The town of Phonsavan, Laos has nothing of interest for the traveler. It is cold and gray (bring layers). The buildings are all concentrated on the town's two roads and have the unappealing architecture of the 1960s Communist style. There are two restaurants in town. The ATM went in just a few months ago and the Internet cafe stays open only as long as there are customers, closing usually by 5:30 (and not 10 as noted on the sign).
Just outside of town, though, are the visit-worthy collection of archeological sites known as the Plain of Jars. The "jars" are stone vessels the size of a man. I stood inside The jars are made from stone quarried five miles away. It is believed that they were hollowed out and decorated using stone tools, since metal tools were not available at the time of creation. There are three sites near Phonsavan that each contain hundreds of jars. These sites are collectively known as the Plain of Jars. Only portions of the sites are open to visitors because areas proximate to the sites contain unexploded ordnances. The approved path is lined with white and red markers: the white side indicates that it is safe to walk; the red side indicates that the area has not yet been deemed clear of live explosives left by US forces during the Vietnam War. There are other sites with jars that are currently closed to visitors because they have not been cleared.
The jars date back some 3,000 years, but their purpose is unclear. One theory is that the residents used the vessels to store rice. This is ridiculous because nomadic populations wouldn't store rice in enormous quantities in inaccesible locations in jars that would require enormous efforts to create. A second theory is that the jars were used for funerary purposes. Given the importance of funerary practices in human cultures, this is a plausible theory. However, there has been no evidence of human remains found in the jars. A third theory is that there was another religious purpose for the jars, which is another plausible explanation.
The jars are located in seemingly random formations. But they are set in lovely landscapes. Also, they are display interesting designs. It is worth the 10-hour one-way bus ride to Phonsavan from either Luang Prabang or Vientiane.
lunes, 5 de enero de 2009
sábado, 3 de enero de 2009
Languages spoken
On this trip I have spoken an impressive number of languages, sometimes out of necessity and sometimes out of courtesy, namely, the following:
Afrikaans
Bahasa Malaya
Breton
Corsican
English
Estonian
French
German
Italian
Ixil
Kakquichel
Khmer
Krio
Korean
Lao
Mam
Quiche
Spanish
Thai
Vietnamese
What language is next?
Afrikaans
Bahasa Malaya
Breton
Corsican
English
Estonian
French
German
Italian
Ixil
Kakquichel
Khmer
Krio
Korean
Lao
Mam
Quiche
Spanish
Thai
Vietnamese
What language is next?
viernes, 2 de enero de 2009
Siem Reap
The best thing I have seen so far in this set of travels is the Angkor grouping of temples. The Khmer rulers constructed these temples during the height of their power, approximately 1000 years ago. As Hindusim and Buddhism each enjoyed periods of dominance in the Khmer kingdom, some of the temples are dedicated to one religion, some to the other, and some contain imagery from both. The temples are particularly impressive because of they are largely intact and are mounumental in scale. There are dozens of major sites spread across approximately 60 kilometers.
Archaeologists have allowed the elements to take over certain sites. This practice is best known in the ruins featured in the movie Tomb Raider. The archaeologists made this conscious choice in order to show visitors the state of the temples when they were rediscovered in the last century. Silk trees are firmly rooted in the crumbling stone walls.
The best-known of the sites is Angkor Wat. It is the most visited site in Cambodia. You approach Angkor Wat by walking on a causeway over a moat. Beyond the outer entry temple are impressive gardens. Two reflecting pools in front of the inner area offer stunning views of the reflected towers at sunset and sunrise. At 5 am sunrise 500 Brits, Germans, Russians, and Japanese jockey for position in front of the left reflecting pool.
Beyond the pools, a set of stairs leads to the outer four sides of collonaded arcades with incredible relief sculptures from Hindu mytholody. It took me over an hour to make my way through the reliefs. The interior courtyard contains five temples, one at each of the four cardinal points, and one in the middle. This layout represents a complete realization of the geography of Hindu mythology. The stone towers resemble stylized beehives with incredibly detailed, ornate decoration.
My favorite temple was in Angkor Thom. It consisted of several dozen towers, the top of each which featured a six-foot tall human male head on each of the four sides. The heads are not immediately noticeable, but as I approached closer I saw them and became fascinated with them, spending nearly two hours exploring the site.
Along with the human heads I was particularly interested in the elephants, and soldiers in line on bridges before temples, found throughout multiple sites.
Archaeologists have allowed the elements to take over certain sites. This practice is best known in the ruins featured in the movie Tomb Raider. The archaeologists made this conscious choice in order to show visitors the state of the temples when they were rediscovered in the last century. Silk trees are firmly rooted in the crumbling stone walls.
The best-known of the sites is Angkor Wat. It is the most visited site in Cambodia. You approach Angkor Wat by walking on a causeway over a moat. Beyond the outer entry temple are impressive gardens. Two reflecting pools in front of the inner area offer stunning views of the reflected towers at sunset and sunrise. At 5 am sunrise 500 Brits, Germans, Russians, and Japanese jockey for position in front of the left reflecting pool.
Beyond the pools, a set of stairs leads to the outer four sides of collonaded arcades with incredible relief sculptures from Hindu mytholody. It took me over an hour to make my way through the reliefs. The interior courtyard contains five temples, one at each of the four cardinal points, and one in the middle. This layout represents a complete realization of the geography of Hindu mythology. The stone towers resemble stylized beehives with incredibly detailed, ornate decoration.
My favorite temple was in Angkor Thom. It consisted of several dozen towers, the top of each which featured a six-foot tall human male head on each of the four sides. The heads are not immediately noticeable, but as I approached closer I saw them and became fascinated with them, spending nearly two hours exploring the site.
Along with the human heads I was particularly interested in the elephants, and soldiers in line on bridges before temples, found throughout multiple sites.
River festival
Each year in mid-November, Cambodia celebrates a three-day river festival. This festival follows the independence day on November 8, which marks the independence of Cambodia from the French colonial government. The main celebration takes place in the capital Phnom Penh and Cambodians come from all over the country to celebrate. The city of 4 million welcomes 2 million visitors for the river festival. During the day teams of men compete in boat races down the Mekong. The longboats are filled with up to 80 men, in two rows, all dressed in identical single-colored uniforms. These men come from the same region or village and travel with family and neighbors who cheer them on during the river festival. With the power of 80 men rowing in unison the boats move quite quickly through the water.
Along the banks of the Mekong hawkers sell balloons, toys, and food. On the first day of the festival I saw a military truck pull up to a group of hawkers and grab the wares off the back of the tuk-tuks (motorbikes with a carriage bolted to the back). Those who were able to get their bikes started rode away without suffering too much loss, but others with engine troubles saw all of their wares go to the thirsty soldiers.
At night, the river plays host to a parade. 20-foot tall floats of light power up the river to the delight of the millions of spectators on both sides. In the background fireworks light up the sky. Elsewhere in the city there are concerts and other celebrations. The first night I watched a concert presented by the Christian humanitarian organization World Vision. It seemed like the performers were well-known Cambodian pop stars. Since my Khmer language skills are poor, I couldn't really tell you much about the concert.
Along the banks of the Mekong hawkers sell balloons, toys, and food. On the first day of the festival I saw a military truck pull up to a group of hawkers and grab the wares off the back of the tuk-tuks (motorbikes with a carriage bolted to the back). Those who were able to get their bikes started rode away without suffering too much loss, but others with engine troubles saw all of their wares go to the thirsty soldiers.
At night, the river plays host to a parade. 20-foot tall floats of light power up the river to the delight of the millions of spectators on both sides. In the background fireworks light up the sky. Elsewhere in the city there are concerts and other celebrations. The first night I watched a concert presented by the Christian humanitarian organization World Vision. It seemed like the performers were well-known Cambodian pop stars. Since my Khmer language skills are poor, I couldn't really tell you much about the concert.
martes, 18 de noviembre de 2008
Day of the Dead
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.
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.
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.
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