Writing Begun August 10, 2006 Guatemala was a blessing. With time the details become fuzzy (all hail those disciplined daily journal writers!), but I remember clearly that I was blessed to be in ' La alma de la Tierra.' Truly that which is most beautiful about this land is its people. Arrival I arrived into Guatemala City on Sunday July 9 and was met at the airport by my schoolmate Challen and his roommate Ito. I had not seen Challen in over a year as he had taken time off from Bates but we had no problems re-kindling our minor flame. Joke. That day I also met Challen's mom, dad and younger sister and brother; they live in the family house close by the apartment that Challen shares with his boyfriend Nicho, and Ito. They also have a golden Labrador named Nico who I avoided as best I could the whole time because he is a shedder (there goes that OCD and Chaetophobia). On the way in, I met a lady on the plane who told me some cool places to go. I whipped out an old issue of Attaché that featured her country and she was like " Yeah. All these places." I was really excited to see these markets with 'más color' ('more colour', said like Capleton says 'More Fyah!') and find a good beach to re-drown every last Organic Chemistry memory. This lady, I have her name on some scrap of paper, told me her daughter is an aspiring doctor studying in Guate. Quite shockingly, she disapproves of the idea because of the many years of study it requires and the fact that the people her daughter wants to help are poor. I remember her because I had never heard that perspective from a parent before as every old fashioned West Indian parent thinks their child SHOULD be a doctor, but I'll never forget her because after sharing that I have been studying Spanish for almost ten years, she exclaimed " What! You should be fluent by now!" Rude. Welcome to GuateRock I had read a bit on the infamous 'chicken buses' in Guate but had to watch them through the window of Nicho's ride whenever we went out. Challen was very clear in his instructions that I would not be in a bus in Guate (the shortened form for Guatemala City and Guatemala). The city has been battling escalating crime in recent years; some manifestations of the problem being fatal shootings and machete choppings on the public transportation. The heat and US-look-alike shopping centres repelled me indoors, so Ito and I spent much time watching cartoons. Challen's sister was in a car accident and broke her wrist and on that day I went to two museums: Museo Ixchel and Museo Popul Vuh. The Mayans of Middle America I was excited to hear Popul Vuh, a term that refers to the Mayan Bible, as I had learnt in my Spanish class in the winter. After visiting these two museums I learnt several new terms like 'Middle America' and it occurred to me that "Wow. These Mayans were really alive." The asham-ed owner of a sub-standard grade in Introduction to Anthropology (it required more energy to watch a Bulls-Jazz head butting), I blame the grade on a lack of interest in archaeological matters; nevertheless, it was rather cool to see these two museums. All I could think about while I was there was how cool it would be if there were Tainos alive and well in Jamaica. How would their culture manifest itself? Would there be a Black-Indian divide like Trinidad or would it be a Black and Indian versus White divide? What would a Taino-African child look like? How's an India from India different from a Maya? Under the influence of the museum lighting I did remember one term from a Bruce Bourque (the biggest archaeology nerd EVER) lecture: cultural imperialism. As I looked at the photos and little re-enacted scenes behind the glass, I wondered how anyone could think such a culture was inferior? Its simplicity was beautiful. Pana Banana Driving out of the city, faces and places started to look so different. I could see indigenous people in their colourful fabrics and cowboy hats and boots. Women carrying their babies tied to their backs and each man with a machete in a leather case. This was the third world: bumpy roads and hustlers on the bus selling pens, papas and plantain chips. Women carrying chickens in a basket and school children wrestling with flies for fruit they'd bought from a roadside vendor. The Rebuli (trusted service) chicken bus rolls into Precious Panajachel: stop number one on Wednesday of Week One. All the craziness that happened in Pana caused me to spill my heart about this place unto paper before now and I cant be bothered to write it all again. As Carrie would say, " The thing about it is," I am cool with most unfortunate things that happen, but I do get perturbed when it comes to my soul. If my soul's troubled because I messed up, it's bad and not so bad but I hate it when I doubt; Pana opened up a can of worms of spiritual doubt and questions. It all started when I met Russ, an American smart mouth who reminds me of TL and Jack, a Dutch 20-odd sweetheart/snake in the grass. These two were merciless in expressing how they saw 'the church' destroying Mayan culture in Guatemala. The Catholic Church, Jesus 'the good Jewish boy', Christianity and that meeting to decide Biblical content (yes Russ referred to that CODE) were all mixed up and thrown at me. I had no answers and I left them feeling so confused as to why I never have an answer in defense of what I believe. "And you always get to the point where they say well that's faith. You think what you believe are really your values but they're not yours...you're programmed...Fear and Love, what the church uses, just like the Government," said Russ. He recommended I read The Mayan Calendar. On a happier note: just want to say that Pana is home to Lake Atitlan, a majestic lake straight off a postcard. I think it's the town I enjoyed the best (restaurants and a market and safe to walk late). There are several towns around the lake that are accessible by boat (por lancha!) but I refrained from such adventure because I was alone. On the chicken bus to Pana, I'd met Maria, a scary Mormon woman who provided me with 'free' housing. She is the kind of woman you pray a non-Christian never runs into or they'll commit suicide, thinking they did Jesus a favour. Xela From Pana, I'd gone to Chichicastenango to a day market. There I met Helen and Aki, a couple traveling around the world for a year and a half to celebrate their honeymoon; they're six months in. We had breakfast (eggs, plantains, refried beans, and CHEESE) together in Chichi but I never saw them on the bus ride back to Pana. When I got into Quetzaltenango (Xela) after getting lost on some filthy and scary dirt road, Helen and Aki were at the Casa Argentina where I stayed. Currier (a Bates friend) had recommended Xela so positively that I was shocked at what I saw. You don't need to be a gangster to know that something is wrong with any place where every shop is locked at 6pm sharp. So, I had lots of well-needed sleep and "tell me where you've been" conversations within the hostel walls. I never had a single bath at that place; there's a reason it's a 'Budget Hostel'. A warning to future travelers: hug your bags when passing through that bus terminal in Xela. A good magazine I found to keep me company was Xela Who, it had some of the best humour journalism I've read in a while. From our base, Aki, Helen and I went to a famous church in San Andres, Xecul and we had to drive up a hill standing in the back of a van to get there. Interestingly, this 4 ft 12- year-old boy wanted to drive us up the hill for twice the price. I kept asking him where the driver was and he kept saying "Siéntense!" (Sit!) When Helen asked who the driver was, he got into the van to show us his skills. We laughed at him so hard and went with an older driver for half the price. The church a like a weird Hindu temple-Mayan shrine amalgamation. We also went to the Fuentes Georginas, a natural hot spring a lady at the consulate in Rhode Island had told me about. That was cool, with some creep who stalked us the whole time; he's even in our pictures. Back to Guate and Ito tells me his friend's parents own a fabulous European-style hostel in the town I'd see next: Coban. Coban Having packed too much for Pana and Xela, I traveled to Coban with a tee shirt and two mariners (wife-beaters), two pairs of flip-flops and a pair of pants. No sneakers. This was Monday of Week Two. I checked into Casa de Acuña and signed up for the hostel-led excursion to Semuc Champey and the Grutas (caves) de Lanquin the next day. When I remembered that I left my swimsuit drying back at the apartment, I asked the Concierge if I would need one. "Semuc Champey is seven natural pools." Great. That afternoon I bought a 40 Quetzales pair of water (puddle/ gum) boots for the caves and I woke up early next morning and got a pair of shorts for 10 Qs in the supermarket. Had I only read the Lonely Planet. The all-day drive to both these places was more than worth it; Guatemalans say " Vale la pena." Semuc Champey has breathtaking beauty and for that reason some consider it the most beautiful spot in Guate. There are absolutely fabulous blue-green pools sourced by a horrifyingly strong river. My camera was being bad that day, so I could not really capture the beauty there. The Grutas de Lanquin? I am still not sure what the Mayans used them for. I do know however that I felt so bad for Bruce Bourque that he could not be there. The caves were magnificent although our guide was not very good: Tourist's Question: How big is this cave? Guide's Answer: Very, very big It was a precarious climb through with bats hanging from the roof and a river running underneath, in almost complete darkness. There are unique figures like Turtles, La Virgen Maria and a tiger, which formed naturally over the years. Standing there I concluded that that was the coolest experience I'd had in this score of life. However, a Swiss girl I'd met back at the hostel, Judith, really hated those caves: " I am not a cave person." "Road Mek fi Blok!" -Jamaica2Rahtid I never thought I'd have to care what kind of person Judith was much less end up sharing a bed with her, for three days. It's Wednesday of Week Two and the plans of quite a few youngsters at Casa de Acuña have been foiled. There was a roadblock at a key intersection en route our next destination, Flores, and no buses or shuttles were taking risks. The plan was to catch an early morning shuttle, run by Casa de Acuña, and from there head to Tikal. I had been so glad to discover a shuttle because I would not have to lie to Challen and take a chicken bus to Flores. Even with only the clothes I had carried for Coban, I did not want to turn around back to Guate and then do 10 hours back up to Flores, the safest method that Challen knew. So this new delay meant another day of finding food and paying for another night at Casa de Acuña but oh well, what to do? " Let's go." Judith was ready to move. We spent about two hours dilly-dallying, wondering, and asking questions at the tourist office in Coban but at the end of the night we were in Flores. "Residents were protesting for electricity at Las Posas," some guests at Casa de Acuña had told us but supposedly "it was peaceful with just a few machetes." They assured us that all we had to do was drive to the protest, get out and walk through it and then catch a bus on the other side. They forget to mention that the buses might drop us off far from the protest and that we might have to walk three quarter hours in the sun, Judith smoking her cigarettes me eating my bread. Well, maybe they never thought that we would get pointed at and laughed at because of Judith's huge backpack and the fatigue on our faces, and that we'd take two buses, do a minor hitchhike, catch a van and take a boat. They were right though that the protests were relatively peaceful. There were a few hundred young men with machetes sitting atop old vehicles shouting insults at the governor and his government. Too bad the governor was not in the country. When we asked why the police did not come break up the affair we were told that they would be outnumbered. " They sleep. They are more of them but they come out on shifts. If the police should come, they would all come out at once." Judith kept second-guessing the decision to leave. " We should have stayed, huh?" We got in after 7 pm and there was a single bed available at Youth Hostel de los Amigos with its very own cold-water shower. We did real well actually, praise God. When we saw some people we met back at Casa de Acuña at Tikal, they told us they'd walked for some three hours. Little Caesar and Big Tikal Due to our exhaustion from trek the day before and my ever-emptier pocket, Judith and I opted out of Little Caesar's tour to Tikal. It only cost us not seeing what is supposedly a gorgeous sunrise because 'Little Caesar' has some shady deal with the owners, which allows his group entry into Tikal at a ghastly 3am. We rolled of bed after 5am for the 6am trip. Could I remember the name the tour service I would fully bash it for how sloppy it was. On our ' tour bus' I met two interesting people: the crocodile hunter and another 'Mark from California'. Mark from California in Flores was not a rabbi but Mark from California in Coban was. It was funny but Mark the rabbi eventually showed up in Flores and both met. So, on the bus, there was this guy in a khaki suit like you see people dressed in for excursions to African safaris. He and his wife were good for people watching. His French accent was so fascinating, and so was the fact that he engaged in fluent conversation with our 'guide' about Tikal, all the way. Just as I was thinking " What a nerd," he whips out this huge textbook on some Mayan topic and his wife proudly announced (to the whole bus) that he was a professor and author of the book. She joked with the tour guide that they would promptly translate the book to Spanish as soon as it was famous. Mark understood why I found the couple funny and he was amusing too so I moved to sit beside him. Judith and I ended up touring Tikal all day with him. There was something about Mark that I could not figure out and it bothered me all day. I did not feel he was hiding behind his crazy jokes, I liked his jokes, but there was a reason I kept looking at him. I could not place him. His story was that he was from California, studying in Puerto Rico and I think I overheard him and Judith (Swiss-German) talking about his German heritage. His Spanish was really very good and so I shut up and made him do the talking whilst we were together. Something about his skin, about the slang: mano, por fa, buenas and knowing all the words of 'Atrevete' were misfits. On the ride back we spoke about many things, including the fact that he was actually Mexican-American. Aha! Thaaat's why he promptly corrected me about burritos being Mexican food. FYI world: burritos and nachos are Tex-Mex inventions. Tikal? I have to revisit, God willing. Sitting amongst those moss-covered textbook pyramids, I felt so ignorant. Judith, she was quite the hiker and took many of the temples by storm while I stayed at the bottom taking pictures of her. What huge structures those temples are. I felt I was sitting (literally) on history with not enough appreciation for the opportunity. I took a few pictures and made a resolve to go read as much as I could about the Maya and their world. What should have been the climax of my two weeks solo was rather lackluster. I don't even remember the names of the strange Lion-King like animals I saw but there were also spider monkeys, some strange bugs and some kind of a jungle. I am sure it was worth it though; everyone says so so it must be true. I spent that night watching a lightning storm by the lake in Flores with Mark. Judith and I parted some two days later when she returned to Antigua to visit 'Sam' and recover her lost credit card, and I to Challen's. ESS EYE The second half of the trip began with meeting the SI staff and two incoming workgroups at Guate Airport on Monday night. The flights were delayed and so Ramon, Eric (the driver whose Uncle is SI president) and I went to Burger King. Ramon was from Panama working full time in Guate and Eric, a proud graduate of Cal Poly volunteering as summer driver. Eric was excited because he knew that one of the groups coming was from Cal Poly. Ramon and I went back and forth about rice and peas and jerk chicken and we decided I'd cook him a meal. After we got the group at the airport, we went to McDonald's because they were hungry: initial observations were that the girls for the most part seemed to be my age and the boys were younger, in their early teens. Eric and I drove back together and he had a chance to share his old country music and be pleasantly surprised that I knew the words to his crazy favourites. When we got home we (five girls) had to pull our suitcases up a hill from 'The Cross' to our host family's house: Mario Mendez and family. Bill Cutler (our BCF coordinator) had told me about Mario so it was cool that I got to stay with him. Three girls from the Boston group, one from Cal Poly (my roommate) stayed in the downstairs of the Mendez household and the Sam (traveling solo too) stayed upstairs with the family. The other boys were assigned to stay with 'Oscar' in Santa Lucia. Both Magdalena and Santa Lucia are on the outskirts of Antigua and we got to go into Antigua a few times. When I finally got to Antigua I thought that like Tikal, it was 'overhyped'. Someplace in those travel book descriptions of the "cobblestone streets" there should be a warning about those horrible protruding balconies that'll take someone's head off sooner than later. The Work Site Tuesday was orientation and we used the day to brush up language skills and get information on our respective sites. El Gorrión, where I worked, is a community that came into existence after hurricane Mitch. Upon the accidental death of children from the then community, the Government relocated its members to El Gorrión. Still in need of basic things like running water, the residents welcome the work of SI in their community: Oscar making cisterns to catch rainwater and Hilmar teaching English at the school. More than anything, Hilmar was like a social worker in my eyes. During classes he goes around with his guitar, teaching songs, even when the older children are stubborn. He visits the children when they do not show up to classes and also just goes on random visits. Hilmar is in love with his mission and had some very infectious enthusiasm. With Valerie (from the California group) I passed about 7 days at the school gluing paper and building relationships with some warm and feisty little heart stealers. 'Seeing as how' I could write a book about the last two weeks of my stay, I have surrendered to using bullet points. I'll remember: o Riding with Eric in the night and him playing all those songs like 'Patches' o How mountainous Magdalena was and the roosters at 3am o Mario's passionate homilies and Noamie translating o How much I wanted to die when Mario said the Mayans died trying to defend a religion of polytheism o Poor Dejia breaking her leg on day 1 ('POP goes the feeebewla!') o Melony's mother instinct, Melissa's tomboy ways, Dejia's refusal to eat and Jenny's quiet ways o Talking to Melissa about boys in the night o TJ sticking by Dejia o Noamie inviting me to join their group o The devotions every morning o Ingrid's wonderful breakfast: those plantains and bean stew o Melisa's (Mendez) engine laugh and baby Jonathan's refusal to let me touch him o Walking to El Gorrión in the morning and EVERYONE saying "Buenos Diiias" o Passing the women washing at the pilas o Hilmar saying " Esta es NUESTRA escuela." (This is OUR school). His sense of ownership J o Pulling into the school with Hilmar and all the children shouting "Profe Hilmar! Profe Hilmar!" o Being called "Seño" (teacher) by the children o The gringo businessmen who visited the school o The children waiting after school to have lunch with Hilmar o The lady who makes atole for the children free of cost so that they have at least one meal o Having an allergic reaction to the beef at Mi Café Cafecito and pitching tent on the toilet o Trying to skip all meals but breakfast without explaining my OCD ways o Being kicked in the ankle and the subsequent drama o Making tortillas at Doña Minga's home with Valerie. It's not easy. o Getting on Paloma to take Pacaya by horseback o The cold mountains beside a steaming Pacaya o Seeing the Volcan de Agua beside Pacaya o Looking at Pacaya and thinking I had never seen anything more beautiful o Seeing a live lava flow o The lava rock the tour guide gave me o Lying on the huge rock in the sun with Mel and Sam and wanting to be there forever o Taking more medication in two weeks than I'd taken all year o TJ being that adopted big brother o Hanging out in the ER with Dejia to see 'the traumatologist'.eeks! o Seeing that hole in my ankle o Missing mass and church o Lunchtime football (soccer). Those children play what Brazilians call futebol arte o The children playing with their tops o Chus teaching me to play with the top o Evelyn saying " Te amo mucho Shanna" on day 1 and Marvin's " Shanna no te vayas! No, no te vayas Shanna!" o Jenny asking EVERY morning " Como te llamas?" (What's your name?) o The hair fascination o Chus flipping out his penis at that poor, traumatized little girl and then being so docile for the rest of the time o English classes and Jonathan and the older girl getting all the words right o Erick doing all his homework, so neatly o Pizza night at Fernando's o Talking to Noamie about what happened in Pana and her helping me deal o Some guy saying 'Negrita' as we passed by and Hilmar quickly adding ' is in a good way' o Chris offering me some of his 'suck sucks' o Visiting Chus and seeing those 15 grandchildren standing in one place (this I believe ranks at the top of 'The Unforgettable') o The house visit where we got sodas o Melissa and Tom messing with that beast of a dog o Joel's obsession with The Army and him and Jake playing that horrible sadistic and masochistic game o Bethany and the amoeba in her stomach o Visiting Lluvia de Gracia and those poor girls having a heart attack over Jonathan o Baby Jonathan's faints o Andrique's love of Amy o Little Daniel and his shy ways o Big Daniel strumming it up to 'Eres Tu' and 'Blessed be the name of the Lord' with Amy holding his sheet music o Passing the three-stringed bass every day o Getting paintings done o The shoe shine boys in Antigua o Fernando saying Rigoberta Menchu might run for President o Michael saying " you know how you don't expect people in the third world to be as talented" o Seth calling Oscar 'The Construction Ninja' and the construction workgroup shouting "yes!" o Seth's story of how he came to SI and met his wife o Valerie calling me out on the Hilmar twice o The devotion on dealing with doubts o Sitting atop 'La Municipalidad' and sharing our thoughts about the school with Hilmar o Ingrid getting all emotional at breakfast o The tour of all the ministry sites on the last day: seeing Seth's school in Magdalena was so encouraging o Having to share with others about the experience at El Gorrion. Bad idea o On the last day, Jonathan saying hello and trying to explain his absence without explaining and Erick proudly reporting he'd done all the homework o Holding Hilmar's hand in that circle and the three girls walking to Oscar's site o Mario explaining the 'double blessing' o Missing the banquet (Dang. I was all ready with some hand-made Mayan bling) After spending the night of the banquet at Fernando's (wonderful children he has) in the hope of getting better, I only got back to Magdalena a little before leaving. Melissa had left earlier but as I suspected, she left me a wonderful love note. Sweet thing. Guess who was there? HILMAR! I had seen Oscar when we picked up the boys at his home but I never expected to see precious Hilmar again (on this trip). Off to the airport without a decent goodbye to Eric, our faithful driver and into the smallest waiting lounge I'd ever seen. Sitting there with three dollars worth of quetzales (darn it) and a million dollars worth of memories; wishing I'd gotten a bootleg version of Oral Fixation and thinking certainly, there'd be hair oil in Atlanta. Writing Ended August 17, 2006