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Note: irreverently peppered with cultural/national stereotypes.

A view of Lake Atitlán from Panajachel's Sundog Cafe

It wasn’t until the lancha shed its moorings and sped from shore that I understood how this village had come to harbour its meaning.

Panajachel, familiarly dubbed ‘Pana’ by locals and tourists alike, nestles on the calm shores of Lake Atitlán like the 15 or so other gravity-defying villages that sit on its perimeter, supported by three majestic volcanoes. The lake is suspended a mile above sea level, rendering the climate in these parts cooler than what one would expect this time of year with the rainy season almost over. It’s often chilly in the evenings and even sleeping bundled up in two blankets I have to wear a sweater and long johns to keep warm. And of course it goes without saying that cold showers, the usual fare for the locals, are just about impossible for the un-acclimatized tourist.

It may surprise you to know that I’d arrived in Panajachel only with the intention to leave it. Lonely Planet had very unflatteringly described it as ‘Gringotenango‘ (meaning Gringoland), the word ‘gringo’ usually used dismissively to refer to the mass of overly-keen white tourists, usually from the United States, who delude themselves into thinking they have successfully assimilated themselves into a foreign culture after a few local beers with the locals, Spanish lessons or a so-called ‘immersion’ homestay program. Whether or not that is a fair conclusion, for fear of my own ignorance, I will refrain from giving my opinion. I will add, however, that an overwhelming majority of the United Statians (yes I’ve just coined this word) I’ve met on the road have been their own strongest critics, though of course at the same time they usually make it a point to exclude themselves from the “embarassingly loud” and “pushy” mass.

However, I’ve learnt not to be too quick to judge the superpower to the north. As a heavily-stubbled young New Yorker on his way to become an international lawyer said, “For every stupid American you’ve got, you’ve got a smart one. And we’re a big country, so it seems like you run into a lot more stupid Americans than stupid… Norwegians, for example.” Makes sense, but surely his politically incorrect use of the word ‘American’ didn’t escape your notice? I was the same when I first landed in Latin America, and these slips of tongue still happen from time to time. But I’ve realised that it’s insensitive in these parts to refer to the United States as ‘America’. You will be met by indignant – well, merely confused, if you’re lucky – stares because for the Latinos, ‘America’ isn’t synonymous with the United States. ‘America’, is in fact, a continent. Pedantic, but useful to know, especially while travelling in Latin America which has had a history of exploitation and subjugation by the United States, which arguably, continues till today, though less visibly.

How did all this even come about? You see, the hairy New Yorker had been engaged in a debate with a squarely-built, face-weathered Norwegian woman about the alleged frog-under-the-coconut-shell mentality of Americans — “And if we can’t speak any other languages besides our own, it’s because America is so big and we’re surrounded by other American states. We’re not like Europe, we’re not bordered by Germany or France or The Netherlands,” he added, with a reasoned charisma that will probably take him a long way in the international tribunals of the world.

Still, regardless of whether Panajachel was really Gringotenango, at that point I had been disillusioned by my – indeed, token – Spanish lessons and ‘immersion’ homestay experience in Antigua, which can only be described as uneventful, and I’d wanted to leave Guatemala as soon as possible for Nicaragua, so romantically described in guidebooks as a less-trodden land of lakes and volcanoes, and which had always been my touted destination before I ever began my journey to Latin America. So not wanting to waste any time, I’d headed straight for the jetty when I arrived in Panajachel to take a lancha (like a motorboat) out to another village across the lake called San Pedro, because at the time the Lonely Planet-described Hippieland had sounded more enticing for a short weekend than Gringoland. Being honest I will say that having seen Guatemala City and Antigua, I had been ready to leave the country, but before I did I thought I should at least see Lake Atitlán, which I’d heard so many travellers wax lyrical about, and swim in its waters once before I leave.

At the same time that the speeding lancha whisked me over to San Pedro, a simple but beautiful thing happened: a rainbow appeared magically like an umbrella, offering its refuge to the inhabitants of Panajachel. And this was such a wonderful thing, just so wonderful. Because it’s nice to know that this 800-year-old village earned its name not just by somebody’s flight of fancy, but by a wonderful coincidence of nature, because the Mayan word Panajachel means ‘the place where the rainbow gets its colours’.