Gringotenango

This is more of the 'Hugely Diverse' series where I try to move on from talking about the the trip to the beach to our experience at Lago Atitlan, the huge, high altitude lake in the middle of the western highlands of Guatemala.
Our last day at the beach was low key, more frijoles and huevos and about an hour laying out. This lovely relaxing time was followed by a short jaunt through the mangrooves and a stop in the small town. The first bus of the day was very pleasant as there was hardly anyone else on. The second bus, from Coatepeque to Xela, was the complete opposite and was actually pretty hellish. It was completely packed and completely packed for a chicken bus means pure, chaotic insanity. I'll give you a small visualization: Picture the inside of a normal North American schoolbus and now picture ten people sitting across each row of seats. Not physically possible you say? Apparently it is. Now imagine that there is a person also standing in between each row of seats. OK and then there was me. All of the passenger buses have a convenient handrail nailed to the ceiling of the bus following the center aisle. For about a third of the hour and half ride I hung from that lovely bar. Oh it was a hoot. It is these sorts of bus rides (I have had many but none to such a degree) that make me think there must be a different sort of common courtesy in Guatemala than exists in Canada. Originally, immediately after the novelty of these rides wore off, the thought occurred to me that maybe common courtesy doesn't exist here at all, but luckily I'm an aptly trained anthropologist and I realized that really it isn't the best manners to judge a whole country as barbaric, especially as I haven't seen every single bus and until I have seen them all I can't draw that conclusion with any real academic authority. But I do often ponder the everyday unwritten social policies that I see being implemented here. Vancouver, for example, is one of the most heavily socially policed places I have been and not that I've been many places but I am well trained in the sort of common courtesy they uphold there and in fact I realize that I have even embraced the system wholeheartedly and have become one of the most relentless social cops that I know. Ahem. Yes I am glaring at you. You who appears to be refusing to give up your seat for that mother and small child. No, I will not stop glaring at you, young man who seems to be going home after a hard day of sitting on your ass behind the counter at the bank, until you get off your tush and give her your seat. So here it blows my mind that people will allow for the bus to become so uncomfortably packed. I mean, why? I know that it appears to be up to the driver who is in fact the one making the money and of course will do everything he needs to to get more income in the next twenty minutes, but really it's the people who decide to cram themselves on and stay quiet the whole time. So then it's a matter of choice; people choose to make themselves suffer then. They see the bus is full but they have to get somewhere so they cram themselves on and they can't think too much about the comfort of others because if they did that then they would never get to where they needed to go. So then it's a matter of choice which is an interesting concept here; by this argument people are choosing to stay quiet and uncomfortable and dangerously packed on buses instead of demanding another form of transit. Hmmmm... And who exactly is going to listen to people if they chose instead to make outlandish demands for a safer, more comfortable way to get around? The government? Ha! (again) Ha! These rough, cheap types of services are developed to suit the needs of people that aren't being met. People are poor in Guatemala, that is undeniable and true of 95% of the population. Poor people need to get around too. The government ultimately doesn't give a shit about how people get around or even that they need to so they can't be looked to for answers. When people are poor they get creative and the chicken bus system I think came from these needs. And the buses are actually organized. There are companies and routes and schedules and drivers and ayudnates (the helpers who as the driver drives herds people on and takes their luggage and throws it in the top and gives the driver the most up to date traffic information: GO NOW!). They are so organized in fact that they are the targets of some pretty hefty violence at the moment. Somebody wants something from the bus companies and so far the national press is being extremely vague about who is doing targeting and why. Tons of drivers have been assassinated in the capital in the past month and there have been innocents killed in the cross fire. It is actually pretty scary right now because the crime is escalating and there seems to be no rhyme or reason which makes it difficult to predict and avoid.
Basically, I think that the unique form of common courtesy here is the result of thirty years of civil and dirty war. I think generally people know that to survive while on the road they need to be foremostly concerned with their own safety. They also need to use what systems have developed in this country to do what they need to do and those systems are organic in their form. Being organic means they weren't developed in a fancy office in a foreign firm like many of the public infrastructure systems we have in Vancouver. It means people saw a need and filled in the most efficient way they could without help from the church or state. In this case it was the need for public transit and the solution was to convert cheap vehicles deemed waste by the materialistically excessive neighbor to the north into functional people movers and to plow along frequently and at high speeds.
So though my ride from the beach was crazy, I haven't totally lost my love for travelling by chicken bus and actually the next ride I took on one these demons was to the lake after two days of recuperating in Xela.
The ride to the lake was much more calm. Me and Shira left on a Wednesday. We left kind of late which made for some running around later in the day. We ate breakfast together in a house near the school and our hostel in Xela with a woman named Doña Yoly. She hosts students for family stays and she also cooks breakfasts and lunches for other students and teachers for a small price. It is a lovely way to never have to cook for one's self. I don't know much about her so I can't unfortunately give you much details about her but she is super sweet and cooks up a storm. Meals are three course affairs including a drink and gum to finish everything off and we pay about two dollars for everything. So that was of course a fun way to start the day. We hung out, finished laundry, did some interenting, bought a 'wedding present' for our friends who we were to meet at the lake and packed until we finally left to catch the 1pm bus to the lake. We missed it because of the crazy process that I have to go through to take out money from ATMs since all of my money was stolen. To those I haven't talked to about this: yes my money was stolen from within my account and it is a long boring story that if you really want to hear email me and I will give you the full shake down (basically it wasn't violent, I'm fine and I have money to travel for a bit more and get home). We had an hour to kill at that point and decided to get lunch. We made the most intelligent well thought out decision we could about food and ate right out of a woman's bowl standing next to dozens of moving buses while dogs licked the ground at our feet. I don't remember exactly what we ate there but it was delicious and I'm still here to tell the story. The bus to lake was mixed. It was not full so we had plenty of space and the views coming down on the lake were incredible but the driver was probably clinically insane and drove in a really risky painful fashion the whole way. It was nice to get off and touch solid ground after that one. One memorable part of the trip occurred when we got closer to the town and many passangers had gotten off I brightly observed that the driver was speaking to someone in an indigenous language. I leaned over to Shira and informatively brought it to her attention that the driver wasn't 'speaking english'. Duh. That one got hours of uncontrollable laughter out of us (clearly it doesn't take much with us). Ok I realize that's not that funny to read but just trust me, it was hilarious.
We got to San Pedro, a notoriously druggy hippy town on the lake and had to make haste because we needed to catch a boat to the town where our friends were. According to the rumours we had been subject to the boats only ran until late afternoon and we were approaching sunset at that point so we hustled to the dock and caught a 'lancha', as they're called, right before take off.
Now I want to give you a taste of my first impressions of the lake so as to give you an idea about what would make me want to say something as ungraceful as 'hugely diverse'. Coming from the coast only days earlier into this area was like entering another world. The landscape, the people, the towns, the general vibe were all just so different than anything I had come to know in Guatemala that it was enough to make my head spin and my eyes super wide. It all started with the descent into the lake valley on the bumpy bus ride and that first view of the lake was utterly spectacular. I didn't want to blink and I couldn't really say much else besides 'oh my god' and 'holy shit', as per my usual deeply nuanced verbalized observations. It was like we had been transported into some Mediterranean town in Greece or Italy that we see in magazines. The lake is big and I'm trying to think of something to compare it to... Oh! Imagine a totally round Okanagan Lake. It's big like that. The water is a shiny, perfect blue and steep volcanoes and mountains plunge into it at every shore. As we drove along we saw cultivated fields of growing vegetables that touched the water. There was an interesting combination of tropical plants such as papaya, avacado and palms along with pine and cedar trees. The towns we past through were really nice looking, like maybe there was more money in them for municipal cosmetic upkeep. And the closer we got to the water's edge the less Spanish we heard. There were Mayan languages being spoken all around us. I was startled at point while walking down to the lancha dock that three teenage boys passed us in their cool clothes and M-P3s and with their I'm-a-teenager-I-don't-care walks speaking their indigenous language! I almost cried. To see that in Canada would be like a miracle and cause for celebration. But they were cool about it while I was like shitting myself I was so happy. Then there were the gringos. We didn't see any until we got down to our boat and when a bunch got on with us. I had heard that I was supposed to prepare myself for the gringo onslaught that is the lake. I had heard and been warned and had been preparing myself. But really nothing could have prepared me, it was just something I needed to experience to understand. I hadn't seen the tourists until this point in my trip. I had heard they existed but I until I got to the lake I had been in a very comfortable Spanish-student bubble surrounded by conscientious people who spend their free time reflecting on the effects of globalization and being self-conscious about their position as visitors in Guatemala. I was doing pretty good and was pretty proud of myself for keeping it together until we finally got to our hostel. Me and Shira went up to the attendent at the front desk and quite without giving it a second thought began explaining to him that we had reservations and that we were meeting our friends who had come the day before. This we did in Spanish naturally despite the fact that he appeared not to be native. Nothing could have prepared me for the look he gave and thank god I was with Shira. He looked at us totally stupified, he had no idea what to do. We let the tension hang there for a moment before finally Shira brought relief by asking whether it would be easier in English. Looking back, it is absolutely histerical because as we came to find out there is very little Guatemala in those gringo-geared hostels and they can really become a bubble. Here is this guy who has been living in the bubble for what appears to be long enough to forget that he is in Guatemala completely and in walk two very comfortably Spanish-speaking gringas who need something. Pure shock. I kind of lost it after that and wouldn't shut up about how weird the place was. Poor Shira, she did very well in just letting me get it all out of my system, she had been through it before during her first trip to the lake so while she understood perfectly what I was going through I can't imagine that it was easy to listen to me. The hostel, despite its being in a bubble was beautiful and cheap which is everything we could've asked for. I felt like I had been transported to a Gulf Island. Roghly hewn wooden bedrooms scattered throughout the grounds, a homemade sauna, a common cafeteria that was painted beautifully and hearty Naam-style vegetarian food eaten family style in the evening. Really, we had landed in gringo fantasy land and in a way it was kind of nice despite being so surreal and freaky that we were all kind of losing it. We finally lost it so to speak when we went to the gringo capital of the lake Panajachel the next day just to check things out. We walked down the main street and were just bombarded with stuff. All kinds of stuff, stuff to buy, souveigniers that you can buy to prove that you were in Guatemala at some point for long enough at least to buy stuff. It was positively upsetting. The vendors are from villages all around the lake and they speak more english than spanish and to hear these people come up to us saying the words 'buy' and 'very nice' was sad. But more than sad, it was depressing and stressful. When sat down on the strip to eat lunch at a gringo vegetarian restaurant we watched as child-vendor after child-vendor came into the restaurant to show off their wares to us as we ate deliscious food right in front of them and they clearly hadn't eaten at the very least that day. There was another woman in the restaurant sitting close by us and she was quite nearly the essence of a culturally insensitive gringa. We watched with disgust as she interacted with the children in a way that was mutually manipulative, both trying to get something out of the other. This made all the more gross because she obviously had the power to decide what would happen to the kids. It was just horrible to see and we all kind of lost our appettites. We got back on the lancha to our hostel right after that stressed and overwhelmed. We promised oursleves we wouldn't subject ourselves to that again but during the night, one of our company became gravely ill. Liz (Doyle) had been sick for some time but thought she could somehow get over it but that night it became obvious that she wasn't getting better and that we needed to take action. Well that meant that first thing in the morning we would be going back to Panajachel to get some tests done in the medical center. We were fortunate to have a better experience of Pana that day because we were able to see another side of the town, the slightly less touristy side of the place. Liz was diagnosed with giardia so thank god we endured the trip back to get her fixed. she got some medecation and felt better only hours later. Whew. We had lunch back at the hostel and as we were eating in walks a special character. Weeks and weeks ago my friend Ali from Minneapolis wrote me a note to tell me that a kid from our class in high school was traveling in Guatemala and that he might be in the same place I was and that I should keep an eye out for him. I recognized the name but I couln't place the face so I didn't think anything of it. But while we were sitting there in a hostel in a small town around a high alttitude lake in western Guatemala, in walks this guy named Alex Farrel. Turns out he was hosting his mom and sister for a visit and they were traveling around but that indeed he is volunteering in the town that I am 'based' out of, Xela. Over the next couple of nights we hung out and talked and had the requisit high school remenicences. This Friday and later that night our friend Caitlin joined us and before dinner we went for a walk up the hill to the town of Santa Cruz. It was beautiful but we felt that we didn't want to overstep the tourist boundaries since not many it seems venture up there. We watched the sunset from an amazing viewpoint and were inspired to do an early morning walk around some of the lake the next morening. On saturday we went for an exploritory walk and saw more of the lake. We got to see some of the hippies in San Marcos doing their hippy things. That was just so surreal. A whole town of hippies from North America and Europe who get together in this town and do yoga and drugs and try to 'heighten' their spiritual consciousness while at the same time forgetting completely where they are and losing any trace of sociopolitical consciousness they may have had before they lost themselves in that strange bubble. We spent the rest of the day hanging out and had a minor dance party that night. Sunday was sad. It was my birthday but first thing in the morning I had had to say good bye to good friends. Liz D and Shira were leaving to begin their trip home via El Salvador and Nicaragua. It was sad to see them go because we had so much fun together and we made for good balanced travel buddies, we were able to have fun and also be reflective about what we were doing as gringas in Guatemala. I then had to say good bye to Caitlin who was back off to New York for a interview for law school. Finally with Alex Farrel I went back to Xela to set up shop again. I check the office at the school to see if by chance the package my dad had sent me four weeks earlier had made it and lo! It had! So on my birthday I got to open a birthday present which was really fun. Later, because Alex's mom had brought him his computer, we watched a movie (Slumdog Millionaire) that we bought on the street for two dollars. Then I crashed and I can't remeber what I did the next day (not alcohol related). more later hopefully...