On the beautiful Lago De Atitlan, Guatemala, lies the small and ''alternative'' community of San Marcos. Home to an indigenous Mayan population, aging hippies and organic smelling back-packers, this lake-side idyl offers an experience unlike many others. Although I have spent brief periods of time here in the past, it's mainly just been passing through between Santa Cruz and San Pedro. Until now, I had been oblivious to one of the village's most infamous attractions, namely: The Pyramids.
The mantra of The Pyramids(to be said in whispery voice with wafty hand movements and crazy granola eyes) is based on asking the following questions: Who are we? Where do we come from? Where are we going? How can we get in touch with our inner light? Slightly bizarre, and absolutely not something I would have poked at with a substantial barge pole had my friends not been there already. I was meant to be meeting them in Honduras. Instead, they went to some freaking Guatemalan Glastonbury to get their auras cleansed.
I knew they'd changed when, after a supper of banana and almonds, one of them suggested that we head to the medicinal garden for a spot of evening chanting. Formerly a fairly cool surfery type, I was somewhat surprised to find myself, moments later, with him and a group or beardy/ tie-died others, cross legged under the night sky amongst rose bushes, learning how to ''Ohm''. And that is not a sexual reference. My favorite part was when the wind started to blow as we sang, as this seemed to excite some of the other chanters extremely, prompting much waving of hands and eye rolling...I am not, however, going to ''diss'' this whole business as much as maintaining street cred would possible demand, however, as it was kind of good. And I did feel like I was that enemy witch (the cool one) in that 1990's movie class,The Craft. Just for a minute.
I am now coming to end of ten days here, seven of which were spent in silence and fasting. I smell of herb tea and Spirulena powder and I am at least 45 per cent more flexible / one third more in-tune with my inner child - He's called Ron and likes eating the orange top bit off Jaffa Cakes, just FYI - than I was before arriving in this strange, strange place. I am clutching my white trousers ''fresh'' from the library's back-up wardrobe for those amateurs who have not come adequately prepared with flowing Gandalfesque attire. Anticipation for the moon ceremony mounts.
I'm intrigued to know if anyone broke the seven day silence. I am sad to admit that the one word I uttered during the retreat was ''Fuck!'', when I dropped my aviators in the lake. Not so Zen? They were Raybans for god sake. We've all been instructed to drop our egos. I think it's definitely working. Plus, I'm like, well brown. This whole thing is so Kate Moss post-Doherty detox. Love. It.
I have been living in what can only be described as Owl's House, a la Winnie The Pooh. Made almost entirely of twigs, this thatched little dwelling would deffo make a fitting addition to The Hundred Acre Wood. I feel like bloody Christopher Robin. Meanwhile, and rather more disturbingly, I haven't chewed anything for over a week. If I see another beetroot licuardo or green soup (menu Day 3), I will literally die.
Meanwhile, talking to people who live their lives - even outside of this bubble of down-ward facing dogs, Mexican Sage Chi and crystals - in forests scavenging for nuts and berries, has been genuinely interesting. And, despite the Tarot wielding and incense burning, this has been a challenging and, dare I say, enlightening experience. Left to your own thoughts, you're forced to confront and deal with them i.e. a whole load of stuff I hadn't thought about for a very very long time, and haven't really wanted to think about, bubbled to the surface of my mind, demanding attention. Not being able to talk about what I was thinking or stressing about meant that I worked through some of those nasty little pieces of forgotten consciousness, leading to some intense highs and a few difficult lows.
The prospect of conversation and eating something other than the inside of my own cheek is almost unbearable exciting. I can hear shuffling from my neighboring dwellers which means that it's time to get ready and head up though the trap door into the temple for the last time.
Namaste.
