2 Things

Saturday January 19th, 2008

Sitting outside my room in the little courtyard area tonight. I sat on the edge of an ancient wooden chair, next to a broken down cabinet filled with bottles of who knows what. I gave into my fears of spiders and other thoughts as I leaned back all the way into the chair. I started thinking about being. Two things mostly.

1. Life is pretty rad right now, and whether it lasts, well, why think about that side of it?

2. Mayan women are pretty much my heroes.

My hair was still just the slightest bit damp from the hot springs and it gave me a small chill. There was no discomfort. Well there should have been, but it was that kind of discomfort that reminds you of where you are and what you're doing. Like the discomfort of standing on a packed bus in a place you've never been before, with plenty of eyes fixed on you because you look different. Or the discomfort of that gurgling stomach from that sketchy food that was so worth it. Or the shortness of breath due to high altitude. The discomfort that lets you know that you're really alive, and reminds you of all the possibilities that life has to offer. Yeah, I like that discomfort.

My past week of classes has gone (and I think I can safely say that I have never used this word before and never will again, I hop)...swimmingly. After my first couple nights in a sociable hostel with nightly communal dinners and the atmosphere I had been hoping for in a guesthouse, I moved in with my host family. A middle-aged couple, whose children seem to have all flown the coop, though they pop in occasionally. I get three home-cooked meals a day and a bigger room than I have in Seattle. All for about $40/week. My room even has two lightswitches, one by the door, and one by the bed, just like Tory raved about in Spain. Five hours of straight one-on-one Spanish class was not as grueling as I had expected. In fact, it was enjoyable knowing that I was really improving. And every afternoon there are activities, that even though touristy, provide a great means to see the area and the culture.

The first day, we simply watched a movie called hija del puma (daughter of the puma) about a Mayan woman during the civil war. It is a terribly depressing movie, but very quality. Definitely worth seeking out. I believe it is based on a book by Rigoberta Menchu.

A lot of the Spanish schools seem to be quite political, with a lot of the curriculum designed to educate students about Guatemalan history and injustices to the indigenous people. A lot of it makes me feel guilty for being American (though this is not their intent). From The United Fruit Company taking advantage of local farming in the early 1900's to the CIA overthrowing their first democratically elected leader, spurring their civil war (which America funded heavily) to the current state of CAFTA, it is very understandable if Guatemalans have ill-feelings toward America.

On Tuesday we (the three other students and one of the teachers) went to the municipality of Salcaja, nearby Xela. The teacher pointed that 80% of Salcaja's residents were working in America and that many of the buildings (it seemed to be a fairly privileged residential area) were paid for with money sent home from the US. It felt good to know that our country is doing something positive for these people, even if it is not done consciously. Well, I shouldn't say that, because the large majority of volunteer workers I have met here are American. Until Xela, I rarely met Americans, but here, where volunteering and Spanish schools are the two main activities, Americans seem to be the strong majority. Anyways, Salcaja is famous for its church, which was the first one built in Central America by the Spanish. We also went to this small shop where a man was using a giant, complex loom to weave the fabric for the traditional dress of Mayan women. It was a process that I did not understand one bit and therefore explain it, but it was cool. They also sold some homemade wine made from fruit. I bought a small bottle. It was not bad, but it was thick and sweet, making it reminiscent of cough syrup. Our teacher also took us to a place where they made this drink called Ronpopo. I asked the woman what was in it. She responded, rum, egg (WHOA! I thought, this sounds dangerous), she proceeded, vanilla, milk, and a few other things. I spent a little less than a dollar on the smallest bottle. To my delight this was simply bottled eggnog with rum. It was great. We stood outside the shop and passed the bottle around till it was gone. While we waited for the bus back to Xela, a Marimba band was playing outside their town hall to celebrate the inauguration of their new government. The presidential inauguration was the day before in Guate City, and featured the likes of Hugo Chavez, and his Columbian rival counterpart of whose name escapes me now...but I read there was definite tension over the terminology of terrorists to describe the guerillas fighting Columbia's civil war right now. Anyways, marimbas. Guatemalans claim that the instrument originated there, but I remain skeptical, because I always thought they originated in Coeur d' Alene...or Africa. One of the two.

On Wednesday, Fernando, one of the teachers, who also lives in my house, and Justino, another student in my house, and I went to Zunil, a mostly indigenous town outside of Xela, where the women wear these colorful bands sitting atop their heads like crowns. I swear, Mayan women are some of the coolest people in the world. They all look so beautiful in their traditional clothing, plus the carry their babies on their back using a blanket looking thing. Even babies that seem two or three that should be able to walk get carried around sometimes. That's a heavy load to be packing around all day. Plus, they carry around heavy loads of goods (mostly food grown in their fields) on their back to bring into town to sell. They're so strong and so small. And the older woman have these epic weathered faces, every wrinkle just reinforcing the difficult life they have led. And they keep on working. A lot of this rural indigenous living is very reminiscent of the what I saw while trekking in Nepal. Guatemala has truly blown me away in this respect. Anyway, Zunil. The main point of interest is San Simon, a saint that is a mix of Mayan Gods, Pedro de Alvarado (the Spanish conquistador of Guatemala) and Judas. This effigy attracts people from all over the area to leave offerings. This was a truly odd experience. We got to where the saint was currently being housed (it changes every year) and people outside had fires burning as they dumped in rum, eggs, candles, cigars, and other offerings. We stepped inside the small dark shack where San Simon sat with western clothing, a cowboy hat, and a bandana on his face, bandit style. He was surrounded by candles, and a person guarding him, and flicking the ashes off the saint's lit cigar. The others that made pilgrimages to San Simon were showing great amounts of reverence to the figure. When people make offerings of rum, they apparently can open San Simon's mouth and pour it down. It looked more like the scene from an obscure haunted house, than a religious site. On the way back to the bus I saw two boys eating hot dogs from a stand. Curious as to what they were really referred to here, I asked them, hey, what're you eating. The two boys turned in unison and yelled, "Cheveres!" which is indeed what every hot dog cart in Guatemala says on the side, a word that is more like the word "cool" in places like Venezuela.

Thursday was our trip to San Adres Xecul, another Mayan town on the outskirts of Xela, famous for its brightly colored church. The facade in front was a bright yellow with relief artwork detailed in red and white. Figures on the front included saints, angels, tigers and monkeys. I just love this fusion of Mayan and Catholic culture. Many say that when the Catholic beliefs were first imposed on them, they accepted them as a survival tactic, but really just took names like Mary and Joseph and Jesus and replaced them for certain figures in their own religion. I love it. I wonder if they do that with the Jehova's Witnesses and Mormons that come down here too?

Friday we got to skip class and go up to San Francisco el alto, where they have a spectacular market. We trudged up the steep streets through rows of jeans, and other typical western clothing, and as we got higher the clothing being sold was more often the traditional indigenous wear. When we got to the top of town we were released from the suffocating gaggle of vendors into the street to a large open area. It was still crowded, but instead of rows of shops, it was crowds of people selling livestock. Men and women held leashes with six pigs, some wrangled cattle, there were dogs, chickens, ducks, turkeys, and I think even sheep and goats. This was something new to me (well other than like, 4H at the fair, but that's super lame).

And this morning Justino (I am still not sure of the spelling of his name) and I went to the Fuentes Georginas, a natural hotspring near Zunil. Justino, a city boy from LA, had never been to one before. We haggled for a ride up the road, and standing in the back up the pickup as we ascended into lush jungle, past Mayan women tending their crops, we were treated to some spectacular views. The main pool at the springs was at the bottom of a cliff covered in densely green vegetation, and as the day grew later, mist rolled in until visibility was about thirty feet. This made the springs extra, dare I say, magical. I could not believe how much this region has to offer in such a condensed space. Spending six months exploring Guatemala would be easy.