and Chinese food. My site, by comparison, had two coffee shops, a market, and a laundromat. It was enough to sustain a comfortable life, but I went elsewhere to buy quinoa. Keep moving up, and the aldea where I worked followed indigenous culture, didn’t have a market, and was primarily farmland. The 1000 ft of elevation gain between the top and bottom of the cauldron was like night and day. Panajachel had white people “seeing authentic Guatemala,” and the other one was authentic Guatemala. Being an American myself, but one who lived there for two years, I felt like I belonged to both worlds. I would roll my eyes at the tourists’ party boats and its over-priced markets, but I also didn’t belong with the Guatemalans. I am simply too loud, too opinionated, and too conditioned to a life that is easier for women. 

As you moved up the towns on the cauldron, the level of social cohesion and community grew. Starting at the bottom, Panjachel somewhat parallels the United States, and there was a certain dogma to be the most “woke” within the expat community that felt a little toxic. Conversely, families in my site lived together and spent a lot of time together. There were constant events like quinceñeras, weddings, and birthdays to celebrate where family and friends would sit around the table and eat in silence. It was a comfortable silence, one where nothing needs to be said. And lastly, in the aldea where I worked, community was synonymous with survival. People would share, giving and taking without worry of the debt. Everybody helped until the work was done, and everybody showed up to make their children’s lives better. They live with less, but part of me was jealous of their intimacy. I miss them all nearly every day.