Friday, July 15, 2011

The Great Confederacy: Watzajib Batz

It's 18:30 and I'm at home with a massive migraine feeling like I've inhaled far too much carbon-dioxide, which I have, my brain demanding intra-cerebral hydration - if only that existed. Rewind to 6:30, bright and early morning and you'll see me nervously skipping out the front door, camera in hand, feeling slightly guilty for ditching work. Fast-forward 20 minutes and we're stuck in traffic listening to Quique Villatoro drone on about what an amazing mayor he'd make. Snore. The day is bright and clear. Another 40 minutes and we're pulling into a driveway beside a wood workshop, the light-hearted notes of the marimba welcoming new arrivals. Still nervous-excited, the way you'd feel if you were about to come face to face with your life-time hero.

The music calls from behind a red solid metal gate. It lilts in the wind, twirling up towards the mango tree, its leaves joining in with the waltz. A man dressed in traditional maya suit stands behind the small opening in the gate, smiling broadly, welcoming us with an eager nod and a good douse of incense smoke to each of our cardinal points. We step from one world to the next, leaving the evils of modern life as we know it behind us, accepting the tranquility and serenity of the maya in front. As tranquil and serene as you can be when you're sacrificing chickens with your bare hands, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Once inside, the city is immediately forgotten. People are rushing about, busily preparing for Watzajib Batz. Pine needles are scattered on the floor, their scent released with every step. Flowers, fruit and corn are arranged in geometric fashion, meticulously prepared as an offering to the North, South, East and West. Oranges, cloves, pine needles, candles and countless other fragrant symbols are placed carefully in what will become a fire pit. Four differently coloured candles are pressed into our hands and we're asked to kneel in reverence to mother earth. An hour later my knees and thigh aching we throw our offerings into the fire pit repeatedly and settle down in rusty fold up chairs for the sermon of Mayan wisdom. Don Apolinario talks of the importance of taking the time to appreciate traditions, of the loss the Maya culture is experiencing, of the fast-paced life that we are all a part of and the technology which is consuming us. He is bitter towards ladinos but accepting and grateful of outsider's efforts to support the Maya community. He wants to preserve ancient wisdom but it is unclear whether this knowledge is to be shared.

We kneel once more, and watch as four men and four women stand around the fire to sacrifice four hens and four roosters with their bare hands. Dogs howl, wings flap, feathers everywhere and soon the smell of burning flesh mixes with the heady scent of pine and incense. We line up to throw our final offerings and prayers into the fire pit, and back to our places to kiss the earth and meditate in silence. The ceremony continues for another hour before breaking for lunch only to resume again, but I've long since retreated to the shade to down a bottle of water.

And to get back to the theme of Guatemalan politics, everybody's favorite candidate has revised his campaign promises (in spanish):

http://www.taringa.net/comunidades/chapines/2226135/Baldizon-Promete-jajaja.html

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Guatemalan Elections: A race to the death

The death toll is ever rising, so much so that even international artists are now being targeted for their ideals. Facundo Cabral, a famous Argentinian socialist singer was killed Saturday morning on his way to the airport. He was 74 years old.

Friday afternoon a helicopter flying in from Quiché, flown by Mauricio Urruela, UCN candidate for vice-presidency, crashed in Chimaltenango on its way back to Guatemala City, killing a UCN legislative candidate and a body guard. Mauricio Urruela was left in a critical condition.

Thursday evening, a bodyguard on Otto Perez Molina's (candidate for the presidency; El Patriota Party) payroll, shot a policeman in the stomach for being told to move the car waiting for the candidate's daughter because it was blocking the way for other cars. The policeman is also in the critical ward.

Tuesday morning, Luis Fernando Marroquin (Lider Party), a man running for mayor in San Jose Pinula (the outskirts of Guatemala City), was arrested for the murder of two of his competitors from the CREO and Unionista parties, and the faked attempt on his own life.

People are dropping dead left and right, and it's not just drug dealers and mareros (gang leaders) anymore, but figures of authority and innocent bystanders. It's a sad and ugly truth and people are scared. I'm kind of glad I'm leaving in two weeks.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

El Volcán de Agua, Guatemala

It's been a while since I posted some pictures, so here goes. This is the water volcano as seen from top above the valley of Guatemala City on a clear day.




Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Sundays in San José Villanueva

La Hacienda

Wake up to the drip drip of the remnants of a violent thunderstorm. Parakeets chirp in hushed tones underneath a blue beach towel, quietly discussing the hot topics of the day. A cat flies in through the window and lands with a thump on your stomach, dashing off without so much as a "Good Morning" to your interrupted sleep. Somewhere in the house a shower handle squeaks and water gushes. Footsteps pad their way over and a blurry face appears in your line of sight.

"You comin' to church?"
"Urrrrrr"
"Good, 10 minutes"
"Urrr"

Twenty minutes later I'm sitting in the front pew like the good catholic I am not, watching in wonder as the funny man dressed in green humms and haws, spits and spews the Holy word of God unto our ever attentive ears. Well, their attentive ears. I don't even remember what the sermon was about. What I did make a note of however, was how much this particular church has grown in the past few years. I am the expert of course, having attended this church on average about twice a year for the past four years, Easters and Christmases included, along with random Sundays of the year. The church of San José Villanueva now has a certain feeling  of utility and warmth which wasn't there at the start. It's a big square "modern" building with tiled floors and wooden pews. The whole town flocks to its doors to fill its seats and listen with fervour to the good pastor. Testimonies of the church's good deeds are given, money to fund local farmers' harvests collected, scholarships for university degrees handed over, requests for a replacement tire for the community's mini bus were made, even the local drunk homeless man made an appearance in a bright blue polo shirt and khaki pants. A whole hum drum of activity which has slowly made itself a key aspect of these people's lives.

Or you could look at it from a different perspective. See those two rows of gringos four rows up? White faced, broad shouldered and stiff necked? They're a special congregation visiting from Misouri on their yearly rounds to monitor how their contributions are being spent by their sponsored missions. Puts everything into a different light.

Church over, the smell of huevos rancheros guides you home so you can stuff your face and fall into the lazy Sunday rythm, interrupted only by the journey to the bus stop. Guatemalan city life beckons. 

Friday, July 1, 2011

Nepali delicacies

I've reached that state of nostalgia for the previous country, so here goes a little commentary on some of Nepal's cuisine.


Momos - If I'm honest, momos are nothing to write home about, they are essentially a spicier curry version of chinese dumplings, usually stuffed with vegetable, chicken or buff meat. After returning from the momo festival complete with momorabilia (i <3 momos aprons, photos taken with the momo man), having tried sweet, salty, vegetarian, and fusion momos, I felt that the tastiest part of the momo was not the momo itself, rather the spicy sauce which accompanies it. A light, tomato based sauce which tricks you into dunking your momos to the fullest and stuffing them in your mouth before realizing its hella spicy. Amnesia is also a side-effect since 5 minutes after the fire gone down in your mouth you proceed to repeat the process all over again.

Chhurpi - extremely hard dried yak cheese with a stronger scent than flavour, which when you first pop it in your mouth tastes like swiss cheese with a hint of yak. Seriously. Imagine what a yak would taste like, kind of like the smell of a goat and a cow mixed together and you've got yak. So you pop it in your mouth, it's cut up into 1cm max 1.5 cm cubes, dark brown or yellow gray in colour, and you suck on it till it goes bland. I've been sucking on mine for a good ten minutes and tiny flecks are starting to crumble off the sides, but it still pretty much has the consistency of petrified cheese.

According to Wikipedia, chhurpi is a smoked cheese eaten in the Eastern Himalayas, very common among the Sherpas. It is made out of yak or chauri (cow-yak hybrid) buttermilk, which is pressed into a cloth and squeezed till no more juices remain. This is then allowed to dry until a cheese consistency is attained. After being cut up into tiny pieces, the little cubes are smoked senseless until the reach their petrified state. Twenty minutes later and I'm still breaking my teeth on this little cube. Tell you what though, normal yak cheese is tasty. Tastes like cheddar and bacon with the consistency of swiss cheese and a hint of dirt.

Curried potatoes - the sole reason I am surviving in this wretched country. I kid, this country isn't wretched. Only sometimes. Back to the potatoes though,  particularly curried potatoes baked, boiled, fried (I don't know what they do with them) to resemble butter. They melt in your mouth with such satisfying flavour, rich spicy, every so slightly bitter from karella (bitter melon) the medicinal herb used to cure all gastrointestinal diseases under the sun.  Bright yellow in color (the potatoes and their sauce) sometimes accompanied by dried pumpkin, another delicious treat, squishy and bursting with juices, and peas. How I miss these potato lunches.

Homeopathic Home remedies - Whenever I found myself suffering the side effects of street food, my landlady would sometimes bring me home made homeopathic concoctions to soothe my ailing stomach. The sweetest little lady who drove a hardbargain. Part of my overpriced flat's rent ensured that I could always make my way up those dark stairs into that dank curry smelling kitchen and she would make me a pot of herbalicious tea which would work its magic during the night and leave me fresh faced in the morning. Magic. On occasion when she was not at home, miso soup would work its magic. A slightly more drastic measure for getting rid of the bacteria, but miso soup certainly works wonders for the digestive tract.