Lake Atitlán, Guatemala, where (the saint) Maximón lives

Bienvenidos a Guatemala, exults an enormous blue sign next to the also bluish flag of Guatemala. I prepare to cross the border at La Mesilla, coming from San Cristóbal de las Casas, in the state of Chiapas, Mexico, and head to my first Guatemalan destination: Lake Atitlán.

Any self-respecting land border is confusing, bureaucratic, but in Central America, the confusion is elevated to chaos, the bureaucracy suppressed with repeated requests for clarification and with jumps from counter to counter at the border post. “Paso de mercancia” (Merchandise Crossing), says the rusty sign in black letters, “Turismo” (Tourism) says the other, and “Migración” (Immigration), says a third.

On the streets, nothing unusual, an ugly wasteland (or just a cluster of houses), with exposed cement, no paint, no colour, no grace. Buses wait in line to cross, several passengers jump out to change money at the dozens of mobile exchange offices.

I see a sign advertising one of the world's best-known bureaux de change, but no sign of the office. Here, all you need is a man or woman, two hands and three bundles of notes. One bundle in your pocket, one in the pouch around your waist and the third in your hand.

The exchange rate from the Mexican peso to the quetzal is as volatile as the weather on Lake Atitlán. And finding a conversion rate in La Mesilla is as easy as spotting a quetzal - Guatemala's beautiful bird. In a word: impossible.

On the long street, stalls on either side with a variety of shops beckon customers. The street is packed with people in a frenzy of movement.

"Cocteles" announces a vendor at an improvised stall on a tricycle, driven by a child of 8 or 9 who pedals vigorously in search of the next customer. "Sale of graded American clothes", proclaims a yellowish sign stuck under a rudimentary zinc and aluminium roof.

"Never travel at night in Guatemala"

The streets of La Mesilla are dirty, with plastics, many plastics: bags, straws, water bottles and some glass: coca-cola bottles, of course, or else Mexico and Guatemala weren't moved by the sweet North American drink.

The very level crossing that symbolises crossing the border - perhaps an old one - with a red HIGH (Stop) sign now serves as a place for a shopkeeper to hang mannequins with t-shirtsskirts and other fashion accessories.

The contrast is phenomenal with the beautiful and immaculate city of San Cristóbal de las Casas, from where I left about four hours ago. So I hasten to leave La Mesilla behind. I have at least six hours to travel to Panajachel, a town on the shores of Lake Atitlán.

Two pieces of advice I was given before entering this Latin American country were the following: never travel at night in Guatemala and don't enter Guatemala City. Now, the first warning is justified by the fact that the streets and roads are poorly lit, and that there are sometimes kidnappings and robberies, in other words, insecurity.

The second warning, for practically the same reasons, as Guatemala City is notorious for its high level of crime - regular shootings and murders.

But, what better way to test these warnings than to do precisely the opposite. Travel at night in Guatemala and enter Guatemala City. In both cases, this happened by accident or recklessness.

So, a few days later, I would enter Guatemala City and without a GPS, but with a map in hand, finding the exit was a Herculean task, as the street names repeated themselves in various areas of the Guatemalan capital, making it impossible to know where you were.

"If you don't know where you want to go, any road will do," but we, Ana, António and I, knew where we wanted to go, we just needed to know how. The answer was provided by an armed police escort all the way out of Guatemala City.

As for the warning not to drive at night, we didn't need several days to ignore it, because it happened on the very first day - just a few hours after crossing the border at La Mesilla.

Everything helped this to happen, including lengthy border bureaucracies - extrapolated by the fact that you cross with a vehicle - rainy weather, bumpy roads and a volume of traffic worthy of any large metropolis.

Everything lines up on arrival in Panajachel

After a late arrival in Panajachel - my base for exploring Lake Atitlán - I discover something melancholy about this land, where the gardens of the hotels are manicured and the streets have a relaxed atmosphere.

In Panajachel, boats line up perfectly at the pier waiting for customers to take a ride on Lake Atitlán and admire the volcanoes - Atitlán, San Pedro and Tolimán, the latter of which is still considered active. Surrounded by mountains, Lake Atitlán was probably formed by a violent eruption thousands of years ago. San Marcos la Laguna, San Pedro La Laguna, San Juan La Laguna and Santiago Atitlán are some of the must-see places for visitors to this region of Guatemala.

Early in the morning, I head to the pier for a tough negotiation: an all-day boat trip to visit several of the villages around the lake. I don't remember how much I paid, but I do know that it wasn't easy to reduce the price.

Although I could have visited these towns by land, I was tired of spending hours in the car and, let's face it, the perspective from a boat is much more interesting when you visit a lake.

As soon as I see one of the volcanoes in the distance, the fog is intense and the landscape is hidden. We drive in silence - or almost - if it weren't for the noise of the engine. We disembark first at San Juan de La Laguna, where a tuk-tuk painted in the colours of Barcelona lead us up the street - the Catalan one, which I would later learn made perfect sense.

San Juan is one of the places where the Tz'utujil weavers live - just one of more than 20 Mayan ethnic groups in Guatemala. The attraction of the land - for tourists - is to observe the weavers who have united and have formed a textile association or co-operative in San Juan de La Laguna. Embroidered güipiles, towels, bedspreads and other accessories are made by these women in slow, repetitive work.

I chat to a woman, perhaps in her 60s with gold teeth, as she stretches a cotton thread and then rolls it up with the help of a machine. Next to her, waiting in line, are three pieces of coloured cotton: orange, grey and brown. They will later be transformed into balls of yarn.

A little further on, I linger to hear the explanation from a small-scale coffee producer – one of the quality products of Guatemala. The ripened coffee cherries rest outside his home where they dry in the sun.

The smell is intense, not of the fruit but of the beans already ground and ready to serve in a small cup. It's all part of the package for tourists, of course, and it's impossible to resist. Dreams rule life, here smell rules desire.

Risky decision in Santiago Atitlán

Several small towns proliferate around Lake Atitlán, such as Tzampetey, Santa Catarina Palopó, San Antonio Palopó, San Pablo La Laguna, San Lucas Tolimán and Santiago Atitlán - where I'm heading.

Santiago Atitlán is a small village like so many others in Guatemala. Houses that climb over each other, made up of brick walls, zinc roofs and no colour. A land that, in the middle of Lake Atitlán, perhaps offers nothing new or attractive.

However, it was the lack of obvious reasons, points of interest, genuine (or invented) tourist attractions that aroused my curiosity. I told the "captain" of the boat with whom I negotiated the tour that if that's the case (there are no attractions) then let's go.

I risk discovering and being fascinated (or frustrated) by this small town. Santiago Atitlán is (almost all year round) a ghost town. However, it's Holy Week and there's no place in Mexico or Guatemala that watches this period unmoved.

On a terrace, an old sofa points towards the lake. Perhaps it serves as a bedroom or, who knows, a terrace. A few metres up, a green sign warns: "Sale and consumption of drugs prohibited" while a young man next to him smokes something that is not, from the smell of it, a cigarette.

The steep streets of Santiago Atitlán are lined with shops and stalls selling fabrics: cloths, bags, hats, shirts and trousers. These textiles have one common denominator: they are made up of a multitude of patterns and colours.

With considerably less colour, but the same symbolism, the trousers and shorts listed that all men wear on this day. Vertical lines in black, blue or any other colour. Shorts or trousers made of white fabric, which in turn are fastened at the waist by coloured belts - a form similar to that worn by bullfighters.

The men, with straw hats on their heads, gather in groups and chat on the steps outside their houses, while other groups are "parked" outside the local fried chicken restaurant and can't take their eyes off the television. It's the weekend, football day and there's a derby: Barcelona - Real Madrid. I don't stay to watch, because someone is waiting for me... or I for him.

Here comes Maximón, the maddest saint on Lake Atitlán

Several women climb into an open-top van and travel on their feet for who knows how long back home. It's a common sight on Guatemalan roads, where I've even seen a woman breastfeeding her child while driving.

In the central square of Santiago Atitlán, hundreds are anxiously awaiting the arrival of Maximón - the saint. And in the background you can already hear the first sounds of the procession, shouts and chants. Maximón, or San Simón, is a Mayan deity and popular saint represented in various ways by the Mayan peoples of Guatemala. However, Maximón is alive, as he moves from place to place every year.

In the centre is a merrymaking puppet with a black hat on his head, a cigar in his mouth and covered in various coloured fabrics that slide over his torso. Maximón is flanked on one side by men carrying baskets of offerings and on the other by people carrying what appears to be huge cornbread.

Maximón is an important Mayan folk saint represented by a dressed wooden effigy who, unlike other saints, is a cool guy: he smokes cigars, dances and drinks alcohol.

Local visitors travel from all over to ask for protection, money, cures for illnesses and even a husband or wife. Maximón receives everyone in the same way - men, women, villagers or businessmen - and they all bring gifts, including, of course, tobacco, alcohol, money or tortillas.

I look around and don't see any other foreign tourists on the horizon. It turns out that the captain of my boat was right and wrong at the same time. He was right that Santiago isn't touristy, but wrong when he said there was nothing to do.

All that remains is to return to Panajachel and admire a beautiful sunset over Lake Atitlán, savouring a Guatemalan Gallo beer. With Maximón's blessing, of course.

See these 22 unforgettable photographs of Guatemala, to get inspired.

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