Home for the Holidays

Home. Family time. Abuelos. Tios. Primos. Speeding. Curves. Jungles. Volcanoes. Black velvet sand. Atitlan. Maya. Photo shoots. Languages. Snorkeling. Sting rays. Squid. Baby turtles. Roaring currents. Sun. Fresh air. Shit music.

If my appreciation of Christmas were based on food alone, this would not be my favorite holiday. Formal family gatherings and extended holiday celebrations have become considerably more complicated since becoming a vegetarian. Nevertheless a bit of home time surrounded by my crazy family is always refreshing. Needless to say there is never a dull moment. The parties and gatherings which are supposed to be a blast - literally with all the fireworks set off - never are, and the impromptu visits evolve into full fledged adventures becoming ingrained into your memory forever.

It's a bit of family tradition I suppose to cram as many activities in as many different places, in this case as many different places in Central America, when we're together. The traveling gene is very much ingrained whether it's by plane, boat, bicycle, car, or bus - sadly there are no trains here. One day you're stepping off the airplane just to pack a different bag which will accompany you for the next 2 weeks. The adventure begins with the sun rising over a misty Guatemala City as it falls away from you and you dive into the clouds. Next thing you know, you're zooming across turquoise waters, diving with squid and stingrays, surfing with dolphins and observing missionaries and narcos interacting. San Pedro is a small island in Belize which I'm told used to be a little haven away from home. Its two block commercial area has turned into a full fledged centro comercial, but at the end of the day it's still an island small enough to traverse various beaches in the hunt to find your father who's on the hunt for windsurf equipment but big enough to cycle an entire day and not get all the way around. Time slows down and the sun is warm. From here, it's back for a day and on to the next destination.

El Salvador is an amazing country even when compared to the cultural giant which is Guatemala. Of course, I'm biased. There's no questioning that streak of patriotism which invokes hyperactivity on arrival and "blows dust in my eyes" on departure, but where else can you physically feel the power of the earth and its roaring oceans, see rocks come to life, and hear the twitter of diversity? You can scale the face of a volcano to find yourself in a field of hummingbirds, flowers and butterflies. You jump in the ocean to get tossed around like a rag doll as you throw yourself against 1.5 meter high frothy waves and emerge laughing covered in black sand. You burn your feet on the sand and cool them off in the ocean. At sunset, you can hear the clicking of canegues (hermit crabs) clambering over black silky rocks as they scavenge for food. The people are friendly and genuine, laughing, smiling and open. The food is heavy and filling. Cheese lovers, you'll never find a cheesier and more satisfying dish than pupusas. I don't care if the name is funny, once you try them you love them. The politics are exciting and despite the high rates of internal corruption, there are many good people within the system.

Another early morning start, three hours later we're back in Guatemala City for a couple hours before getting back on the road this time to the Mexican border. There's an archaeological site called Tikalik Abaj which for all the hassle, the bad roads, potholes, and pitch black darkness, I didn't even get to see much of, but from what I did see, I would go back again. The Tikalik Maya Lodge was one of the coolest hotels I've ever been to, especially for being an eco-hotel. The rooms are large and spacious, completely environmentally friendly (no electricity yes) but plenty of hot water and amazing views from your roof top balcony.You wake up with birds singing and the rainforest at your doorstep. I'm not particularly fascinated by birds but you can't help but be amazed at the sheer variety of bird calls, and bird sightings of all different colours and shapes. Another three hour race for your life past sugar cane trucks, across the agricultural basin of Guatemala and down death provoking curves and you're in Lago Atitlan appreciating the deep turquoise waters and the view of seven volcanoes. Temperatures are mild at this time of year but it's the only time you can really swim in the lake. Panajachel is one of the few places in Guatemala where both men and women walk in the streets wearing their traditional outfits.

That basically sums up two weeks of being home, a flurry of activities, nearly four countries and it all culminates here on the brink of the New Year surrounded by notebooks, journal articles, yellow notepad paper and a very clingy cat preparing to pounce on the last slice of semita. 

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

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.

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.

Central American Security Meeting

I apologize for the sudden political obsession but in truth, that is all I’m surrounded by recently. Politics by day and arts by night. Not bad you say, there are worse things in this world. There are, but the burocractic movements of politics in the real world, not to mention in Guatemala, are so tediously slow it’s like taking the time to measure the individual veins of a leaf in order to produce an exact replica.

Last week, the one and only Hillary Clinton along with 80 other heads of state from around the world, made an appearance in the Camino Real of Zona 10 Guatemala City to discuss Central America's future as a drug mule. With the likes of my latinamerican counterparts demanding more money (it's always about the money) and the likes of Arab sheikhs sitting on quite a bit of money producing useless comments, it fell down to Colombia's Calderón to point the finger and say, "If there is one thing we can be sure of, is that drug money is circulating in this room at this very moment."

Absolute, terrified silence.

Then you have the presidental candidates refusing to reveal their sources of funding. Some might argue it's their rights to privacy, their protection against thievery and extortion, but in this country you only stuggle that much against the law if you have something to hide. Parties win through trickery, lies and bribes. A recent political debate between the top five revealed them as complete and utter nimcompoops for the lack of a better word. Answers for reducing crime and drug traficking included:
a) a secret tactical army to target the narcos (drug lords)- another mismanaged groups of corrupt jugheads with fancy guns
b) shutting down borders - national prison, whoop
c)increased funding for the police force - way, undeserved bonuses!

If you had to choose, would you rather be governed by an ex-assasin, Dr. Evil from Austin Powers, the woman who became the country's richest person by stealing from national funds, or a terminally ill patient?

Antigua

Antigua, otherwise known as the Hoi An, Bonn, or the Pokhara of Guatemala. Backpacker central, gringo land, this is where you go to wander the streets in peaceful safety, marvel at colonial arquitectura and the enormous Volcán de Fuego, twist your ankle on cobbled streets and get ripped off for being a crazy gringa. I should complain I suppose, about how the influx of mostly American tourists has jacked up local prices, food portions and number of English speakers in the area, but then again it's because of the tourists that Antigua is so safe, so clean, so well preserved and so pleasant to walk in. After the panic of the country side (Google 'Petén massacre' and you'll see what I mean) and the political nightmare that is currently the capital, paying a little extra at the market is a small price to pay for a momentary peace of mind.

So what is Antigua?

The city used to be known as the capital of Central America (a quick geography lesson here, Guatemala is NOT in South America, it is in Central America. So is El Salvador). It was the capital of CA and the one of the several capitals of Guatemala (the two previous ones were destroyed by massive volcanic eruptions), until two massive earthquakes destroyed most of the city and the capital was transferred to what is now known as Guatemala City. Original. Today, by some stroke of random ingenuity, the people of Guatemala have conserved and rebuilt the ex-capital, and much of it can still be seen as it was 250 years ago. Some parts are very touristy, but most of it has remained unchanged. The architecture is Spanish baroque, wide one story houses with central courtyards and fountains, the tallest buildings are three story churches which in their surroundings look massive and grandiose. The whole place is a hub of commerce with even the likes of Burger King, MacDonalds and Dominos making a stage presence, but you wouldn't realize it due to the strict preservation laws forbidding any kind of changes to the architecture and any kind of propaganda to be put up. True visual peace.

And yet despite the flourishing tourism and commerce, the community is still very strong. Every year for Semana Santa (Easter), each block of houses works together to prepare and decorate their block for the Easter parades. Colourful sawdust carpets are prepared on the streets. Contributions of bread, toys, flowers, and yearly harvests are made to decorate these carpets depicting the story of the passover. I could spend pages and pages talking about this, but it's late and I don't want to get into it. It'll suffice to say it's beautiful and one of those unique experiences you'll never forget.

So overall summary, if you ever visit Guatemala, chances are you'll end up in Antigua. And you'll love it just like everyone else.

Politics and Transportation

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Writing doesn't come easy in this country for whatever reason. Whether it's the circumstances, lack of quick access or the momentary feeling of complete apathy, at least it's not because of lack of inspiration. Maybe it's because it feels more personal here. Bringing out the inner anthropologists is a lot more difficult when you're living at home in a completely comfortable environment of equity and peace.

I could talk about the transportation system. How absolutely ridiculous it is to put traffic police on what is pretty much a highway to stop oncoming cars 10 minutes at a time in order to allow people to make illegal u-turns. Or the “metro” which is really just a conventional bus with air con, pre-paid cards and its own bus lane. Normal buses are huge privatized vehicles, decorated in the ghetto fabulous style of a latino gangsta; think tribal decorations, catholic paraphernalia, and ACME cartoons depicted on the tire flaps. I'm not sure I understand why the cartoons. Despite their flashy exterior, their shoddy interior and clouds of black fumes they trail behind them provide a more accurate description of the internal state of affairs.

The elections are coming up. Politicians are going wild. And when I mean wild I don't mean wild with impatience to demonstrate political adeptness or eagerness to relay proposed political agendas to bring this country out the slum of violence and corruption. No I mean colour crazy. Never have I seen such obnoxious and extensive displays of propaganda splashed all over a city in every colour of the rainbow imaginable. A glimpse upwards from the valley reveals not natural beauty of tropical rain forests and jungles, but mug shots of the rich, powerful and corrupt. Rocks, lamp posts, sides of mountains, strategically placed broken down cars are all used to relay the all important message “Vote for me”. The city's vaults would be overflowing with cash if the mayor would only install a tax on roadside propaganda. Did I mention there are about 30 political parties running for the presidency? I'm not even exaggerating. In the end what it all comes down to in order to determine the winner of the presidency is who has the most money to pay for the most propaganda.

Orange is winning at the moment.

Exhumation of mass graves of the Verbena

I have kept busy familiarizing myself with the new work regime for the next months and the troubled history of this country. A few days ago I had the opportunity to check out the exhumation of mass burial sites in the city where unidentified bodies from the civil war were dumped. I didn't know what to think. It was so interesting yet so horrifying at the same time thinking that thousands upon thousands of bodies had been simply thrown into circular wells dug deep into the ground. There were three wells, a large one 10m across and 30m deep and two smaller ones about half the size of the first. All together an estimate of 14,000 bodies. Fourteen thousand bodies rotting away in black plastics bags in a sealed concrete container. The forensic anthropologists were half way through the second (the big one) and none of the bodies had been identified yet. Not one positive DNA match to people declared to be missing since the 70s.

And yet a morbid curiosity was awakened. The scientific mind wanted to examine those fragile putrid bones and feel the effects of decomposition. After 30 years of lying in sealed concrete holes with thousands of other decomposing bodies, bones start to resemble in texture, colour and consistency of rotting twigs. The leader of the expedition bent a rib in half as easily as if he were bending the stem of a daisy.

The smell wasn't horribly unpleasant, mostly earthy with a hint of methane but no where near as unpleasant as the stench of month old corpses in the process of exhumation. Rolling down the window to ask for directions was bad enough. Watching the policeman hesitate as he contemplated the answer in a putrid haze was worse. Still it was fascinating seeing first hand the effects that foreign bodies can have on our skeletal body identifying stabbings, gunshots, machete slices and post mortem breakages.

It was the unique cases that really stick. The six month old fetus placed in a jar within the body bag of an old man. Logic would dictate the the other body would be its mother not an anciano. Then were the remains of a young lady buried with her white heels and blue skirt whose skull still had 5 bullets rattling around in it even after having undergone the full process of embalming. The coroner simply did not think to take out the bullets.

It was horrifying but somehow undescribable getting the chance to see the true effects of this country's history first hand. It puts the fear into you knowing that most of these peoples' killers are still alive and kicking, most likely in positions of power. It's the not knowing who but seeing the results of their horrible actions. Just the other day, Thursday in fact, 6 tortured bodies were found downtown, open for display for all morning commuters entering the city. This isn't a very pretty culture.

More info: http://alienatedleft.blogspot.com/2010/10/exhumations-at-la-verbena-time-has-come.html

Guatemala City

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Home sweet home.

Back in the family pod, the tunes of a melancholy piano echoing through the house, clutter of ethnic knick knacks and pillows, cat hair, and an assortment of unconventional objects making up pieces of furniture. Wheels, doors and windows used as tables, an ox yolk as a shelf, a camel saddle bag doubling as a kitty bed and a scratching post. It became official as soon as I finished moving furniture in my room around, rearranging, assimilating, hiding – managed to hide a whole bed in the closet. Then came the overwhelming urge to sweep, dust and hoover, and before I knew it the whole house was clean. Then I ate a mango. A juicy, sweet, bright orange mango.

Hadn't been been back an hour and had already been coaxed into the candle pose, spinal cord realigned (never heard so much cracking in my life) and informed that we'd be making a trip to El Salvador in a couple days. That never happened though since the next day both parents fell ill to a particularly nasty strain of the flu and were rendered immovable for a week.

Life in Guatemala City is strangely domestic after exploring the cultural wonders of the world. Family dinners, cat hair, early morning rush to get to work/school/indigenous tribes, packed lunches varying in size depending on who packs them, weekend trips to see the grandparents, dealing with teenage emotional dilemmas. Everyone here is so emotional. A certain knowledge of etique is definitely lacking on my part.

You can´t say life isn´t rich and exciting though. This morning´s drive to work down that horribly congested Carretera El Salvador into the valley was made less tedious by occasional glimpses of the  Agua, Fuego and Acatenango volcanoes, the morning´s cool temperatures keeping visibility clear. Just like the view of the Himalayas, I can´t get enough of the volcanoes here. 

Californiaaa 18.04.2011

Sitting at the airport for 8 hours, finishing postcards which won't get sent till the end of the month, watching Glee and chatting to randomly friendly men.

“So where are you from?”

Right in the middle of an episode here, “uh, El Salvador”
“Oh wow, me too!”

Which isn't so surprising in the States since roughly half our population are currently living here. Six hours and a greasy panini later, at the gate still watching Glee another man starts...

“Where are you headed?”

Sigh. “Guatemala”
“Oh, yo tambien. Sos Guatemalteca?”
“No, Salvadoreña”

“Pero vives en Guatemala? Donde?”
“En la ciudad”

“Ah vives con tu esposo?” - This question always makes me laugh, but I should really start lying in response.

“Jaja, no”

“Pues yo vivo en la costa pero de vez en cuando voy a la ciudad, que tal si te doy una llamadita?”-

Eew, how old are you man? “No tengo telefono. Ademas me voy a El Salvador a vivir con mis abuelos.”

“Entonces tales nos vemos alli!”

!!!