GUATEMALA!...GUATEMALA GUATEMALA GUATEMALA!!!

I wrote this on Saturday but haven´t had a chance to post it till now-

Finally here, and now that I am, I'm kinda regretting taking as long as I did to get here. Sure Mexico's cool, but something about the energy here is just driving me crazy, in a good way.

I spent 2 nights in San Cristobal and continued my frustrated efforts to get into the travelers social scene there. My first night was at an Italian owned place (I didn't know this when I checked in) and there was hardly any travelers, except for, surprise, a few Italians, and they all seemed very anti-social. I didn't do much on my first day there except for wander around the town debating my next move. I could simply go to Guatemala the next day, but I didn't want to miss out on the rich indigenous culture of Chiapas. Plus, with all the stuff with the Zapatista movement, I wanted to learn more. I could take a longer route through Palenque, some very famous ruins, then cross the border on bus, boat, bus, though this would take several days longer to get to my destination in Guatemala.

I walked to the street market in San Cristobal and was surprised to find no tourists. It wasn't more than a ten minute walk from the main part of town, so I figured there would be other travelers checking it out. Napes. I guess if they're not selling hammocks and hand woven belts, then nobody's really interested. Anyways, it was a great market, especially because I felt like I was in a very authentic part of the city. All the people were indigenous. I am obsessed with the clothing the women wear. I had thought that the Mayan women selling handicrafts were only dressed traditionally because it helped them sell stuff. But they all (mostly) wear very extravagant, and often blinding clothing that is absolutely gorgeous. Depending on what they wear, you can tell what tribe or clan they are from. The men's clothing, like in every other country I've been to, is pretty boring.

To get some schoolage on the Zapatista movement I decided to attend a screening of a documentary about it. I would have read a book, but you should see the prices on one of the books about Zapatistas in the stores. "A Place Called Chiapas" was a great film and pretty much Marcos, the pipe-smokin mask-wearin Mestizo from Mexico City that started the movement is pretty rad.

After it was over I headed to this cafe called la revolucion, a revolution/zapatista themed bar/cafe, for some live music. I was skeptical of the guidebook saying that foreigners and locals mingled at this bar, but it was definitely like that. With so many travelers fluent in Spanish, and the great music, it brought everyone together for a big nightly dance party. There was zapatista-inspired art on the walls, pictures of Marcos, Che and the like. The bathroom was covered in revolutionary graffiti. Free Chiapas, somone had written, and below that people had added Iraq, Afghanistan, Oaxaca and more. I wished I had had a pen so I could have added Ballard...or Hat. I loved the atmosphere at this place, and it is mostly the reason I did not leave the next day.

I did switch hostels though, and moved to one called Hostal Los Camellos, or the camel hostel. I was glad because it looked a lot more social than the other one. I eventually found out though that I was the only one who did not speak French. How do these people know where the "French hostel" is? Better yet, why would you want to go to a place where everyone is from the same place? And none of them spoke (or admitted to speaking) English. So any conversations I had were in Spanish. A couple of the girls were kind of friendly , but nobody really wanted to reach out to the lone traveler. I couldn't blame them though. If I was with a group of English-speakers, I would have a hard time trying to include someone that only spoke Spanish. Then we would all struggle to speak Spanish to include them. It's tough.

I did something very unlike me on my second day in San Cristobal. I took a tour, and it cost me $15. I have to admit, I got more Mayan culture out of it than I would have if I had tried to go at it on my own. It was a group of an old Danish couple, an old French couple and a couple of younger Dutch girls. Think Bourdain's description of ugly tourists in Oaxaca.

We went to two Mayan communities, their names escaping me right now. The first just looked like a small town from a distance, but when our tour guide, Cesar, explained the stuff about their community it became clear that this was a place a world away from the rest of Mexico. The most fascinating thing about indigenous culture of Mexico is their religious practices, and how traditional cultures are infused into the Spanish Catholicism. The two towns practiced religion from both sides, though one was much more Catholic and the other much more traditional Mayan. Fireworks constantly exploded in these towns as they are part of religious ceremonies, and fun. In the first town we went to a religious leader's dwelling, while a woman performed a candlelighting ceremony that she does something like 5 times a day, every day. Then we went to the large church in the middle of town. The ground was covered in pine needles (pine trees are a prominent spiritual symbol in Mayan culture, in fact, they have been using crosses before the Spanish came, and the cross was meant to represent a pine tree) and there were no seats. Families were scattered around, sitting on the floor, lighting series of candles, many white (representing tortillas to feed the gods) but some other colors as well. Some had bottles of coca-cola, sprite and fanta in front of them while they did their prayers. Different pops represent different colors of corn, which represent the 5 directions (north south east west, and something of an orient right in the middle known as the navel of earth) and each of the colors has their own spiritual significance which I can't recall right now. The drink the pop in order to dispel evil spirits from their bodies through burps. One group had a chicken for their prayers. The chicken was eventually sacrificed. The walls were lined with statues of saints, some traditional Catholic figures, some more of a mix of a Catholic and a Mayan figure. Most of them had necklaces with large mirrors on them. Because the sun brings knowledge, the Mayans used to wear large slabs obsidian around their neck to reflect the suns knowledge into their own brain. Mirrors have since replaced the obsidian. Outside of the church, on the other side of the plaza, a large group of men, perhaps a hundred, was gathered. The town leaders and a few police on an elevated platform and all the commoners down below. Apparently they were trying to settle a dispute that had come up in the town. This is also how elections in the town happen. All the men gather in town (no women are allowed to participate in the democratic process in) and people present themselves as running for a leadership position. People either cheer for them or throw things at them. And this is their democratic process. Loudest cheers win.

Cesar really stressed how the Mayan culture was in grave danger from evangelicals from America. They are always losing people in the community to Mormons, J-Witnesses, and other evangelical Christians. Once they have converted, they must leave the town forever. It's really too bad because I don't dislike Mormons, but I could never imagine going into someone else's community, especially with this rich culture, and say no, you are doing it wrong. This is the right god. And you should not sacrifice chickens.

The other town's church was much more Catholic and even had a sign outside that said that killing chickens inside is prohibited. There were pews, a confessional, and even a place where a priest would give sermons. The other town did not have a formal day when anyone would preach. The clothing was also different here. Each town, has their own clothing, so all the women, depending on their subgroup within the community, wear basically the same thing. A ten minute drive from one town to the next, and all the clothing had changed from wool to cotton. On the way back to San Cristobal, we gave a ride to two young Mayan school girls. They wore the same bright purple dresses as all the other girls in the town. It was fun trying to communicate with them as we are both fairly inadequate with our Spanish. They spoke Tzotzil in these two communities, one of the many Mayan languages in the region.

The night was going back to Revolucion for some more great music. I met up with a French group (with one guy from Uruguay who was pretty awesome) that I had met the day before and we went to a reggae club after. It was pretty cool, but I was super tired and left at 1:30 to get some sleep before a long day of traveling.

7:30 in the morning I catch a cab (I hate doing this, but I was running late) get to the bus station five minutes before the bus leaves, buy my ticket and we're off. My bus had many a traveler, 2 Aussies, 2 Israelis and 2 Danes. 3 and a half hours later, we are at the border, going through customs, grab a cab to the entrance to Guatemala 4km away. Went through one of the most lax customs I've been in (save going from Nepal to India where we were told by the customs guy, "we have a very...liberal border here" almost with a wink) and for some reason the official didn't make me pay the 20 pesos that the Danes had to pay. SUCKAS!

And I was in Guatemala! New Stamp! Then I walked through the dirty bustling street about 500m uphill to the bus station where I was constantly passed by zooming little...wait for it....AUTORICKSHAWS! I crapped my pants when I saw these little things packed with families carrying goods on top. They were the exact same thing as the ones in India. I wanted so badly to ride in one, but they were all full. I also bought an ice cream which was super rad!

We got to the bus station, which was nothing like the squeaky clean Mexican bus terminals. A dirt lot with a bunch of colorful old schoolbuses and people yelling, frantically loading luggage onto the roof. A man yells "WAY WAY, WAY WAY" to announce the departure to Huehuetenango. I tell him I'm going to Xela and he tells me to get in. I throw my bag to the guy on the top of the bus. I turn to the Israeli girls and they look freaked out. This bus? My bag on top? I could tell they were thinking. And then we get on the bus and half the seats already have three people in them. All personal space was lost.

From Mexico to Guatemala was like going from Thailand to India. And it was very comforting. This is what I've been waiting for. This kind of travel is why I had yet to be truly excited in Mexico. There wasn't that same rush. It was too simple.

3 hours of an uncomfortable rollercoaster ride and we get to another dirt lot with one more bus. A guy is yelling Xela! Xela! and they look ready to go. I summon the fellow travelers (now just Aussies and Isrealis) to get off the bus and we frantically get our bags off the top, throw them to the next bus and we're off again. A couple hours later and we arrive in Quetzaltenango (Xela), in another dirt lot with a cluster of buses, making escape a maze. The Israeli girls stuck around to catch the next bus to Lago de Atitlan, while I guided the Aussies, who don't speak Spanish. To get to the buses into town we cross through a market that seemed to go on forever. But I was floored. Freaking out when I saw new foods, people selling bags of fruits I've never seen before. And like the market in San Crizzle, it was almost all indigenous people with glorious clothing. I had this feel of excitement well deep within me. I had a great feeling about Guatemala. Halfway through the crowded market I turn to the Aussies and express my extreme excitement about this place. They, on the other hand did not seem to care one way or the other and just kind responded, 'yeah', with the shrug of the shoulders. Nothing pisses me off more than boring or unenthusiastic travelers. And this couple seemed like both of those. I was glad when, after I quickly and efficiently got them right to where they needed to be, they said, 'well, we're gonna go find something to eat, seeya'. Whatever, they were lame anyway.

I went and found a hostel, threw my bag down and went on a quest for food. I made the mistake of going to a restaurant that offered a meat burrito, a drink and chips (which usually means fries) for $2.50. The burrito had a little beef (ground?! GROSS!) and beens and a lot of stupid lettuce and really stupid tomatoes. The chips were cheetos, which honestly, was really good, and the drink was Jamaica (a drink made from hibiscus leaves) which was one of the best Jamaicas I've ever had. The burrito was terrible, and not even Guatemalan, or Mexican for that matter.

I left and crossed the parque, and saw what I had been looking for: street food! Hadn't had good street food since Oaxaca city. I had been been expecting inferior food in Guatemala, but it was not the case here. First I saw mini garnaches, a food I had moderately enjoyed in Belize. They're like tostadas, with beans, some cheese, tomato sauce onions and hot sauce. These were better than the Belizean ones though, greasier, plus the onions were cooked into it. There were so many new foods to. I wish instead of writing about how excited I was, I could just let you see me giggle about it. That's what I felt like doing. Giggling and then throwing my arms up and yelling "Guatemala, you rock!" Followed by a funny dance. I had a relleno plantano (Ithink it's called) a friend plantain dumpling with cream and sugar on top. The welcome surprise in the middle was refried beans. There are many other treats I saw that I'm probably gonna go eat today. I can't wait. They even have pupusas and fried chicken! I know I know, but it looks really good.

I am so excited for the next couple of weeks in this city. The social scene is much more my type. Plus it does not by any means overrun the city like in San Cristobal and Oaxaca. Plus the people are so down to earth. They don't need dreadlocks and Indian clothing to express that they're awesome and unique. No, these people are friendly and make an effort to include new people. And I don't know if it's a language thing or a cultural thing, but the Americans here are especially friendly. In fact, most Americans I've met traveling have been pretty agreeable type of people. Is this just because we relate to each other more? Is it the ease of communicating? I don't really know, but I like to think that American travelers are just cool people? I dunno. I am kinda mad at myself for wasting so much time on this. I can't wait to go explore Xela.

Oh, I also tried some fruit that had the most offensive texture of any food I have ever eaten, but it wasn't bad. You crack open the shell, like a dried and thin orange peel, and inside is some mucous-like slim in little pods with crunchy seeds inside. I sucked at it, and the feel of it in my mouth almost made me gag, but the flavor, though mild, and slightly sweet, was very good.

Peace.