adios guatemala

Made a long trek down to the southeastern part of Guatemala the other day that took a long time from start to finish but didn't require a whole lot of travel. I missed a few connections by a few minutes which made me wait up to an hour and a half til' the next bus came. It also happened to be in the part of the country that is known for sweltering hot temperatures and cowboys wearing their pistols on their belts for all the honest world to see. I got into Rio Dulce around dark was pretty tired and got a lancha to my hostel. The Rio Dulce area is a very large estuary that is protected from the ocean by a long lush river by the same name. The water reminded me a bit of the Annapolis area as there was always tons of land in sight, tons and tons of sailboats from all over the world and a few large yachts. In fact, the US Coast guard has labeled this area the safest harour in the Western Carribean during hurricane season, which would account for all the nice boats being stored in the area. There are tons of things to do here, all outdoors and it was raining pretty solid all night and day so I moved on down the line to Livingston, a tiny town on the coast that is a mixture of Spanish speaking, Black Carribean and Mayan Indigenous peoples all Guatemalans. There are five languages spoken here: Spanish, the local Mayan dialect, English, Creole and Garifuna. Garifuna is the language (and the name of the people) of the African descendants that were taken here in the slave trading days who then settled and married. Creole is a mixture of French, Spanish, English, Portuguese and probably a few languages more that i'm forgetting. Linguistically speaking, my head was spinning. Regardless, the town of Livingston is nothing like any other part of Guatemala. It has a Carribean vibe but is distinctly unlike any other Carribean nation I have seen or heard of. There is a definite relaxed vibe the slightly seedy underbelly of a small port town. About a half hour lancha ride away is Puerto Barrios which was built by United Fruit Co., back in the day, to export bananas to the US. This is the seedy port town, which allows Livingston to have the seedy port town vibe without the true seediness. Perhaps a bit false, one might think, but false or not, it suited me just fine.
To get to Livingston, we took a lancha ride through the Rio Dulce estuary area and passed an old castle that protected the area from pirates, apparently poorly because it got sacked hundreds of years ago and was only rebuilt as a tourist attraction and picnic area in 1956. Here old canons keep you company as you eat your lunch.

The estuary area is fed by the river Rio Dulce which snakes inland from the Carribean through a dramatically steep jungle gorge. Again the pics don't do it justice but it was very pretty.



Once in Livingston I heard of the best tourist attraction was called something like the Seven Falls. Apparently there are seven waterfalls that feed seven pools that are great for swimming, not to mention good jumping from the rocks and rope swings scattered around the park. I was told to go straight to the beach, turn left until you can't go any further, then walk up the path along the river for another half hour til you get to the falls. There were no signs and I was told I couldn't miss it... but I missed it. I had sat on the south side of the lancha on the way to Livingston and walked for an hour in the sun and had gotten a little burned so I decide to call it a day besides, the wrong turn I took took me right back to where I started so the decision was made for me. Actually I had realized pretty quick my error, but due to the sunburn I threw in the towel to avoid further sun damage. The good side is that my left inner thigh and my right outer thigh have not only healed but have turned golden brown to contrast each legs respective other part, which is still butt white.
I had a few drinks with the kids at my hostel that night and headed out in the morning. Another half hour lancha ride and a bunch of micro and chicken buses and I was at the El Salvadorean border. Adios Guatemala, you were pretty good to me!

more semuc photos

semuc champey

Lanquin is a small, very remote town set in the mountains of eastern-ish Guatemala. It takes a long time to get there and the options for the next stop are few unless you don't mind backtracking a bit. The good side is that the small town is beautiful and is located on a good size river that shoots out of the side of a mountain, is azure blue and very clean. So clean that the locals use the water, untreated, as their source of drinking water. I suppose it is spring water, but I opted for the bottled water that has been purified. I got in around 1 in the afternoon and hopped on a little tubing tour. Not so much a tour as a hour and a half lazy river. One of the "guides" was a 14 year old named Lester. We hit it off right away, talking in Spanish about where we were from, going and been to. He was one of those kids who you meet and immediately think, this is a really good kid. Always smiling, happy to help and constantly asking everyone if they were ok and having fun. Everyon mentioned how they felt Lester was awesome until one girl lost her tube and got stranded on a shallow fast moving stretch. Lester went after the tube and the girl was left to fend for herself. I'm sure he was just doing what he was told if this were to happen, but I thought it was awesome! All in all a very relaxing start to a new place.

As we got back another group was getting ready to go to the local caves. Set right where the natural spring shoots out of the mountain, it too was very close to the hostel. The caves themselves were cool, but if you've seen a cave, they are pretty much the same. I have to say that I was unimpressed until we came back to the entrance. The guide told us to look at the roof of the cave as we sat at the entrance. We started to see a few bats above our heads here and there. I happened to catch one on film, woo hoo!


As the park rangers turned off the lights in the cave we sat near the entrance. Minutes later we bacame aware of a dull roar. The guide told us to take random pictures in the dark, and there was a flood of bats right above our heads. Actually they were below and to the side of our heads as well. It was crazy being in this opening about the size of an 18 wheeler cargo truck... and the bats were everywhere. That was pretty cool.

The next morning I got up and hopped on the pickup to Semuc Champey. Semuc Champey is a national park that has more caves and these natural pools that are surrounded by a very steep wall of jungle on either side. First, we went on the cave tour, guided by our fearless friend Carlos. Our group consisted of 17 people, mostly mid twenties and thirtysomethings. We entered the cave and walked barefoot in ankle deep water with candles in one hand, one candle per person. Most of the caves were the size of a train car, long and narrow. Soon enough the water got knee deep and we climbed up a rickity ladder. Every once in a while someone would bang their toes on a rock and laugh/wail in pain. We hopped up and over little natural stone dams where each step up, the water got a little deeper. The deepest channel was at least 10 feet deep. As I jumped in my candle went out and I spent 5 minutes trying to get it re-lit. By that point half of us were using someone elses light to find our way. Luckily there was only one path, no side tributaries or anywhere else to take a wrong turn. Some of the cavern rooms went about 100 feet up but most were long narrow passages with a few rooms where things opened up a bit. Looking up in the biggest of the rooms I saw a plastic bottle about 30 feet up wedged in between a few stalagtites. Then I realized that there have to be occasional flash floods in here and felt very fortunate to be in Guatemala, bacause there is no way this experience can be had in the States, too much liability and too many lawyers drooling on the sidelines. We went pretty deep into the cave and all of us were complaining about how our feet were bleeding and raw from hitting rocks under the water as we swam in the larger of the pools. By the time we got out into the light we were equally embarrased to see that, not only did we not have blood dripping from our feet, but we all only had tiny red marks where the flesh wounds were thought to be. I felt shame.
Then we did a rope swing and floated a small portion of the river below Semuc Champey in tubes. Then we hiked a short walk into the park wher some went to lounge in the pool and the other half of us hiked up to the mirador. A mirador is simply a lookout. We hiked a pretty steep trail and wooden steps up about 1000-1500 feet in elevation. This picture is from the mirador.


The pools were not super cool, but very refreshing. There were little spots where you could jump 5 feet or so down into the next pool. Words can't describe how beautiful this place is. Dense jungles with a high canopy, extremely steep slopes that led to the river valley and tons of beautiful pools and waterfalls. I'll post some more pics to follow to give you an idea, but they don't do it justice.

ballad of the bigote

A funny thing happened the last time I was on a chicken bus. I was trying to strike up a conversation with a older Mayan woman that was switting next to me when I relized that she spoke less Spanish than I speak. Well, i'm not exactly sure that she din't speak but that was the idea I got in trying to talk to her. She would just look out the window or stare staight forward when I asked her how she was. There was no answer and I asked a few more questions with no answer too, until I thought that I was enjoying asking questions to a brick wall a little too much. I was getting carried away messing with her and didn't even think that it may be construed as being rude. In fact, many of the indigenous people in Guatemala speak Mayan as their first language and only a little Spanish, if any at all. I have been told that there are something like 24 different dialects of the Mayan language and that many of the different dialects cannot understand each other. I was also told that many of the Mayans live in very remote areas that have no interaction with gringos and only limited interaction with Spanish speakers. That being said, it's very possible this little old lady had no idea what to do with me, I don't know. When she got off the bus a little old man that was sitting behind me tapped my shoulder to talk. This is where I enter the disclaimer that, with my limited level of Spanish, the following events are described as how I understood them, very possibly not what actually was said. Be forewarned.
The little old guy was probably 70 plus years old with wrinkly weathered tanned skin with sunken eyes from old age and a life of, most likely, difficult labor, by the looks of him. He said something to the effect that me that some people don't feel comfortable talking to strangers on the bus. I can assume that this could be due to many different reasons. Perhaps there have been robberies, perhaps they could have been insulted or mistreated. I don't know, maybe some people just don't want to talk to their neighbor on the bus. That's kind of the way I am on planes so, who knows? Back to the story, this little old man tells me some people don't like to talk on the bus and he thought it was pretty obvious I was not a Guatemalan which may have made her a bit intimidated. I chuckled at this and asked him how he knew I wasn't a Guatemalan and he stated that he picked me out right away when I got on the bus. Fantastic! Perhaps it was my fleece, backpack, butt white skin, six and a half foot frame or the constant look of confusion that I seem to sport down here, but this ol' fella had me pegged immediately. I thought I would play with him for a moment and asked him how I might be able to blend in more, you know, become sort of a local. Without hesitation he looked at my beard and told me that Guatemalans don't have beards, just mustaches (bigote in Spanish). Perhaps if I had only the mustache some people might believe. Then he squinted his eyes, shook his head side to side and said the although some might be fooled, he would still be able to pick me out as a gringo. Then he patted me on the shoulder and looked out the window at the passing mountains. The best part is I still can't figure out if he was serious or messing with me. And the teacher becomes the student... so I give you Guatemalan Brad, and it looks like he doesn't want to talk his neighbor on the bus!

the ol' shakira and george michael two step

Had a long journey the other day. I went from Pana to Guatemala City on a chicken bus. I love those things! They really aren't made for people my size, but the experience alone is worth it. Guatamala City (Guate to the locals) has some character, but can be a rather unsavory place if you aren't sure of yourself, where you are going, how you plan to get there, and the like. Me being me, I decided to just leave before I got myself hurt. I grabbed a taxi to the bus that would take me to my next destination, the city of Coban. The starting point of my trip was only about 100 kilometers from the destination (as the crow flies) but it took me from 7:30am until 5pm to arrive. Some mountain regions just arent passible and you have to go clear around them, constantly going up the sides of mountains, around hairpin curves, down steep ravines and more hairpin turns on roads no wider than a tiny two way road with no shoulders, all while in a 50 foot bus whos driver loves to pass other cars on blind curves. And those are the major highways and thouroghfares, we don't even want to get into the side roads. Exhausting, to say the least. It makes me want to buy a motorcycle and use the back back roads to get around. Just kidding, Mom!
Coban doesn't necesarily have tons to offer visitors, but it's a very cool little city, nonetheless. Probably around 50,000 - 75,000 people live in the city and the tiny municipalities in the surrounding area. I really didn't do anything here to speak of, but walked the city and stumbled upon a great little Italian restaurant and ended up ordering 3 plates of food before the meal was done. Given, it was a celebratory birthday dinner so I was splurging a bit, but I was a glutton! Definitely the best meal i've had so far on the trip. Great little antipasto salad, house cured smoked meat and local cheese plate, and a delicious linguini carbonara. I couldn't have been more impressed by the food and embarrased that I had eaten so much.
Coban wasn't so much a destination for me as it was a jumping off point for the next place, Lanquin. The next morning I found a collectivo (mini bus) and headed off. Lanquin is ony 60km from coban (on the road) but it takes about 3 hours to get there.

I hope you all are picking up on the theme of troublesome travelling that i'm laying down here. These minibuses are almost better than the chicken buses... almost. The mini buses are basically a VW bus/van with extra bench seats put in. You sit 4 across for the back 3 rows and 3 across for the front row with the driver and two passengers in the front seat. So that is 15 people who fit inside the cab. But wait, we are not even close to being done yet. Since some people only need to go for short distances on these set routes, about 4 or 5 more people hang on to the hand rails and bulge out of the side of the open (sliding) side door. 20 people and we haven't even gotten to the roof yet. Each roof is equiped with a durable luggage rack where the helper person (they work in twos just like the chicken bus workers) secures any luggage or belongings to the roof. Any space that is left is open for seating. On this trip there were 26 people at one time on the mini van. I am not kidding. Unfortunately for this trip, most everyone went the duration. Tons of people shoved into a tiny space, i'm 6'7" with very long legs and I was happy as a pig in shit! I can't explain why because I was extremely uncomfortable with no space, but I had a window seat with the wind in my face, it was a beautiful day and I found the particular radio station that was on hilarious. Usually I would be in pain, but I couldn't help laughing out load at the bad Spanish versions of Celine Dion songs, Popular Latin favorites, lots tons of Shakira and random John Fogerty and George Michael songs all mixed together. I was smiling ear to ear looking at the countyside creeping by and passing very short farmers walking on the road with machetes that were bigger than they were. I am pretty sure the next time I hear, "never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhytym, thought it's easy to pretend, i know you're not a fool" i'm gonna start laughing and craving Chicklets.

the guatemalan black market and the rules of life

The last couple of days I visited Panajachel (Pana, to the locals). It is, perhaps, the most developed of the towns surrounding Lake Atitlan but definitely not the most atmospheric. It does have its charms though, lots of sightseeing excursions, tons of expats, very interesting stores that include health food supplies, a grocery store consisting of things one can't get in Guatemala, and a specialty meat shop with a small selection of salamis and proscuitto type meats. It is very easy for one to speak only English here, as most touristy towns. In addition to that, Pana has some petty crime that also comes with well touristed areas. At this point, you might get a little idea where i'm heading with this story.
So, upon entry into Pana from a nearby quaint little village, I arrived by lancha (water taxi/shuttle). As I boarded the vessel, the captain was kind enough to grab my backpack and put it on the roof, so as to not over exert myself. We arrived at our destination 30 minutes later, I disembarked and made my way to my new home for the next two nights. After unpacking I found it strange that I couldn't find my ipod. I looked in all the pockets and all the wierd spots, but no ipod. Strange, I thought, because I was sure I had packed it, in fact, it was near the top of my backpack. Hmmmm. So that was why the captain wanted it on top of the lancha, so he could get his hands on anything of value without anyone noticing. I phoned the previous nights hotel, just to make sure I hadn't left it in the room. They were extremely nice during my stay and I had no doubts to their honesty. They asked me if I had put my bag on the top of the lancha, which I did, and that made up their minds that that was what had happened to my ipod. Apparently, it is a well know fact among locals, that if you want to buy something on the "black market" on the lake, the lancha boys are where you go, they can get their hands on anything you need, if they don't already have it.
It had only been 45 minutes since I arrived, so I thought I would go down to the dock and see if I could buy my Ipod back. I'm here for another 4 months so having music would be very helpful on those long lazy nights in the jungle. I made my way down and introduced myself to the boys, telling them I misplaced my ipod on the lancha and if it had been found that I would happily pay the person handsomely. They immediately were suspicious of me and said they had not heard of anything but I should talk to Alejandro because he was "the man" on the docks. Alejandro turned out to be very helpful and felt confident, with the information I had given him, and the fact that I was willing to pay a "reward" to the finder, my electronic device could be found. Money makes the world go 'round, right? He told me to return to the docks the next afternoon and he would see what he could do. I sweetened the deal telling him I would give him, personally, a bottle of Jack Daniels simply for locating the thing. I had heard that Jack was hard to get down here and that it was worth a boatload per bottle. Besides I have been dragging around the extra weight for the previous 4 weeks and have not had the opportunity to rid myself of the extra weight, yet.
The next afternoon came and I returned to the docks with the small hope that I would not suffer in musical silence for the next four months of my journey. Unfortunately, Alejandro told me that no captains had found any ipods of any sort and that it was "bad luck". I'm not trying to paint an unrealistic picture of ol' Alejandro here, he seemed like the kind of guy that lived by the mantra, 'nothing happens on these docks without me knowing about it'. A Guatemalan mafioso, if you will. Regardless, I was shit out of luck and started my short walk home when, lo and behold, an amigo tells me he has seen this mini computer machine of mine, and that he could get it back for me for a mere 400Q ($50). He told me, and I quote, "a junkie sold it to my narcotrafficer buddy for coke and he would be happy to sell it back to me for the 400Q ($50) of product he traded away for it". I was truely amazed (insert sarcasm here) that this random amigo would know exactly where it was, how it had gotten there and how much it would cost to get back my beloved ipod. I was waiting for him to lead me to the basement of The Alamo where it was right next to Pee Wee's bike. I was feeling rather adventurous so I said I would go with him and pay the randsom. We hopped on his motorcycle and were off to the town center to make a call. He talked to his friend for a minute, then gave me the phone where I agreed to pay the 400Q if he, indeed had my ipod and we would meet in the town center, next to the church (I am not making this up, here's a picture of it) to make the handoff.

Back on the bike and we sped to the church, only we took a wrong turn and ended up on a small dirt road. The funny part was that my new found amigo told me his name twice on the journey and both times they were different names. First Armando, then something like Lionel. I asked him which it was, and he said his name was actually Armando Lionel Hernandez. Some friends called him Armando and some called him Lionel, just to clear up any cofusion. This is the exact kind of stuff that any person with an ounce of street smarts would tell you not to do, go off with a stranger in a strage town. This is how people get hurt. Possibly so, but I had less than 50Q on me, nothing of value and, like I said, I was feeling adventurous. But not adventurous in the American Hero, 'i'm gonna take on the whole town and karate chop my way to glory while retrieving my ipod' kind of way, but more in the English 'slightly drunk in the afternoon, amused at the trouble someone would go through for $50 (27 Quid), let's see where this tom foolery takes us, nonchalant' kind of way.
Back to the slightly deserted dirt road. Oh, and before there, as we were driving to his friend the narcotrafficers' house, he said that that house was right accross the bridge. But before we made it to the bridge, we did a 180 and he said that another way was faster. This was the moment I found it hard not to laugh. Now, on the dirt road he stops and tells me to get off and wait here, give him the money and he'll be back in 5 minutes, licketysplit. I said I would happily pay for the ipod when I saw it but i was not gonna pay until I saw it. He stated that I couldn't go to the narcotrafficers house because then I would know where he lived and then I could, conceivably, tell the police. Again I said no. Then he said to give him half the money and he would return. I declined. OK, 100Q then the rest on return. I said no, only when i see my ipod. At this point, I think he saw that I knew what was what and he sped off. It took me 5 minutes to walk back to my hotel, laughing the whole way. Now, it sucks not having music and I hate getting ripped off like that, but the whole experience of the Guatemalan dock working mafioso, my all knowing amigo on the motorcycle and his reclusive narcotrafficing buddy was definitely worth losing the ipod. I mean, if I could have had those experiences and still had the ipod, I would defintely prefer that, but all things considered, it was a pretty hilariously foolish day.

This is totally disconnected, but when I got to my hotel, these rules were posted. #2 is priceless, my favorite, by far!

a few chicken buses

As previously promised these are, but a few, examples of the infamous chicken bus. The one above says "God, help me!", but not in the "Oh my god!" kind of way, more like, "Lord give me strength!" kind of way. The one below has the name "Virgen del Carmen" which is a patron saint, I can only assume. I make this assumption due to the machismo of the chicken bus driver, as a mythical figure, who would never admit that he had not done the deed with his loved lady friend, so loudly on the front of his steed (so to speak). So, girls and religious figures seem to be the themes here. I think my new hobby is collecting photos of chicken busses. Many more to come!

i didn't have to use my A.K., today was a good day!

Just like the Ice Cube song says! But let me set up the day first. Yesterday I made my way accross the lake to a tiny town called San Marcos. San Marcos is a town of about 3000 people. There is a big mix here, seemingly 50% locals and 50% tourists and expats... tons of expats. San Marcos has the reputation of being a hippie town (why do I always find myself in these towns) as there are a few meditation and yoga centers/retreats here. There is one road, to speak of, and the rest of town consists of paths, mostly dirt, but the main path is stone and concrete. The paths aren't even wide enough for two people to pass each other without turning their shoulders to avoid a collision. All the paths are under a canopy of bannana trees and strange, broad leaved, tall plants. The town gets its' water from natural springs apparently, so they don't have quite the same worries that other towns here on the lake have (with the quality of the water). I stayed in a hostel last night, in a tiny room that I had to climb a ladder into, which was over the kitchen. This is by far the most "interesting" room with the worst bed, I have stayed in on this trip. The bed would be laughed at by 20 year old futons if they had the chance. Besides the room, the bed, the chanting til way after dark (from the meditation center I can only hope) and the tiny streetlight (pathlight) that shone through the curtains all night, I actually didn't sleep half bad.
First thing in the morning, I went to check out a lakeside hotel called Hostel del Lago and found a super cool place! The property is flanked by a metal statue of Don Quixote riding Rocinante, so it couldn't be too bad, right?

Some recent American expats had just bought the property less than a month ago and are in the process of doing some repairs and putting on a new coat of paint. The property goes right up to the lake with gorgeous views of two volcanoes on the other side. They have tons of cool plants and nicely manicured grass, and I must say, I do love walking around in the grass barefoot!
After throwing my bag in my room, I went to the local market (which is 2 Mayan ladies on opposite sides of the street) and bought some veggies and supplies. I got 2 big roma tomatoes, a jalapeno, small onion, 1 whole bulb of garlic, a local bell pepper looking thing, an avocado and a cucumber, then went to the little store 10 yards away and got a pound of regular ol' pasta, a small thing of shredded mozzerella and a tiny thing of olive oil and spent $6. I'm pretty sure I got ripped off in the process, but getting ripped off at these prices is cool with me. I then made a little lunch that's probably gonna last me 3 or 4 meals, sort of a spagetti with garlic olive oil sauce with fresh veggies type of thing. The coolest part is that the hotel has this outdoor kitchen that is covered and huge with tons of plants all around. After chowing and smelling like garlic (I cant believe I used the whole bulb!) I sat in a hammock and read/slept/zoned out for 3 or 4 hours.

Sitting in the shade, listening to the little waves lap on the shore, the wind in the bamboo trees above me and slightly rocking in the hammock was awesome. I know it sounds a bit dainty... but it really was delightful! Then about 6 Guatemalan kids on the other side of the fence, 15 yards away started yelling, "El Gringo!" and "Manos arriba!" as they shouted, "Bang! Bang!" and shot me dead with their sticks. Actually, i'm pretty sure I died about 15 times because we continually acted as if we were in the wild west, shooting at each other. Apparently taking refuge behind a hammock is not adequate cover. Just when I thought they had gotten bored with me, back they came for more.

It's funny thing because at the time I was reading Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. It's a story about a 12 year old kid and his brother enjoying the simple pleasures of summer: running barefoot in the grass, playing kick the can in the evening, buying new sneakers (believing that they were twice as fast with their new sneaks on), enjoying summer picnics with the family all the while dreading the autumn. When the little local kids ambushed me with their stick guns.... let's just say I don't believe in coincidence.
As if that were not a overly enjoyable afternoon, I started hearing short, loud, precise whitstles off in the distance, followed by children yelling and I Immediately knew what the sounds were. I made my way around a ravine, down a small dirt foot path and through a bunch of trees, follwing the whistles until I found the soccer game. It really wasn't a game, things were too casual, more of a scrimmage as the coaches were stopping the game too often to give the 10 to 12 year old boys instruction. I watched them play on the dirt field and couldn't help feeling like alittle kid again. I made my way back to the hotel right as the darkness was taking hold. The owners of the hotel had asked me if I would want a sauna later in the evening and i replied of course, I would.
We had talked earlier in the day, getting aquainted, and they were telling me about some of the cool features of the property. They had fired up the Mayan sauna for me and it was ready to go. I guess the idea behind the Mayan sauna is similar to the sweatlodges of the American Indian. I hear they both had spiritual meaning and bonding connotations, I don't know anything about that, I just know a sauna is hot and sweats out the bad stuff!
It is a small igloo looking thing made of big stones with concrete and mud type plaster to fill the cracks. It had an oil barrel drum with one side open to stoke the fire with wood. The open side facing the outside, so the smoke could escape, and the closed off end cemented halfway into the inside. It felt like a real, live sauna (maybe because it was) and before I knew it I was sweating like a whore in church! Man, was that awesome! After a good 45 minute sweat, they came to the door to make sure I was ok. I figured it was about time to get out also, so I jumped into a freezing cold shower and stood under water til I stopped sweating. Not just a good day, a fantastic day!

earthquake

I experienced my first earthquake the other morning! It was about 8:30am or so, I was lying in bed and I felt the bed start to shake and heard the wood and concrete creaking as a towel on the wall swayed back and forth. It wasn't a big one by any means and it only lasted 5 or 10 seconds, but it was my first time. I only found out this morning because I haven't seen a paper in a week. Apparently it was centered off the Pacific coast of Guatemala by 20km or so. No damage to report and it seems most people didn't even notice it it was so small. At first I thought it was an earthquake, then remembered that I was sleeping 2km from the top of a volcano, so I figured it might have been the mountain rumbling. I ran outside to see if there was bubbling hot lava and smoldering ash headed my way, just like in the 1970's disaster flicks but no such thing. I didn't think much more about it until this morning when the proprietor of the hotel was talking about it. I'm sure my California friends are laughing at me now, but it was a first for me, so I thought it was cool.
Lucky for me, apparently Jesus is the "mister" of San Pedro, see for yourself! But it's possible i'm not translating that properly.

san pedro la laguna

I spent the last few nights at San Pedro La Laguna on Lake Atitlan. Its a pretty cool little town on the far side of a big lake. To get there, you have to go to a town on the near side of the lake, about 10 miles from the highway, then take a water taxi shuttle for about 30 minutes to the other side. The lake is surrounded by a few volcanoes lots of mountains that get about 1000 feet above the surface of the water. The town itself is riddled with expats from all over the place who just can't seem to leave. I even got to watch a NFL playoff game where the play by play was in Spanish. That was hilarious!
Apparently the lake here has become infamous for an algae bloom over the past few years. It is compared to the Chesapeake Bay 20 years ago, when industrial waste and toxic chemicals were dumped into the bay until almost every living thing in the bay died. The good thing about Lake Atitlan is that it is much more of a closed system, with about 100,000 to 150,000 people living around the lake as opposed to the Chesapeake Bay, that has millions living upstream and along the bay contributing to the problem. So the problem is contained a bit more than the Chesapeake, only there dosn't seem to be a group of people who have gotten together to fix the problem.... yet. There have been some researchers from The University of California @ Davis that have been studying samples, testing the algae and such but no one seems to have addressed the cause of the problem or a way to go about fixing it. The US has donated some money to the effort but, alas, the money has

mysteriously "vanished". According to a few locals, McDonalds has offered to donate a bunch of money as well, but the locals are very wary of the strings that are said to be attached to any deal. And the guatemalan government doesn't seem to be too prepared to fix the problem either. I suppose time will tell. The good news is that it is really a bit too cold to swim or use the lake at present, so i'm really not missing out on anything. And much like people used the Chesapeake for sailing and other activities when it was sick, people can still enjoy certain outdoor activities here, as well. Also, the colder winter weather has suppressed the algae at the time being and it couldn't be prettier from above the surface.
So, all in all, i'm enjoying myself, just doing a lot of reading, hanging out on the hammocks you see here and watching TV in Espanol! Viva la relaxation!

davin's list: episode 1

Davin is a good friend of mine. We share very similar tastes in music, had the pleasure of working together for a few years, and have had a good time travelling with each other a few times. He has been to Guatemala and Central America on a few occasions over the past decade and when he heard I was going, he sent me an email of things I need to do while i'm here. Throughout my journey, on slow days, I will try to cross said things off his list and report about them here. By the way, Davin is probably the funniest person I know who doesn't care if anyone else thinks he's funny. Which, in my mind, makes him all the more hilarious.
Back to the list. The first thing on my list was to try to buy a chicken. And yes... that's a live chicken. So I figure, why not? I had a few hours to kill this afternoon, so I went to the local market to try to buy a new pet. My Spanish is really pretty basic, mind you, which is where it gets funny, of course.
First of all, you need to understand that the markets here are not like any market in the U.S. They are dirty, chaotic, crowded, uncomfortable, pushy... basically, everything that mainstream America has come to despise (while shopping for sanitary items). You can buy anything at the markets here: DVD's (of the movie that comes out next week), towels, toiletries, kitchen appilanes, porno magazines, tacos, clothes, jewelry, vegetables, fireworks, more tacos, meat, and anything you could possibly think of. There are many stalls that sell similar things and they are all sectioned off together, much like you might expect. That is to say, you have 20 butcher stalls in the same area, next to 40 vegetable stalls, next to 100 porno stalls and so on and so forth. Somehow I found my way to the butcher section, and tried to find a live chicken. Before you get your hopes up, let me kill the suspense and let everyone know that I came nowhere close to buying a live chicken. Not only that, but i'm pretty sure that the guy I talked to at the butcher stand thought that I wanted to eat a dog or cat. Which was totally my fault, due to my poor Spanish skills. The conversation started out well enough, but when the butcher tried to sell me a whole chicken, ready to roast in the oven, somehow the conversation turned to cats and dogs. Again, this was completely my fault! When he thought I wanted a whole chicken, I tried to make him understand that I wanted a LIVE chicken, with feathers and everything. Only, I don't know the word for feathers, so, in my panic at not being understood, I said something to the extent of me wanting a chicken for a pet, sort of like a cat or dog. Only, I don't know the word for pet, which is where (i'm pretty sure) that he thought I wanted to eat a cat or dog because he told me that he only sold chickens in his stall. Regardless, something got lost in translation, and I pretty much ran away, totally embarrased by the situation.
But, I swear to you that, someday soon, I will get a picture of me and my chicken. I'm still not sure what I might do with it once I get one, but I feel very determined. I know I keep promising pictures, but I swear that more will come, I was just too embarresed to get a picture this time. When victory comes, you will be the first to see my chicken! But, just so you know, i'm not gonna name it because I don't want to get too attatched. I'll probably just give it to a local, or something.
In conclusion, everyone who reads this blog will be kept up to date when i'm foolish enough to knock another one of Davin's things off the list. So, you got that going for you, which is nice...

chicken bus

It was a very exciting day for me today. Given, I am relatively new to this country, but today I rode my very first chicken bus! It may not sound like much, but these ex-elementary school buses are an experience in an of themselves. Each one is styled out to the nines including pimped out paint jobs with nicknames of the cities/routes they serve, and adorned with the ladies names that the drivers love with all their hearts, these monsters of the Guatemalan highway cannot be stopped. No, i'm serious, they stop for nothing. They don't stop for speed bumps, highway patrolmen, or sharp curves that mark the mountainous landscape. These chicken buses are the Top Gun F-16's of Guate. The only thing they stop for is the odd person on the side of the road that waves them down. The way it works is that the driver, usually the more senior of the crew, tries as hard as he can to keep his foot on the gas, never, if possible, using the break between routes. The second in command (we'll call him 'Number 2') tends to be a younger apprentice, of sorts. His job is to stand on the steps yelling the route that they are travelling, so would be travellers will know the correct bus to hop on. After people have situated themselves in a seat and the bus has cleared any major population, 'Number 2' goes through the bus collecting fares. Also, along the way, travellers will be randomly picked up at any small town or juction. Actually, they will stop to pick up anyone at any point along the trek. Inevidably, people along the trip will have large packages or luggage that needs to be secured on the roof of the bus. Not only will 'Number 2' secure packages on top, collect joiners fares and continue to yell out the destinations of the bus, but he will do most of this as the bus is travelling at break neck speed. Wait... let me give you an example to make this perfectly clear. Let's say Jose needs to catch a bus from his hometown (a tiny peublo). Jose goes to the highway and flags down our bus. 'Number 2' lets Jose aboard, takes his large package and the bus takes off at full speed. 'Number 2' is only beginning to climb the ladder on the back of the bus at this moment, with the package in hand. As the bus accelerates, 'Number 2' ties down the parcel on the roof closest to the front of the bus, works his way to the back of the roof, climbs down the ladder and enters the bus through the back emergency exit (whose loud warning signal has been disabled, of course) to return to the inside of the bus. At this point, the bus has been at full speed for 2 minutes and is back to taking corners with reckless abandon. Our brave 'Number 2' is now running to the front of the bus to, once again, yell to possible clients our destination. All the while our friend Jose has been resting, dreaming of his family back in the small pueblo. Indiana Jones has nothing on these guys.
My trip consisted of 3 different chicken buses. The first was from Antigua to Chimaltenango. Chimaltenango is merely a transportation hub of a city as far as I could tell. At that point the first 'Number 2' yelled at me (calling me 'Gringo') to get my stuff together because it was time to transfer. By the time I got off, the first 'Number 2' had located my second 'Number 2' and pushed me into the direction I needed to go, literally. The second 'Number 2' grabbed my backpack and ran onto the bus, putting my bag in the overhead compartment, continuing to run out of the emergency exit in back to help more customers with the transfer. With the precision of NASCAR pit crews, busses were unloaded and loaded with, seemingly, no one on the wrong bus. Same thing happened with the second transfer in a place called Cuatro Caminos. My only shock came when I got on the third bus and the driver looked all of 15 years of age. I must have had a terrified look in my eyes because he yelled at me "!Sientate, Gringo!", which is a command to sit down. Not wanting to dissapoint my (recently) post-pubescent driver, I quickly found a seat and before I knew it, I was in my destination, Xela (shay-la), no worse for wear. I have no idea why, but I am completely exhausted from my 4 hour journey. Perhaps I have a case of the 'Gringo Backseat Driver Syndrome', who knows. Pics to follow.

hippie haven

Yesterday I made my way up to this little mountain party about 10km (I feel so Euro using kilometers) from Antigua. A few expats got together and created a little commune on the top of an avocado farm. The site sits on top of a bluff overlooking the valley with three volcanoes as a postcard view. It really is stunning and the pictures do no justice. Believe me, those are plumes of ash coming from the volcano!

They have hand built a few cabins and "treehouses". Some are private and some are dorm style. They also have a staff of about 5 or 6 internationals that help them run the place for free room and board. On Sundays they have an afternoon BBQ with a little band, hamburgers, beer and shuttles that bring people up and down from Antigua. It was a great little time and after most of the revellers returned to civilization, they have a family style dinner for the guests, workers and anyone else that has missed a ride or decided to crash in a hammock (costing a whopping $3). They compost everything and really try to make a positive impact on the local community. During happy hour they donate 1 quetzal of each drink to the local elementary school. They also do volunteer projects with the school, trying to improve their quality of teachers and donate supplies for the classroom. It was a very good time in a killer setting. I will say that, once the sun went down, it got really cold. I went to bed around 9pm and jumped under the covers. It must have gotten down to 32 degrees with the wind ripping through the trees. Luckily they had tons of blankets on the beds.
My pillowcase had a picture of a Ferrari on it. If you look closely at the picture below, you can see it.

Needless to say I dreamt of driving fast cars, being blown off the mountain roads by hurricane force winds. Amazingly each time the Ferrari I was driving was blown so far off the moutainside that it landed on the next road without losing a beat. I slept like a little kid.

This afternoon I went for a hike by myself in the surrounding mountains. They say it is very safe, as the locals know that any white boy, like myself, that happens to be walking the trails of the mountains must be staying at the "casa de los gringos". Since the hippies here do so much for the local school and employ 4 or 5 locals for cleaning and cooking, the locals are allright with gringos. Good thing too, cuz when I rounded the corner in a bit of forrest and saw an old man hacking at the foliage with his machete, I had second thoughts of hiking by myself. He was really happy to see me though, even offered me half of his orange. I politefully declined but felt compelled to offer him some of my water, which he poiltefully refused. Then we parted ways and I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. After I met my machete weilding friend I came upon a local coffee finca (plantation). Apparently this particular plantation is owned by one of the old money families in the area. The overseer's daughter is employed by the hippie hotel as well, so I felt like I was in like Flynn. I ran into this overseer and he told where a cool overlook was, where a nice bench was. A good resting point on the hike. He also told me to keep an eye on Volcan Fuego, which had been belching up some ash at regular intervals all day. Walking through the coffee finca was super cool. The grounds were immaculate and each coffee plant had tons of little red and orange beans inside their full, bushy green leaves. I made way way back to the hippie hotel, stopping to see the volcano burp up ash along the way. The name of the hippie hotel, by the way, is Earth Lodge. Besides the name, I have no complaints.

reading books

I've been doing a bit of reading so far, I mean, how many times can you run around and see the sights and do things and meet people, right? I need some down time, and I defintiely don't have all the comforts of home, so reading is a natural, low impact option. And by low impact I mean to say that a book doesn't weigh too much and packs quite a lot of hours of entertainment (per square inch). Just finished my second book of the year, it was Milan Kundera's "The Book of Laughter and Forgetting". One quote really jumped out at me, although I had heard it many times before from a friend.

"Every love relationship rests on an unwritten agreement unthinkingly concluded by the lovers in the first weeks of their love. They are still in a kind of dream but at the same time, without knowing it, are drawing up, like uncompromising lawyers, the detailed clauses of their contract. O lovers! Be careful in those dangerous first days! Once you've brought breakfast in bed you'll have to bring it forever, unless you want to be accused of lovelessness and betrayal."

I like that quote but when i read it I immediatedly thought of Seinfeld. I don't know why but the show popped in my head, and I saw him talking to a new girlfriend randomly saying, "Pizza. Why do they call it 'pizza'? Doesn't make you pee, makes you poop. Should call it 'poopza'". Then he just stared at her as if he was waiting for a reply, kind of smiling.
I don't know what's wrong with me.

volcan pacaya

Yesterday I went on little hike up one of the few active volcanoes in the country. You have to go guides because, apparently, tourists have gotten mugged and worse on their way up to the lava flow. That's me sporting my post-farmer redneck look with the John Deere tshirt. The lava was flowing from the smaller cone to the right, which is where we hiked to. It took about 1 hour drive to get to the starting point and the hike was some good cardio, but not a really technical climb. The group was made up of 2 Italians, 1 Argentinian, 2 Germans, 3 Canadians, 3 Brits, 1 Aussie, the guide, myself and one hippie guy that refused to talk to anyone. He was in his mid twenties but I swear he was average teenage malcontent. I'm pretty sure he was American. We got to the lava flow (which was 500 feet below the top of the volcano) right as the sun was getting ready to set. We didnt get to see the flow at night, but its probably all the better because safety didn't really seem to be a concern to anyone. A nice Canadian couple that was on the hike made the comment that they saw a volcano in Hawaii, but only got within 100 yards of the lava flow. There were no such precautions on this volcano. Walking over the hardened lava you could feel random flashes of heat that were being released from the rock. you had the feeling that there were only a few yards of rock between you and the lava, but I'm not a Volcanologist so I don't know just how far down the molten rock was, I just know it was hot! Those hot waves, contrasted with the chilly evening breeze was pretty cool. So, we got to a small peak and 5 feet away was the lava. It really jumped up on you because you werent expecting it to be coming out of the side of the mountain, or at least I wasnt. You could get as close to the flow as you wanted, but the heat was unbearable within five feet. In this pic I'm laughing because I'm yelling at my newfound friend Clarence because he wasn't taking the picture fast enough and I was burning up. In fairness, it wasnt his fault because I was the one who chose to stand too close to melted rock. Lesson learned.

On the way down we got about 100 yards from the starting point when our guide took us on a detour through a forest. We kept on going for about 45 minutes, mostly downhill, until we met up with the little shuttle bus. We weren't sure why we had taken the detour until we rounded the corner and came upon a snack cart that was selling sodas, beers and chips. It made sense since any kind of tourist thing you do in developing countries always has about 20 people with different ideas on how they can get a few extra bucks out of you. My favorite was the 6 year old super cute girl that caught the post teenage malcontent in a moment of weakness. As we reached the tiny village of snack carts and shuttle buses that was our destination, the girl asked him if she could carry the malcontents flashlight for him the rest of the way down the mountain. he said ok, the girl walked 10 steps around the corner with him and put her hand out demanding the equilvelant to $1, as we were at the end of the hike. He was shocked and a bit angry at being duped, so he refused. The cute little girl turned into a tyrant and started poking him in the stomach demanding her wage. He had no chance and gave in quickly. Luckily he was walking right in front of me on the path so I had a front row seat to the show.

new years festivities.... loco!

I had heard that Antigua, Guatemala blew up on New Years... but I had no idea. I began my night a little after sundown and found a steady stream of cars flowing into town from every direction. Imagine the Super Bowl where everyone drives seperately, arrives at the same time and the streets are made of cobblestone. That's right, i said cobblestone. Nonsense! Tomfoolery! Ballyhoo! These words do not come close to the kind of foolishness that pervaded this town a few nights ago.
I decided to start my night off at the local irish pub, but the street was mobbed, so I decided to go to Rikki's Bar instead. Rikki's Bar was jam packed at capacity (30 people) and the Tejano band was just getting into full swing. The all Latino population of the club was astonished that I came there, and even more shocked when I stayed. After 30 minutes I was having flashbacks of my work nightmares where I was chained to the deep fryer while 62 Mexicans and 1 Salvadoran forced me to listen to their ranchero music, keeping me awake for 48 hours straight at a time, not letting me go until I could recite, word for word, each line of every song they played. Every time I had this dream I would wake up in a hot sweat, cottonmouthed and craving taquitos. I never could figure out what that dream meant.
So I moseyed on up the street to El Muro. This was a little dive bar that was off the beaten path and pretty tame. The people working there seemed to be drinking more than the 9 customers, so immediately I had a good feeling about the place. After chatting up the bar staff I made my way to Cafe No Se. More of an expatriate bar than a local haunt, it had some interesting folks and a two man guitar outfit that definitely thought the best hairstyle ever was Yanni circa 1995. these fellas had some nice hair that was taken care of as if Yanni himself were gonna be in the audience. And they had a habit of winking at all the white girls. To those young men I must say, "Well played boys... well played indeed!"
That brings me to the crazyness. These guatemalans love fireworks. There were more fireworks going off throughout the night than the entire New York City Fourth of July show. And all you too proud New Yorkers who don't live in New York anymore, hear me out first before you exile me to the Jersy Shore. Sure, NYC might have the newest and greatest fireworks (and tons of them), but the guy on the streetcorner at Calle 2 Sur and Avenida 7 Oriente had a good 5% of New York's arsenal in his personal stash. And there 5000 more just like that guy. Fireworks were so plentiful that people were still lighting them up at 8am. Either they hadn't used them up or they hadn't gone to bed. It was a pretty big party because the lady who owned my hotel didnt even get out of bed until 3pm. She preferred to sleep it off than to check in new guests. She just put on the no vacancy sign and said adios! Those 70 year old little guatemalan ladys sure know how to party! All in all, a pretty fun way to start the new year. 2010, you're allright with me.