(Part of the Yin & Yang of Travel Series)

By: Mark D. Walker

Share our similarities, celebrate our differences. — M. Scott Peck

Over the last fifty years, the why and where I travel have changed radically. In 2013, my wife Ligia and I took two of our three children, along with their significant others, to Guatemala to reintroduce them to the country they were born in and to their extended family. We covered a lot of ground, as my children spoke fluent Spanish and were already global trekkers. But ten years later we had eight grandkids, some of whom only spoke English and had never traveled outside the continental U.S., so Ligia and I realized we had more work to do and that we needed a new travel list for the grandkids.

Traveling with grandkids would prove by far the most challenging form of travel. We decided to bring my son John’s 9-year-old daughter, Evie, and my oldest daughter’s 22-year-old, Mishi. We’d need to be sure they had passports, discuss health (which vaccines?) and dietary issues, and begin offering options for what to see and how long to go for.

We decided that my son’s wife, Angie, would depart two weeks before us with Evie to the iconic colonial town of Antigua to learn Spanish. Ligia and I would leave a week later with Mishi, and my son would come two weeks later to spend a week with Evie so his wife would return to Phoenix. Ligia and I would travel with Mishi last week.

I always started my visits with kids at the giant 3D relief map in Zona 2, built in 1904, and decided to do the same traveling with my grandkids. Evie and Mishi climbed up to the platforms overlooking the map, where I pointed out where their grandmother’s family coffee plantation was at Lake Atitlán, which we’d visit, my Peace Corps site in Ixchíguan, close to the highest volcano in Central America, San Jerónimo, where I met their grandmother, and Tikal, the site of the Maya ruins we’d soon visit. Maps are worth many thousands of words.

After my son John arrived, we headed out with just a carry-on for a 4:00 a.m. departure for Tikal (to access the cheaper fare). We headed out to Flores on Lake Petén Itzá, the gateway to the Maya ruins. The next day, we arrived in a van at the National Park of Tikal and were greeted by an extensive family of white-nosed coati, also called coatimundi, or pizotes by the locals. As we walked into the park, we were introduced to a wide variety of ants and mosquitoes, as well as colorful toucans. The howler monkeys’ calls reverberated throughout the park, and much to my surprise, the lanky spider monkeys didn’t throw any branches at us from above as they did on our last visit, perhaps because we had children with us.

Climbing to the top of one of the temples with my granddaughters made the trip worthwhile. However, after two days of 90-degree temperatures and 90% humidity, we all appreciated the downside of visiting the ancient Maya ruins during the rainy season. On our last day in Flores, the girls jumped in the pool even though Mishi still had her clothes on, which caught the attention of the other hotel guests. I chalked the event up to heat exhaustion and a certain level of defiance, but so far, nobody had gotten lost or deathly sick, so we counted our lucky stars.

After an early flight back to Guatemala City the next day, we all got cleaned up for a family reunion organized by Ligia’s sister-in-law, Vera, who selected the Italian club. About fifty arrived from the capital, San Jerónimo and Huehuetenango. Some of the “kids” I remember were now professionals and had children of their own. The size of the group and noise level were a reminder of the importance of family in Guatemala.

Ligia and I said a few words about how we missed Guatemala and our family and friends, and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to her brother, Rolando. Evie was running around with several kids her age, mainly speaking English, which they all understood, but she also seemed to understand a lot of Spanish. Mishi spent much time with one of the cousin’s daughters who spoke perfect English and German and had lived in Holland, Germany and England. I wasn’t privy to the conversation, but was pleased Mishi had chosen one of our better-traveled family members to get to know.

Next, we headed up to where I had met Ligia as a Peace Corps volunteer, San Jerónimo, Baja Verapaz, where all three of our children had ridden horses and had their own calf at Ligia’s fathers’ modest ranch. We visited Sarita, who babysat our three children when she was only nine or ten. It was an emotional reunion, and I’ll never forget when Evie stood next to her father and Sarita, who was the same age as Evie when she babysat Johnnie.

We then headed north to Alta Verapaz, one of Guatemala’s greenest, lushest tropical forest areas, and headed to Cobán. We visited Orquigonia, a nature reserve which includes some of Guatemala’s 800 orchid species. We also visited a coffee plantation, La Aurora, so the girls could see how coffee is grown and processed. But the real reason for the visit was to tell them some of the stories of San Francisco and Miramar, which Ligia’s grandfather owned. We spent many weekends there together before and soon after we were married.

But our visit to Kaffe Kardamomuss in Cobán for coffee was the most popular destination. They specialize in everything from cardamom in coffee to smoothies, pastries, and, most importantly for the girls, chocolate candies. The girls spent half an hour just perusing the display case.

After returning to Guatemala City, we headed west through the highlands of Guatemala to San Juan Comalapa, a renowned art community known by some as the “Florence of the Americas.” We could not find any of the art galleries we’d visited in the past, since the town was packed with people from the surrounding communities for a local celebration. Fortunately, on the way out of town, we stopped at one modest gallery and purchased some coffee and a few small local gift items.

As we left, I saw Mishi sharing her WhatsApp numbers for future communications. Lilly was the niece of one of the two most popular artists in town. She wore traditional garb and, like most Guatemalans, was handy with her cell phone. They were both 22 and I hoped this would be the beginning of a long-term friendship.

The next stop was the Hotel Tolimán, located on the side of Volcano Atitlán on the shores of one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, Lake Atitlán. There we squeezed in a launch and headed across the lake to the community of Santiago, which was transformed from a beautiful village to a town crammed with concrete, multi-story unfinished houses built with remittances.

I wanted the girls to visit the iconic Catholic church that commemorates the martyred priest, Stanley Rother from Oklahoma. Mishi was brought up in the Catholic church and disappeared inside to join a ceremony with local parishioners with their guitars and much singing. Eventually, I had to find her so we could move on to our next community. But before we left, I showed her the shrine and explained the history of the priest from Oklahoma who was murdered by a hit squad in 1981 and was recognized as a martyr by the Vatican.

During one of the breakfasts at the Hotel Tolimán, I was impressed with how much Mishi’s Spanish had improved. I also saw she was driving the servers crazy with all of her dietary restrictions as she’s vegan, along with a few other things I’ve never heard of before. After a brief discussion, I convinced her to just request that her oatmeal be cooked with water and breakfasts became less stressful.

The next day I had planned to take the launch to a few of the other quaint villages on the shores of Lake Atitlán, but at breakfast Mishi requested to stay at the hotel to “draw, paint, write, and absorb everything that was so incredibly new to me.” I felt she was missing an opportunity to experience more of the Indigenous community life on the lake but had come to appreciate the value of being flexible.  

After we returned, I asked Mishi at dinner how things went, and she explained what was behind her desire to stay back.

“The drawings were definitely an effort to improve my drawing skills as a landscape architect. I added about 60 pages to my journal. In my entries I reflected on the architecture, economics, and culture of this new place. Where and how do I belong here? What powers are at play, and in what ways am I a product of them?” 

She went on to explain,

“Both my drawing and writing help me address these questions I have. It’s also a method of documentation I’ve used my whole life, filling 8 journals thus far. For me, today was a necessity. In my opinion, traveling isn’t just about experiencing the now and reflecting later; I like to contemplate while the experiences are fresh, and I’m surrounded by both my present state and the remaining potential for the trip.” 

After four days on the lake, we returned to Guatemala City and visited the futuristic town of Cayalá, a city within a city. I felt like we were in Europe and that much of the Guatemalan upper class was with us. But Mishi, who has studied architectural design, observed, “I feel that it was a European city designed by an American. It doesn’t feel natural.” That was an interesting observation confirmed by an article in the New York Times forwarded to me by Guatemalan documentary filmmaker, Luis Arqueta.

The article pointed out that this new Utopian enclave is a testament to inequality:

“The development of the community of Cayalá is a romantic, serene, and prizewinning place as well as an elite stronghold in one of Latin America’s most unequal nations; it is also divisive and reflects serious challenges of social justice in Guatemala.” The new mega-U.S. Embassy is now located there and is not very accessible to most, with limited, if any, public transportation. So, I learned something new that day, thanks to a red flag raised by my observant granddaughter.

Nine-year-old Evie also surprised us by refusing to speak Spanish after studying the language. Initially, I was miffed; after all, she’d spent a few weeks learning Spanish, so how could she not at least discuss the basics? Then it hit me: where was I when I was 9? I was in New Jersey, and my only airline flight was to Kansas. This reality was just a reminder of how complex learning another language and culture is, even when qualified teachers have trained you.

My first travel manifesto was Traveling Solo, inspired by Paul Theroux’s “Five Epiphanies” in his book, The Tao of Travel. The most important of these are “Go alone,” followed by “Travel light,” “Bring a map,” and “Go by land.”

Ligia and I had expanded those epiphanies to include:  

• Always discuss the itinerary with the parents and grandchildren first.
• Connect with friends and family to get their input on the political situation and things to look out for and avoid.
• Get passports and all necessary vaccinations and bring a basic first-aid kit.
• Utilize local tour groups for transportation, housing and more complicated tours.
• Provide an essential reading list and links to podcasts/travel shows about the country you plan to visit.
• Provide an essential packing list with baggage size and weight limitations — and be sure the grandkids pack the day before leaving.  
• Break up endless museum and historic site visits (my personal favorites) with fun, hands-on activities.
• Break-up constant travel with downtime for kids to relax and play — preferably by a pool.
• Produce a trip album so all participants will remember and relish the experience and want to do it again.

Once we returned to Arizona, I continued to probe the impact of the trip with our intrepid nine-year-old granddaughter, Evie, by asking her questions like, “You spent two weeks in Antigua, where was your favorite place?”

She responded with, “McDonalds!”

Her answer brought back a memory of my initial response to a McDonalds being built in Antigua. “Well, there goes the neighborhood! Can you imagine the Golden Arches in the most beautiful Colonial City of Latin America, Antigua, which was founded in 1543? My God, is that possible?”

I tried another tact and asked her, “So what was your favorite food there?”

 “French fries with a milk shake! And they have swings under each of the two arches and little animals pop up in the play area which we can knock back down.” And that McDonalds had a whack-a-rabbit type game that gave Evie endless enjoyment.

I quizzed my daughter-in-law, Angie, on all of this and learned that this was considered one of the most beautiful McDonald’s in the world with a killer view of the Volcan de Aqua. And the play area was always populated with expat children who spoke English, making for a friendly end to a trying day learning Spanish.

For this reason, my biggest takeaway from traveling with grandkids is to appreciate the serious limitations of “control.” One must listen to them and adapt the trip accordingly, and not be upset if they aren’t as enthusiastic about certain places and things as you are. Remember, you are planting seeds that will hopefully grow into the next generation of global trekkers who are well-informed and tolerant international citizens.

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Mark D. Walker is an accomplished author and humanitarian with a passion for global causes. After serving in the Peace Corps, he spent over four decades working with non-profits across the world, including stints in Latin America and Africa. His rich experiences fueled his writing, where he explores themes of global development and personal journeys. Walker has authored several award-winning books, including Different Latitudes and numerous articles in prestigious journals. His work resonates with readers interested in travel, social change, and personal transformation. Through his storytelling, he connects audiences with diverse cultures and humanitarian issues. His latest book, The Guatemala Reader, is a bestseller for Guatemala Travel Guides and Central America Travel.