November 1 is Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos), celebrated throughout Central America with visits to cemetaries. One town in Guatemala adopted its pre-conquest celebration of drunken horse races, held at the end of October and beginning of November for centuries, to the European holiday. Todos Santos Cuchumatan is located in an idyllic mountain setting in the Cuchumatan Mountains in northwest Guatemala. Most of the year the town is sleepy, with some tourists coming to do treks or take classes at the local Spanish school. Most of the residents do not speak Spanish, but rather the Mayan language of Mam. The teachers at the Spanish school tend to be westerners for whom Spanish is a second language. However, the last week of October the town comes into its own.
A week before the holiday the ferris wheel and arcade games come to down. The locals set up food booths and open their homes to the tourists.
All of the men in town wear modified jean jackets and red pants year-round. For Day of the Dead they get new outfits and shine their shoes. The men in town also start drinking in preparation for Day of the Dead. For seven days, the men will have a bottle of alcohol with them at all times and will drink generously. At night the men will gather and enjoy their drinking together. Additionally they will dance together. This is not the type of cultural dancing that will be performed at Hill Auditorium or Avery Fisher Hall. It is simple - the men bounce from one foot to the next in time with the marimba (Guatemala's ubiqitous instrument). I joined in with the local men and they loved the fact that a gringo was dancing with them. Actually, they loved it a bit too much and started fighting over who got to dance closest to me. Given that they had been drinking for about 5 days straight by that point, I decided it was best to quietly back away before a fist fight broke out.
On the 30th, the town announces who will be the festival queen for the year. She is accompanied by her court of two princesses. Queens from other towns come from around the country to bring their good wishes to Todos Santos and its queen. This is a rather interesting portion of the festivities because each queen delivers her remarks in her native Mayan language, none of which are understandable to Mam speakers. Also, 16-year-old girls don't have much to say and the Spanish portions of the speeches were all identical: 'I am very proud to represent my town. Guatemala is such a wonderful country because it is multiethnic. I bring the best wishes from my town and hope that Todos Santos has a great festival.' The ceremony also loses something when the electricity has gone out and no one can see or hear very well. After the speeches, the outside queens dance (the same hopping dance) in a circle around the Todos Santos Queen.
On the 31st, the horses are brought into the town square and introduced. The horses are rented from outside town and cost each team approximately $30, a large sum for a town where most of the people do not have formal employment but rather subsist off the land. Everyone gathers in the town square to get a look at the horses and riders this year.
The festivities continue the night of the 31st with marimbas playing throughout town and a big party at the captain's house. The captain is not elected or appointed. Basically, it is one of the wealthier men in town who says that he wants to be captain and he gets the honor of presiding over the festivities. The drinking continues through the night and intensifies.
The riders go to the race track (a strip of road about a 5-minute walk outside of town) at 4 am to participate in a Mayan religious ceremony. The origin of the races is from the Mayan religion, but much of the mythology has been lost, and the rituals are often not open to outsiders.
After the ceremony the men eat and prepare for the races. The men are dressed in their red pants and jean jackets. Additionally they are wearing headgear that looks like feathers. They also yelp in high voices. They have stayed up all night drinking. About 8 am, the races start and every one from town descends on the track. When I say races, keep in mind that the track is maybe 400 meters long and the riders are drunk. The object of the race is to last, not to finish first or fastest. In order to last, you have to stay on you horse, drunk, for 7 hours. (You can switch out with a teammate from time to time).
Falls are common. The track is narrow and horses bump into each other. Also, some riders fall off simply because they are drunk. The drunkenness is obvious. Riders are red in the face, the eyes are low, and they lose their balance. In the course of the two hours I watched, there were a dozen falls, but no deaths. It is considered bad luck if none of the riders dies. The previous year no one died. In 2008, prior to the races there was already at least one death, as during one of the pre-parties a local thug was stabbed to death by some other youngsters.
2008 marked the appearance of the first female rider. None of the teams would let her ride with them, so she formed her own team. In the end, though, I think she was pressured out of riding, as I didn't see her on the horse or in the staging area. I didn't stay all day, though, so she may have appeared later.
There is only so much drunken horse racing that I can take. Plus I had to get to Huehue in order to make it to Guatemala City for my flight. Since it was a national holiday and in particular the local holiday of the year, there was no bus service from Todos Santos. I hitched on the back of a truck after hiking for an hour. It was a lovely ride through the mountains and I had a great conversation with the members of the local film crew from Huehue who were riding in the back with me. It was their first visit to Todos Santos as well. They got the footage they needed and then headed out of town.
martes, 18 de noviembre de 2008
viernes, 31 de octubre de 2008
Nebaj
The town of Nebaj located in the Cuchumatanes mountains. It currently has about 25,000 residents. The population increased greatly during the civil war in the 80s and 90s. At that time the military moved the residents of nearby, smaller villages into Nebaj, so that it could have better control over the people. Four or five families would live together in each house. Many people died of illness at that time because they were exposed to new diseases and poor living conditions.
The guerrilla forces also had a significant presence in the area around Nebaj. They would camp out in the forested hillsides and antagonize the military, which had difficulty locating them. The guerrillas gained control of the road leading out of Nebaj. The military ended up building a new road that they could control and that is the road that is used today. The residents of Nebaj came to tire of both the military and the guerrillas - it was not their fight, yet both sides demanded support from them.
I hiked from Nebaj to the nearby town of Acul - a muddy, but beautiful 4-hour hike. Acul was completely rebuilt during the civil war. The military installed it as its first "development center." This meant that residents were not allowed to leave Acul, as it was run like a concentration camp. The military forced all of the men and most of the women to serve as a civil patrol over Acul. They were given weapons, but only billy clubs, and were expected to follow the orders of the military in keeping control in the town.
In one famous incident, the civil patrol saw flashlights coming down the mountain. Since no one was supposed to be approaching town at that time, and the civil patrol had orders to protect the town, the civil patrol used the few guns they had to defend against the intruders. It turns out that the intruders were part of the military, who had to return to Nebaj. The military was going to attack the town and massacre the people and make it look like the guerrillas had done the attack. But the people of Acul were too proud and brave to allow themselves to be massacred.
Today Nebaj and Acul are quiet towns set in lovely mountain settings. They are healing from their recent past and moving forward.
The guerrilla forces also had a significant presence in the area around Nebaj. They would camp out in the forested hillsides and antagonize the military, which had difficulty locating them. The guerrillas gained control of the road leading out of Nebaj. The military ended up building a new road that they could control and that is the road that is used today. The residents of Nebaj came to tire of both the military and the guerrillas - it was not their fight, yet both sides demanded support from them.
I hiked from Nebaj to the nearby town of Acul - a muddy, but beautiful 4-hour hike. Acul was completely rebuilt during the civil war. The military installed it as its first "development center." This meant that residents were not allowed to leave Acul, as it was run like a concentration camp. The military forced all of the men and most of the women to serve as a civil patrol over Acul. They were given weapons, but only billy clubs, and were expected to follow the orders of the military in keeping control in the town.
In one famous incident, the civil patrol saw flashlights coming down the mountain. Since no one was supposed to be approaching town at that time, and the civil patrol had orders to protect the town, the civil patrol used the few guns they had to defend against the intruders. It turns out that the intruders were part of the military, who had to return to Nebaj. The military was going to attack the town and massacre the people and make it look like the guerrillas had done the attack. But the people of Acul were too proud and brave to allow themselves to be massacred.
Today Nebaj and Acul are quiet towns set in lovely mountain settings. They are healing from their recent past and moving forward.
lunes, 27 de octubre de 2008
Chichi to Nebaj
A common method of transportation in Guatemala is the mini-bus or the 15-passenger van. When I say 15-passenger van, I give you this reference because this is how car rental agencies in the States refer to them. This does not mean that there are 15 passengers in them in Guatemala. There were 25 in one I took yesterday - this not uncommon. There are two people working on the vehicles - the driver and the helper, who collects the fare, stores the luggage, and tells the driver when passengers need to make stops.
I left Chichicastenago yesterday and was so happy, because it had not been a pleasant stay for me. So when I got on the mini-bus and it rolled through the arch at the north end of town, I smiled and said a prayer of praise. While I was excited to be leaving town, there were some problems with this trip. When I found the vehicle going to Quiche, I asked the helper what the fare was. He said USD1, which surprised me because I had paid 32 and 39 cents respectively on two trips of similar duration (30 minutes) earlier in the week. I asked him if he was serious and he said yes, rather snottily, so I asked him what to do with my bag. This vehicle was different from many vans in Guatemala where you throw your bag on top and they strap it on. This was a mini-bus with seating for about 30, similar to car rental shuttles if they took out the luggage racks. This mini-bus had rows with four seats, an aisle, and then a single seat. In the aisles were half seats that could be folded up or down as necessary. On the side above the rows of four seats there was a luggage rack. The helper told me to put my (50-lb.) framepack up there. I pushed it snuggly into the rack in the only space available. I took a single seat across and back from the bag. The helper checked the bag.
After we left Chichi, we slowed down and a guy on the side of the street threw a bag of garbage at the helper. This I had not seen before. I´ve ridden with live chickens, but never garbage. But, if we were going to stop at a landfill on the way, I figured that was an efficient use of resources. We did not stop at a landfill. About five minutes down the road, we passed a beatiful mountain valley. Ten paces in front of the 30-foot sign that said "Nature reserve. No littering - Q500 ($70) fine," the helper through the back out the window. Maybe I am too Western. Maybe I am a hippie raised in Oregon. But I thought that was appalling. The 30 other people on the bus had absolutely no reaction - as if it hadn´t even happened.
10 minutes later, the driver slammed on the brakes, which caused bumped everyone up in the air a foot or so, as well as forward. This happens fairly often Guatemalan roads. The sudden braking also dislodged the luggage, sending some things flying. I saw a bag hit the aisle. It looked it might have touched the arm of the woman sitting across the aisle from me and one row up. I asked the woman if she was okay and she nodded. No one else had any reaction at all - none. They just kept looking forward, silent. This included the seven women traveling with the woman, one of whom seemed to be her mother.
Trash thrown in a nature reserve. Bags flying through the air. No reaction. It was like the NYC Subway. There was the time I was on the subway and there was a woman about 22 standing a few feet from me. She wore heavy make-up that made her look 35 and I thought, "wow, she looks really old with that make-up." It was only after that thought that I noticed that she was wearing a black leather tutu with her underpants on the outside of the tutu. On the NYC subway this is not considered weird. Maybe that would have elicited a reaction on the mini-bus to Quiche, but I´m not sure.
I realized that the bag was mine after I spoke with the woman. The seats across from me were empty then, so I moved the bag there.
The ride continued in silence for about five minutes, until the woman turned around and said that the bag had hit her and she had a headache and she should get some money for that. I said that it was terrible how the driver had stopped like that and that she should talk to him. I thought she was commiserating with me her fellow passenger, but then after she looked back at me a few times, I realized that she was asking me for money.
I was very cash poor at that point and had nothing to offer her, but more than that, what responsibility did I really have? The driver had stopped short and violently and he was ultimately responsible for the vehicle. The helper had told me to put the bag there and had secured the bag. The woman herself had not tried to move or protect herself.
In any event I just wanted to be done with the trip. The woman started talking with her compansions and that was not a good sign because I was behind them and would not be able to get out quickly with my bag.
Indeed when we descended in Quiche I was the last one out. I paused a bit before leaving to give them time to clear. I asked the helper where the bus to Nebaj left from and he, quite uninterested, said it would pass by where we were. This turned out to be untrue and I think he was in a way out to get me because he wanted to absolve himself of guilt for the bag. I aked a man waiting outside where we got dropped off and he told me to walk two blocks to get to the Nebaj buses, which was correct. In walking there I came across the women from the bus. They began hitting me. But, I am two feet taller than them and just walked away. I didn´t want a confrontation and just wanted to get out of Quiche.
The next ride, from Quiche to Sacalupas, was much less eventful. I spent most of the trip translating Spanish phrases into English for the guy sitting next to me, who was really interested in improving his English. My bag was strapped to the top of the van and caused no problems. We stopped to help two vans that had been in an accident; no one was hurt. I also learned a local legend about a spot where landslides had covered the road. Every day the debris on the road grows and the locals say that a dragon lives under that spot and pushes the ground up with his head.
The final leg, from Sacalupas to Nebaj, had no problems. Except that in the 15-passenger van there were 25 of us, including seven in the back seat, one of whom was me. One woman was particularly interested in me as an American and engaged me with questions that made me an American ambassador for the entire van. When she asked where I was from, the helper, wearing a T-shirt from the 2006 Delaware cheerleading coaches association (it is common for extra or used t-shirts to wind their way down here) said that he was from France and had just flown in from Paris that day. Everyone loved that.
I was so happy to get to Nebaj - after three hours.
I left Chichicastenago yesterday and was so happy, because it had not been a pleasant stay for me. So when I got on the mini-bus and it rolled through the arch at the north end of town, I smiled and said a prayer of praise. While I was excited to be leaving town, there were some problems with this trip. When I found the vehicle going to Quiche, I asked the helper what the fare was. He said USD1, which surprised me because I had paid 32 and 39 cents respectively on two trips of similar duration (30 minutes) earlier in the week. I asked him if he was serious and he said yes, rather snottily, so I asked him what to do with my bag. This vehicle was different from many vans in Guatemala where you throw your bag on top and they strap it on. This was a mini-bus with seating for about 30, similar to car rental shuttles if they took out the luggage racks. This mini-bus had rows with four seats, an aisle, and then a single seat. In the aisles were half seats that could be folded up or down as necessary. On the side above the rows of four seats there was a luggage rack. The helper told me to put my (50-lb.) framepack up there. I pushed it snuggly into the rack in the only space available. I took a single seat across and back from the bag. The helper checked the bag.
After we left Chichi, we slowed down and a guy on the side of the street threw a bag of garbage at the helper. This I had not seen before. I´ve ridden with live chickens, but never garbage. But, if we were going to stop at a landfill on the way, I figured that was an efficient use of resources. We did not stop at a landfill. About five minutes down the road, we passed a beatiful mountain valley. Ten paces in front of the 30-foot sign that said "Nature reserve. No littering - Q500 ($70) fine," the helper through the back out the window. Maybe I am too Western. Maybe I am a hippie raised in Oregon. But I thought that was appalling. The 30 other people on the bus had absolutely no reaction - as if it hadn´t even happened.
10 minutes later, the driver slammed on the brakes, which caused bumped everyone up in the air a foot or so, as well as forward. This happens fairly often Guatemalan roads. The sudden braking also dislodged the luggage, sending some things flying. I saw a bag hit the aisle. It looked it might have touched the arm of the woman sitting across the aisle from me and one row up. I asked the woman if she was okay and she nodded. No one else had any reaction at all - none. They just kept looking forward, silent. This included the seven women traveling with the woman, one of whom seemed to be her mother.
Trash thrown in a nature reserve. Bags flying through the air. No reaction. It was like the NYC Subway. There was the time I was on the subway and there was a woman about 22 standing a few feet from me. She wore heavy make-up that made her look 35 and I thought, "wow, she looks really old with that make-up." It was only after that thought that I noticed that she was wearing a black leather tutu with her underpants on the outside of the tutu. On the NYC subway this is not considered weird. Maybe that would have elicited a reaction on the mini-bus to Quiche, but I´m not sure.
I realized that the bag was mine after I spoke with the woman. The seats across from me were empty then, so I moved the bag there.
The ride continued in silence for about five minutes, until the woman turned around and said that the bag had hit her and she had a headache and she should get some money for that. I said that it was terrible how the driver had stopped like that and that she should talk to him. I thought she was commiserating with me her fellow passenger, but then after she looked back at me a few times, I realized that she was asking me for money.
I was very cash poor at that point and had nothing to offer her, but more than that, what responsibility did I really have? The driver had stopped short and violently and he was ultimately responsible for the vehicle. The helper had told me to put the bag there and had secured the bag. The woman herself had not tried to move or protect herself.
In any event I just wanted to be done with the trip. The woman started talking with her compansions and that was not a good sign because I was behind them and would not be able to get out quickly with my bag.
Indeed when we descended in Quiche I was the last one out. I paused a bit before leaving to give them time to clear. I asked the helper where the bus to Nebaj left from and he, quite uninterested, said it would pass by where we were. This turned out to be untrue and I think he was in a way out to get me because he wanted to absolve himself of guilt for the bag. I aked a man waiting outside where we got dropped off and he told me to walk two blocks to get to the Nebaj buses, which was correct. In walking there I came across the women from the bus. They began hitting me. But, I am two feet taller than them and just walked away. I didn´t want a confrontation and just wanted to get out of Quiche.
The next ride, from Quiche to Sacalupas, was much less eventful. I spent most of the trip translating Spanish phrases into English for the guy sitting next to me, who was really interested in improving his English. My bag was strapped to the top of the van and caused no problems. We stopped to help two vans that had been in an accident; no one was hurt. I also learned a local legend about a spot where landslides had covered the road. Every day the debris on the road grows and the locals say that a dragon lives under that spot and pushes the ground up with his head.
The final leg, from Sacalupas to Nebaj, had no problems. Except that in the 15-passenger van there were 25 of us, including seven in the back seat, one of whom was me. One woman was particularly interested in me as an American and engaged me with questions that made me an American ambassador for the entire van. When she asked where I was from, the helper, wearing a T-shirt from the 2006 Delaware cheerleading coaches association (it is common for extra or used t-shirts to wind their way down here) said that he was from France and had just flown in from Paris that day. Everyone loved that.
I was so happy to get to Nebaj - after three hours.
Lago Atitlan
Lake Atitlan is a beautiful lake ringed by volcanoes located in the southwestern part of the country. It is heavily touristed because it is so beautiful and locals claim it is one of the wonders of the world. It is indeed an impressive sight. Lake Atitlan is a great place to just sit out and watch the water. I also enjoyed jumping into the water, swimming, kayaking, and horseback riding.
I had the pleasure of spending one night at La Casa del Mundo, a notel on the north side of the lake. The facility is accesible only by boat or foot path, and is not really in a town. Casa del Mundo appears to hover above the water. The views at sunrise and sunset are spectacular as you see the colors of the changing sky through the mists on the volcanoes. It has a lovely dock and hammocks set in idyllic seclusion.
I also spent three nights in the large town of San Pedro. San Pedro is also beautiful and is located at the base of the San Pedro Volcano. San Pedro is very much a tourist town and also has many re-settled hippies offering yoga classes, massages, and art classes, along with "really good weed."
The differences between the tourists in San Pedro and Casa del Mundo are striking. In San Pedro, you run into the typical backpacker groups, which this time of year in Guatemala means they are about 80% Israeli, along with the random Irish, Australians, Brits, Canadians, Swedes, Kiwis, and Italians - they are not Americans; they rush to the same hostels, the same restaurants, the same bars; they switch between the three outfits they have in their packs, but often wear the same clothes days in a row; the day´s budget is about $7 for lodging and $5-7 for each meal, plus $5-7 for the day´s activities; the average age is about 23.
Casa Del Mundo is not a destination for the typical backpacker - the cheapest room is $31 per night and is a private room with shared bath (my choice). Such an option at a hostel would probably cost $7-10. At Casa del Mundo, 90% of the guests were Americans. In all of my travels in Guatemala, for 16 days now, I had met only four other Americans. The guests tended to be older married couples and the average age was over 50. The couple across from me talked about their love for Antigua and their multiple trips there to take Spanish classes. They bragged about finding a hotel room for $50 per night - I mean have you ever heard of a room as cheap as $50? The other guests were enjoyable and it was a nice change of pace to have a dinner conversation with other Americans.
I had the pleasure of spending one night at La Casa del Mundo, a notel on the north side of the lake. The facility is accesible only by boat or foot path, and is not really in a town. Casa del Mundo appears to hover above the water. The views at sunrise and sunset are spectacular as you see the colors of the changing sky through the mists on the volcanoes. It has a lovely dock and hammocks set in idyllic seclusion.
I also spent three nights in the large town of San Pedro. San Pedro is also beautiful and is located at the base of the San Pedro Volcano. San Pedro is very much a tourist town and also has many re-settled hippies offering yoga classes, massages, and art classes, along with "really good weed."
The differences between the tourists in San Pedro and Casa del Mundo are striking. In San Pedro, you run into the typical backpacker groups, which this time of year in Guatemala means they are about 80% Israeli, along with the random Irish, Australians, Brits, Canadians, Swedes, Kiwis, and Italians - they are not Americans; they rush to the same hostels, the same restaurants, the same bars; they switch between the three outfits they have in their packs, but often wear the same clothes days in a row; the day´s budget is about $7 for lodging and $5-7 for each meal, plus $5-7 for the day´s activities; the average age is about 23.
Casa Del Mundo is not a destination for the typical backpacker - the cheapest room is $31 per night and is a private room with shared bath (my choice). Such an option at a hostel would probably cost $7-10. At Casa del Mundo, 90% of the guests were Americans. In all of my travels in Guatemala, for 16 days now, I had met only four other Americans. The guests tended to be older married couples and the average age was over 50. The couple across from me talked about their love for Antigua and their multiple trips there to take Spanish classes. They bragged about finding a hotel room for $50 per night - I mean have you ever heard of a room as cheap as $50? The other guests were enjoyable and it was a nice change of pace to have a dinner conversation with other Americans.
domingo, 19 de octubre de 2008
Pacaya Volcano
Probably the biggest day trip from the old colonial capital of Guatemala, Antigua, is the trip to the Pacaya volcano. It is a two-hour drive followed by a two-hour hike to the summit. The hike starts like a normal mountain hike through rocky, muddy paths (and above and below some barbed wire). But about 30 minutes from the end of the hike the ground turns to black volcanic rock. There was a large eruption about five years ago and it left the black rock in its wake. This is harder to walk through because there is no firm footing and it proves quite slippery. As you are walking, the black rock gradually becomes warmer. Then you see smoke coming up from the ground. And suddenly you see lava beneath your feet and then you see a huge flow of lava. There is no barrier - you can stand close enough to put a stick in it. And it is hot (2000 degrees), which feels good because it has been cold and rainy the trip up the mountain. This would never happen in the States, where you could get so close to the lava, where you are standing on cracking, crumbling rocks, with lava beneath your feet. (Although maybe in Hawaii on the big island you have close access.) In fact, in Costa Rica, the closest you get to Arenal Volcano is several miles away, where you stand behind a railing several miles away. Walking down the volcano after sunset I turned back and saw the red flow glowing against the night darkness. The descent was otherwise not that much fun because it was a cold, rainy trip in the dark, through the muddy rocky path (and the barbed wire). Not bad for $10, though.
miércoles, 15 de octubre de 2008
Context
As way of context, in case you don´t know, I quit my job as a lawyer in New York and left New York on September 8. I spent the rest of September in Oklahoma with my grandmother, followed by a quick trip to Toronto with my sister. I am now traveling in Central America. Come November, I will be traveling in Southeast Asia. I will spend December in France, working on an organic farm on the Mediterranean island of Corsica. When I return to the States I will move to Seattle and I plan to work as a lawyer there.
Travel companions are welcome.
Travel companions are welcome.
martes, 14 de octubre de 2008
Indigenous Peoples´ Day
October 12 is celebrated worldwide as Columbus Day or Indigenous Peoples´Day, depending on which historical narrative you embrace. At the Mayan ruins of Tikal in Guatemala, the day is definitely Indigenous Peoples´Day, or Dia de la Raza.
I awoke at 2:30 am and met the transport at 3 am in the city of Flores. After a drive through the dark jungle, we arrived at the entrance to the Tikal Park. From there it was a 30-minute hike with headlamps past the Great Plaza and on to Temple 4. You climb Temple 4 using a wooden staircase constructed by the archeological teams working on the site. At the top of Temple 4 at 5:30 in the morning, you hear the jungle waking up. The howler monkeys make their jaguar calls that can be heard for miles. The birds respond with their calls. The sun rises behind the mist and as the light increases you see Temple 3, and then Temples 1 and 2 emerge through the mist. It is at that point that you begin to understand the scope of Tikal - a city for hundreds of thousands of people with temples larger than skyscrapers in many US cities. It was constructed using no wheels or beasts of burden and the limestone was transported by hand from miles away. And now it is abandoned, slowly being excavated by international archeological teams.
Except that on indigenous peoples´day every year, hundreds of Maya come from all throughout Guatemala to celebrate their heritage at Tikal. Men and women dressed in traditional Mayan attire, they enter in single file to the Great Plaza and circle around an altar in the middle. Throughout the entire ceremony. musicians play the marimba. After all have gathered around the altar, a leader takes the megaphone and gives a speech telling the people how they have been abused - how their land has been taken, how their grandfathers were killed, and how they were once warriors and kings in this land. After the speeches, the people put their offerings in the circular altar on the ground: primarly candles, but also tortillas, sticks, and anything else they have with them. Then, one group remains at the altar, while four other groups depart single file. The leader of each group carries a flag and the color of the flag corresponds to the direction he leads his group. There is one flag for each of the cardinal points and a fifth flag remains at the altar - the center of the world and the middle of the Great Plaza in the historic center of the great city of Tikal. For at least one day the land is reclaimed and the Mayas have a great city to call their own and to be a source of pride.
I awoke at 2:30 am and met the transport at 3 am in the city of Flores. After a drive through the dark jungle, we arrived at the entrance to the Tikal Park. From there it was a 30-minute hike with headlamps past the Great Plaza and on to Temple 4. You climb Temple 4 using a wooden staircase constructed by the archeological teams working on the site. At the top of Temple 4 at 5:30 in the morning, you hear the jungle waking up. The howler monkeys make their jaguar calls that can be heard for miles. The birds respond with their calls. The sun rises behind the mist and as the light increases you see Temple 3, and then Temples 1 and 2 emerge through the mist. It is at that point that you begin to understand the scope of Tikal - a city for hundreds of thousands of people with temples larger than skyscrapers in many US cities. It was constructed using no wheels or beasts of burden and the limestone was transported by hand from miles away. And now it is abandoned, slowly being excavated by international archeological teams.
Except that on indigenous peoples´day every year, hundreds of Maya come from all throughout Guatemala to celebrate their heritage at Tikal. Men and women dressed in traditional Mayan attire, they enter in single file to the Great Plaza and circle around an altar in the middle. Throughout the entire ceremony. musicians play the marimba. After all have gathered around the altar, a leader takes the megaphone and gives a speech telling the people how they have been abused - how their land has been taken, how their grandfathers were killed, and how they were once warriors and kings in this land. After the speeches, the people put their offerings in the circular altar on the ground: primarly candles, but also tortillas, sticks, and anything else they have with them. Then, one group remains at the altar, while four other groups depart single file. The leader of each group carries a flag and the color of the flag corresponds to the direction he leads his group. There is one flag for each of the cardinal points and a fifth flag remains at the altar - the center of the world and the middle of the Great Plaza in the historic center of the great city of Tikal. For at least one day the land is reclaimed and the Mayas have a great city to call their own and to be a source of pride.
The Dedicated Maya
I went on a hike to Actun Tunichil Muknal, caves discovered in eastern Belize in 1986. To get to ATM you drive about an hour from the town of San Ignacio and then hike for an hour. You then dive into the river flowing out of the cave.
From the cave entrance you hike in your swimsuit helmet, and headlamp, through rocky water. Because it is the rainy season the water levels are high and the caves have been closed often recently. After trudging through this for about an hour you reach the first of the caves that contain remains that the Mayans left from 700 to 900 AD The Mayans traveled hours by foot carrying ceramics which they deposited in the caves. Almost all of these are in fragments because the Maya would chip a piece away at the cave as a symbol of sacrifice.
The Maya also brought people to sacrifice. There are several full and partial skeletons visible in the caves. The belief was that the sacrifices were necessary to appease the gods. Because life originated in caves, sacrifices in caves would bring them closer to the gods. Because the caves were undiscovered until the 80s, the remains are in excellent condition.
From the cave entrance you hike in your swimsuit helmet, and headlamp, through rocky water. Because it is the rainy season the water levels are high and the caves have been closed often recently. After trudging through this for about an hour you reach the first of the caves that contain remains that the Mayans left from 700 to 900 AD The Mayans traveled hours by foot carrying ceramics which they deposited in the caves. Almost all of these are in fragments because the Maya would chip a piece away at the cave as a symbol of sacrifice.
The Maya also brought people to sacrifice. There are several full and partial skeletons visible in the caves. The belief was that the sacrifices were necessary to appease the gods. Because life originated in caves, sacrifices in caves would bring them closer to the gods. Because the caves were undiscovered until the 80s, the remains are in excellent condition.
Este Cuerpo Es Mio
Friday night I went with my colleagues from the board of the Association for a More Just Society to a training in the poor neighborhood of Villa Nueva in Tegucigalpa, the capital city of Honduras. Before arriving at the training we knew that there would be two workers from the Gideon Project, a program offered by the Asociacion para una sociedad mas justa, a Honduran social justice organization. Gideon operates four neighborhood centers and offers psychological and legal services for a nominal fee. The services typically relate to child support, domestic abuse, and child behavioral problems.
We didn't know the topic of the training or the audience. As we climbed the hill in Villa Nueva, we heard a loud worship service, and JoAnn, one of the AJS board members, jokingly said that she wondered if we were going there. Turns out, she was right. Because we were 45 minutes late, the members of the congregation the ASJ workers were giving the training to had started a worship service. So, we joined the pentecostal congregation in jumping, dancing, screaming, and overpraying. The locals moved out of the front rows and gave up their seats for us in the capacity-filled space.
After the pastor finished the singing, he introduced Esmirna, and Yessy, who started a training on sexual abuse of children. The reaction of the congregation was silence and a certain amount of unease. But Esmirna and Yessy are fantastic and jumped right in with the them of "este cuerpo es mio." After asking all of members of the congregation to repeat that phrase and to instruct their children to say that their bodies were their own, the trainers also instructed us to teach them to say "don't touch it," "don't violate it," and "don't kill it."
These were tough things to teach, but Esmirna and Yessy had great activities and sketches to get the congregation involved. Esmirna asked three volunteers to come up and show what to do if a stranger came up to them. A male volunteer put his hand on the back of the female volunteer, who was then instructed to (1) say "no," (2) scream, (3) run, and (4) tell a friend. Esmirna then asked for three more volunteers. I went up, as did Sharon and Jotham from the board. This time Esmirna asked for a male victim and a female attacker. So Sharon was supposed to attack me. This didn't come through so clearly to Sharon though, because the instructions were all in Spanish. So we were ready to do the demonstration and she starts laughing, "I'm the attacker?" When she put her hand on my shoulder, I said no like there was no tomorrow, I screamed with my hands around my mouth like I was lost in the mountains, and I ran like I could see Tavern on the
Green and it was the first Sunday in November. Jotham was a great friend and consoled me when I shared what Sharon had done! Our board impressed the crowd a lot and by the end people were sharing personal stories about why this was such an important topic. The only downer was that in photographing the congregation I dropped my camera on the jagged stone floor and it ended up breaking. A small price to pay . . .
We didn't know the topic of the training or the audience. As we climbed the hill in Villa Nueva, we heard a loud worship service, and JoAnn, one of the AJS board members, jokingly said that she wondered if we were going there. Turns out, she was right. Because we were 45 minutes late, the members of the congregation the ASJ workers were giving the training to had started a worship service. So, we joined the pentecostal congregation in jumping, dancing, screaming, and overpraying. The locals moved out of the front rows and gave up their seats for us in the capacity-filled space.
After the pastor finished the singing, he introduced Esmirna, and Yessy, who started a training on sexual abuse of children. The reaction of the congregation was silence and a certain amount of unease. But Esmirna and Yessy are fantastic and jumped right in with the them of "este cuerpo es mio." After asking all of members of the congregation to repeat that phrase and to instruct their children to say that their bodies were their own, the trainers also instructed us to teach them to say "don't touch it," "don't violate it," and "don't kill it."
These were tough things to teach, but Esmirna and Yessy had great activities and sketches to get the congregation involved. Esmirna asked three volunteers to come up and show what to do if a stranger came up to them. A male volunteer put his hand on the back of the female volunteer, who was then instructed to (1) say "no," (2) scream, (3) run, and (4) tell a friend. Esmirna then asked for three more volunteers. I went up, as did Sharon and Jotham from the board. This time Esmirna asked for a male victim and a female attacker. So Sharon was supposed to attack me. This didn't come through so clearly to Sharon though, because the instructions were all in Spanish. So we were ready to do the demonstration and she starts laughing, "I'm the attacker?" When she put her hand on my shoulder, I said no like there was no tomorrow, I screamed with my hands around my mouth like I was lost in the mountains, and I ran like I could see Tavern on the
Green and it was the first Sunday in November. Jotham was a great friend and consoled me when I shared what Sharon had done! Our board impressed the crowd a lot and by the end people were sharing personal stories about why this was such an important topic. The only downer was that in photographing the congregation I dropped my camera on the jagged stone floor and it ended up breaking. A small price to pay . . .
domingo, 12 de octubre de 2008
Detained at the border
The actual boat ride from Puerto Cortes, Honduras to Mango Creek/Independence, Belize is a pleasant ride. In the two-hour journey, you pass through clear Caribbean water. There is fresh drinking water available and the breeze from the water feels good against your face.
The problem with the trip is that in addition to the 2 hours on the boat, you have to spend four hours going through border formalities. The length of the bureaucratic dealings owes in part to the fact that the week before my trip a passenger on the boat had transported drugs from Honduras to Belize. So, before you leave Honduras, the border police open up and search every bag on board and do a thorough inspection of the ship. Additionally, there is no immigration at the dock, so you have to drive 30 minutes to the immigration office in downtown Puerto Cortes.
The delays are longer and more significant on the Belize side of the border. The Puerto Cortes/Independence boat only make the trip to Belize once a week. There is no immigration office in Independence. Instead, an immigration officer drives down two hours from Dangriga to meet the boat. While waiting for the immigration officer to arrive, port officials examine the boat and the bags on it, for drugs and other problem imports. One of the officers proved particularly chatty with a fellow passenger, a middle-aged Honduran woman who spent the whole boat ride sharing about the great job she had in Belize. The officer asked her about her job, her family, and finally her sign. At that point, she said, "wow, it is hot in here," turned and started talking to an elederly Honduran man, whom I'm pretty sure was deaf. When she turned to him the rest of us started chuckling.
The immigration officer finally arrived and boarded the boat. He brought with him a stamp pad and two stamps - a round stamp for Belizean residents and a triangular stamp for foreigners. He stamped everyone's passport, granted all non-residents entry for 30 days, and signed his name. I put my passport in my bag without looking at the stamp.
The problem with the entry stamp did not become evident until I attempted to leave Belize on Saturday October 11 at the border town of Benque Viejo. Before passing through immigration, it is necessary to pay the departure tax of about $19. I handed my passport to the cashier and prepared to pay the tax. She asked me when I had entered Belize. I told her that I entered on Monday October 6 at Independence. She said there was no stamp for my entry into the country. Instead there was only a departure stamp, which was dated November 5, 2008 (a date that would not pass until approximately a month later). She took my passport and said that I would need to go see the head immigration officer.
I was escorted to a back office at the border. If I had been at JFK airport and asked to follow an immigration official to a back office, I probably would have made a run for it - I certainly don't want to end up sent to Egypt or Saudi Arabia. However, here I felt okay - the door was not locked, there were no guards, and I could easily get out if necessary. I explained to the guard how I entered the country. He asked if I had another passport and tried to figure out what happended. What happened was that the immigration officer used departure stamps in the 55 passports of the passengers on the ship. The official had a cold and I sympathized with him over the cold. We chatted it up a bit, and in the end he made photocopies of the relevant pages of my passport and let me leave.
When I went to the desk to get my departure stamp, the immigration officer correctly stamped my passport with the departure stamp. He also made a note above the Independence stamp, noting that "subject entered via Independence on November 5, 2008." This notation I didn't read until after I had passed through the Guatemalan side of the border and at that point there wasn't much I wanted to do to correct the notation. Compared with the Belizean side, the Guatemalan side was easy and hassle-free. That is, as hassle-free as any shady border crossing town can be.
The problem with the trip is that in addition to the 2 hours on the boat, you have to spend four hours going through border formalities. The length of the bureaucratic dealings owes in part to the fact that the week before my trip a passenger on the boat had transported drugs from Honduras to Belize. So, before you leave Honduras, the border police open up and search every bag on board and do a thorough inspection of the ship. Additionally, there is no immigration at the dock, so you have to drive 30 minutes to the immigration office in downtown Puerto Cortes.
The delays are longer and more significant on the Belize side of the border. The Puerto Cortes/Independence boat only make the trip to Belize once a week. There is no immigration office in Independence. Instead, an immigration officer drives down two hours from Dangriga to meet the boat. While waiting for the immigration officer to arrive, port officials examine the boat and the bags on it, for drugs and other problem imports. One of the officers proved particularly chatty with a fellow passenger, a middle-aged Honduran woman who spent the whole boat ride sharing about the great job she had in Belize. The officer asked her about her job, her family, and finally her sign. At that point, she said, "wow, it is hot in here," turned and started talking to an elederly Honduran man, whom I'm pretty sure was deaf. When she turned to him the rest of us started chuckling.
The immigration officer finally arrived and boarded the boat. He brought with him a stamp pad and two stamps - a round stamp for Belizean residents and a triangular stamp for foreigners. He stamped everyone's passport, granted all non-residents entry for 30 days, and signed his name. I put my passport in my bag without looking at the stamp.
The problem with the entry stamp did not become evident until I attempted to leave Belize on Saturday October 11 at the border town of Benque Viejo. Before passing through immigration, it is necessary to pay the departure tax of about $19. I handed my passport to the cashier and prepared to pay the tax. She asked me when I had entered Belize. I told her that I entered on Monday October 6 at Independence. She said there was no stamp for my entry into the country. Instead there was only a departure stamp, which was dated November 5, 2008 (a date that would not pass until approximately a month later). She took my passport and said that I would need to go see the head immigration officer.
I was escorted to a back office at the border. If I had been at JFK airport and asked to follow an immigration official to a back office, I probably would have made a run for it - I certainly don't want to end up sent to Egypt or Saudi Arabia. However, here I felt okay - the door was not locked, there were no guards, and I could easily get out if necessary. I explained to the guard how I entered the country. He asked if I had another passport and tried to figure out what happended. What happened was that the immigration officer used departure stamps in the 55 passports of the passengers on the ship. The official had a cold and I sympathized with him over the cold. We chatted it up a bit, and in the end he made photocopies of the relevant pages of my passport and let me leave.
When I went to the desk to get my departure stamp, the immigration officer correctly stamped my passport with the departure stamp. He also made a note above the Independence stamp, noting that "subject entered via Independence on November 5, 2008." This notation I didn't read until after I had passed through the Guatemalan side of the border and at that point there wasn't much I wanted to do to correct the notation. Compared with the Belizean side, the Guatemalan side was easy and hassle-free. That is, as hassle-free as any shady border crossing town can be.
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