4/13/2009
Guatemala Trip Journal 2009
Guatemala February 2009
This journal is an account of the two-week trip that Dennis and Marilyn made to the town of Santiago and several villages around Lake Atitlan, Guatemala in February 2009. They had prior appointments set up with several non profits in the area.
We’re back from our vacation to Antigua and Lake Atitlan, Guatemala and what a trip! We met people from several non-profits, as well as other wonderful people along the way, all working to help the indigenous Mayans. We stayed in some memorable places from the ancient city of Antigua to villages around Lake Atitlan.
We’ve written this account in chronological order with bolded headings so that the information can be skimmed or read in a serial fashion. We’d love your feedback. And in case you wondered, yes, we paid all of the expenses of the trip ourselves. This is our vacation and we choose to “work”. It is the most rewarding way to travel for us.
GUATEMALA CITY: A large marimba band serenaded us as we waited at the baggage carousels at the airport of entry to Guatemala. It was a nice touch, though it did cross my mind that this might be the way they try to sooth disgruntled passengers. An airline snafu had left us without landing papers. We were guided to a glass counter where all the passengers milled around like sheep trying to decipher which forms were needed. It all seemed to be in Spanish. A kind official appeared and patiently explained the expectations, in Spanish. So we filled out one of everything and that seemed to work.
Outside, it as busy as any other international airport. We were obliged to wait for our scheduled tourist minibus since the shuttle service schedule did not mesh with the airline schedule. There were two defined crowds of local people penned behind barriers: the colorful group to the right, as we exited, was waiting to greet friends or family members; the other group straight ahead waved signs and called out destinations to persuade travelers to go in their vehicles. Shuttle buses were coming and going all the time though few were marked so it was difficult to know who was picking up whom. We peered and squinted at every one. Eventually, with dramatic shading of eyes and scrunching up of faces, we perceived Louis our driver holding up a piece of paper with the name “Dennis Taylor” printed in faded marker. I climbed inside while Dennis helped Louis shove our two 50# suitcases through the back window. We had to hurry because, we were made to understand, the police wouldn’t let Louis park. Traffic was very heavy and we made slow progress picking up other passengers at hotels and the railroad station. Of course, we were enthralled swiveling our heads this way and that to take in the whole scene. A gringa in the bus told us she’d known Louis a long time. He had, she said, built a whole bathroom with a machete, since he didn’t hold with modern tools.
ANTIGUA: Louis dropped us at the door of the Casa Florencia Hotel, in Antigua. We highly recommend this place ($55/night). It’s quaint, spotlessly clean, quiet and the upper floor has great views. All of Antigua has cobbled streets and often cobbled sidewalks. A sidewalk could be two feet high at one end of the block and diminish to nothing at the other end. Pedestrians need to pay full attention to where they put their feet.
We stayed in several medium to high-end hotels on this trip and none of them had extra heat available of any kind though most places provided extra blankets. Like other gringos with whom we talked, we had been challenged to accept that we could possibly be cold in Central America, even though we were at 5,000 feet. Stupid gringos. We were cold at night. I slept in socks, leggings and fleece jacket over my regular night clothes most nights.
We were typical tourists for our first full day, wandering around, shopping, stopping for a beer and dessert at the Rainbow Café (gringo hang out) and dinner at La Fonda de la Calle Real (recommended by our hotelier for good local cuisine). We stopped at a bank to change dollars for quetzales under the watchful eyes of seriously armed guards.
PanajatchĖl: The same shuttle service company picked us up the next day for the beautiful and sometimes stomach-dropping ride to Panajatchel at Lake Atitlan where we would get the public boat to San Marcos, our first village stay. Our driver was great, we felt safe despite the steep, unguarded drops off the side of the narrow mountain roads. He stopped for us to take pictures and even made an un-requested pit-stop at a gas station. The formerly unacquainted passengers quickly bonded as tissues and squirts of alcohol gel were thrust out of the window to those still in line for the single, no-flusho, no-papel toilet.
Panajatchel, at the shore of Lake Atitlan, is the hub of transportation for the area whether you want to go by public boat clock-wise or anti-clock-wise around the lake to one of the thirteen indigenous villages or by tourist vehicle in-land. A battle of wills, for control of the handle of my suitcase began the second we climbed down from the shuttle bus near the public water taxi dock. Men and boys soon left Dennis alone as he strode rapidly for the target, but I was fair game. It was rough under foot and I struggled with my big suitcase. There were a couple of huge traffic bumps to haul the case over, plus a wide-slotted grating and large gaps between the planking of the dock just big enough to grab the wheels of my case. By the time all my helpers lowered me and my case into the canopied public boat ferry, the handle of my new case refused to be pushed down (Bergman is repairing it now for $55 which is more than I paid for it in the first place). It was interesting to observe helpers and spouse alike make valiant, face-reddening attempts to push the thing down. No-one succeeded. Fortunately, Dennis knew how much the ride should cost so negotiation was kept to a minimum. The twenty minute boat ride to our first stop, San Marcos, was easy and the scenery entrancing. I remember the happy anticipation of the beginning of a new experience. Lake Atitlan is a massive lake formed in a caldera surrounded by three volcanic peaks and steep mountain sides.
San Marcos: like all the other villages, is built high up the side of a mountain, because the water level of the Lake rises and falls over the decades. The village is dissected by a cobbled pathway installed by the Guatemalan Government leading up from the water. Local vendors set up their wares along the narrow, generally shaded path. This village of our first stay, attracts gringos who provide “New Age” services and retreat facilities, restaurants and accommodation. We stayed at Casa Schumann, $28/night per person. For an additional $5.00/day they offered to bring cooking equipment and turn on the power to the burner and to the refrigerator. Schumann is a lovely, quaint place loaded with character and great views and, conveniently close to the dock. Our room was close to the water with a pretty yard and view of the lake. The little restaurant, just up some steps, with inside and shaded patio dining, was nice too and the Mayan women who served us were very pleasant. Given all this though, we wouldn’t recommend staying here. The owners seemed to be rarely on the premises; our room smelled moldy, the shower stall was dirty and the water cold, squirting all over the place, anywhere but downwards, the flow even stopped some times. The lock to the safe box didn’t lock; if you put a towel on the hook in the bathroom, the hook turned sideways and the towel fell to the floor. This was initially entertaining when Dennis was trying to take a shower. Prices on the menu were in dollars but they’d only take quetzales unless the owners were present.
The first morning at San Marcos we met with Josh Wilson of Escuela Caracol, a Waldorf-inspired school. Josh and his wife, Courtney, have done a great job establishing the school which provides education to 25 to 30 children, some of whom are indigenous Mayans on scholarships, solicited by the school, and to the children of gringo families staying in the area. The visitor enters the grounds through a magnificent stand of thick-stemmed yellow bamboo. It is immediately evident that Josh and Courtney have done an enormous amount of work on the grounds which are beautifully landscaped and include a self-composting two-stall toilet with a most artistic wash basin. See www.escuelacaracol.com
When we left Caracol we wandered down the path towards a women’s weaving coop that Josh and Courtney’s Italian friends had started, Luna Kakchiquel. Their non profit is called Liberamente www.comitatoluna.org. I was on a mission to find a source of hand-spun, naturally dyed yarns for a women’s coop in Belize www.mayabags.com. We didn’t find anyone there but have exchanged an email with Sara Filucchi since we got home. After a cold drink from a village tienda we continued towards the Lake and lunch at Paco Real run by English expatriate, Paul. Paul has several ideas to contribute to the community: a free morning day care for working mothers; an after school program and an evening teen club. We’re trying to connect him to the Rotarians.
Santiago: Our next stop across the Lake was the beautiful Hotel Bambu ($55/night) set in its own botanical gardens at the edge of the town of Santiago, center for T’zutujil Mayans. The Spanish owner of the hotel is working with the Mayor of Santiago to beautify the town. We hired a private boat for $20 to take us and our cases on the twenty-minute ride across the Lake. Rolando, the boat owner, was exactly on time, and I didn’t have to fight for my suitcase. Our thatched roof cottage at Bambu had large windows and panoramic views of Lake, volcanic peaks and gorgeous gardens. The people who worked there were mostly Mayan and without exception, it seemed, hungry for education. They also appreciated the offer of a chocolate we’d bought at Costco to take with us!
We went into Santiago to change money at the bank and have dinner by tuk tuk, the little three-wheeled vehicles used for short trips on land. For less than one dollar we were soon in the middle of the town. It wasn’t until the morning we left, that we discovered we could walk a trail along the water from the hotel to Santiago, through pea-patches and passing Mayan women doing their laundry and bathing in the Lake. The gardens were “composted” with the remnants of trash burn piles and included plastics and broken glass. Lack of garbage facilities and smoke pollution is a huge problem throughout the country.
Felipa, from Sharing the Dream in Guatemala, www.sharingthedream.org, came to our hotel to escort us to the first project, the Lower Elementary Chacaya School in the village of Chacaya the other side of Santiago and beyond the bay of our hotel. Armed with our bags of goodies, donated by family and friends, the three of us tuk tukked into Santiago and switched to a public service pick up truck. Pick-up trucks with cast-iron frames over the open bed for passengers to hold on are another means of popular public transportation, sort of like a jitney cab. When vehicle emissions are added to the ubiquitous smoke from trash fires, the results can cause eye and breathing irritation. When you want the pick-up to stop you just bang on the side of the vehicle and hang on tightly. Stops can be sudden. They’ll stop for you in the middle of an intersection if you want, so you have to bang carefully. We found ourselves crowded in with a Spanish-only proselytizer, his wife and their two beautiful children, Jehova Witnesses in traditional dress “gaucho style” pants called “poms” plus a shirt and tie, locals in traditional dress, machete-wielding field workers, children and old folks. It was an extraverted social worker’s dream. I didn’t let my lack of Spanish grammar and vocabulary hold me back from conversing with a captive audience. The machete men de-trucked with big grins, one demonstrating new learning saying “good luck” in English.
Chacaya: We arrived in the village of Chacaya and climbed the steep sandy approach to the new school. The old school was a chicken coup. Outside the building a parent had a fire going under a corrugated iron awning, cooking a snack or lunch for the children. The kitchen is not yet set up. Parents take it in turns to sleep in the school over night to prevent break-ins.
We received a warm welcome from the principal Pascual Mendoza Culán and were proudly shown every room. The first door to the left was the clinic. It was empty save for a few metal shelves of old books. The bathroom in the clinic had a new but unused sink and toilet, the shower was not yet tiled nor was there a faucet or shower head. There is no water to the school. We found out when we got home, that the women of the village have to hike down a very steep, long grade to the lake and climb back up with water since there’s a problem with the village pump. They carry the water in huge pots on their heads and usually an infant on their backs.
I find it hard to explain my experience and emotions of seeing and interacting with all those children crammed together on benches. As an African nun from an orphanage in Zimbabwe once said to me, “the children are always wonderful.” How much we take for granted here and still complain.
We delivered our goodies, seven heavy-duty, wall-mounted pencil sharpeners, pencils, crayons, books and other bits and bobs. I will ever remember the big eyes of a little girl peering over the bag we set down to see what was in it. We took pictures and held up the front section of our local newspaper, The Tacoma News Tribune, in the hopes that they would publish it. The haven’t so far. Pascual seemed pleased with the newspaper section pull-out covering the US presidential inauguration. The seventh class room is empty because there is no teacher. The principal does all the administrative work, tries to generate ongoing support for the school, plus teaches the oldest children. One teacher managed 51 kids of 3rd and 4th graders. Teachers are paid about $3,000 for a ten-month work year.
We had a meeting with the principal, our guide and translator Felipa from Sharing the Dream, sitting on cardboard boxes in the “clinic”. The principal has no office, desk or computer, though we’ve heard this is soon to be remedied. His class was of necessity left unattended for the extent of our stay. Through Felipa, we identified a wish list and are working with the existing collaborative group to help fulfill it. (Sharing the Dream in SD that bought the land, parent group, and the non profit coffee company that built the school). Over and above the obvious – like books – the principal has dreams of soccer uniforms and soccer balls so the kids can play in the local “league”, basketball hoops and balls, and musical instruments, any kind.
As we made our way to the door, the principal expressed his thanks for our visit and assured us we were always welcome there; welcome to stay in the school, and that we would always be family to them. I was immediately obliged to complain about how the smoke from outside made my eyes run.
CENTROS DE ANCIANOS JUANITA, ELDER CENTER: We hopped aboard our return pick up for Santiago where Felipa took us to her office in the Elders’ Center, another project supported by Sharing the Dream. There are no social services, no end of life care, in Guatemala and elders with no family may live on the street, be malnourished and without medical care. We were impressed with the Elder Center. The place was clean and well run by its founder and director, Concepcion Sojuel, staff and volunteers. This is a great place for tourists looking for affordable accommodation along with a cultural experience and a place to be of service. Check out their website at www.santiagoelders.org/. The center is open for elder service Mon/Wed/Fri to distribute cooked food and provide a little to take home. The goal is to increase sponsorship of elders ($270 for a year or $135 for a half year) so that more elders can be served. Sponsorships include food three times a week and medical care at the hospitalito.
We took with us a photo of seniors having lunch at the senior center where Marilyn teaches a fitness class, Key Peninsula Community Services Senior Center. In the picture the diners are waving “Olá” to the Mayan elders. The picture was passed around and studied. Perhaps it will go on the wall. There are photos and brief history of each member of the center around the walls. Many of the stories were heart breaking. The sixty-five or so women and one man that we met were very loving and affectionate. We received hugs and kisses as they came in and were introduced.
As the elders slowly filtered in they were handed a bundle of banana leaves and a clean wet rag. Their job was to wipe the leaves, ready for tamales in a couple of days’ time, as they chatted. We were set to work too. Dennis went upstairs with the manager to cut vegetables for the staff lunch. I was put on tortilla-making duty with a couple of other women. We had to make 650 of the palm-size little critters. Sad to say, it wasn’t long before I was fired. My tortillas had a multitude of problems and there wasn’t time for a learning curve. I did ok with handing out vitamins, one pink plus one white in a plastic bag for tomorrow and one white and one pink for right now. The plastic bag went down inside the blouse. Then we handed out two rolls to each person. The women wrapped them in the multi-purpose cloth they usually carry over their shoulders or on their heads. Dennis served sweet black coffee, and mopped up the ones that got spilled. Using a tray, Dennis ferried the plastic containers that each elder brought, out to a line-up of helpers in the kitchen. We poured a large scoop of black beans into each container, piled seven tortillas on top, and then delivered them back to their owners. For some of the women, this was all the food they would have until the center opened again. From Friday to Monday must seem like a long time. Not one of the elders had an ounce of excess weight. There are many more elders waiting to be served.
At the end of the meal, the elders lined up to hug and kiss us again. I noticed that Dennis had the longest line of well-wishers, plus, there was a lot of giggling going on.
One woman brought the house down with a comment in T’zutujil which didn’t really need any translation. She said it had been such a long time since she’d kissed a nice man. Dennis swept and mopped as we cleaned up in the kitchen. It was a wonderful experience. We had lunch with the staff, said our goodbyes and went on our way.
Felipa led us a few streets away to the Open Door Library run by Amanda Flayer Chif of Starfish One by One. www.starfishonebyone.org. Amanda’s enthusiasm for this school library/literacy program, which focuses on education and leadership in youth, was obvious. The library employs a Mayan teacher to work with the children after school. Saturdays are geared for the whole family. They have a book mobile, and provide outreach to schools with activity kits, stories and fun activities. Starfish is seeking donations of Spanish language books, art materials and educational games. Donations could be used for a small fund for teachers to attend over night trainings and eventually to rent a bigger library space.
What a great day. We wouldn’t have traded these experiences for anything.
But wait ,there’s even more joy to this day - this vacation had everything. For three evenings after dinner at our hotel, we were invited to join a group of gringos at a lecture on local micro loans in the area, local history and something else long forgotten. Women must own land to get any kind of a loan, even then, interest is at 50%. Eighty percent of the land is owned by 5% of the population. Often, the same land is sold to several people. The literacy rate was quoted to be at 63% though I don’t see how it can be that high.
Next day we were up bright and early to catch the public boat from Santiago back to Panajatchel and then our tourist shuttle bus to go to the world-famous market at Chichicastenango. It was another great day. Our little bus bore tourists from France, Brazil, and several parts of the US. In conversation we discovered that one man from Montreal had brought 500 pairs of underwear for a children’s orphanage. The man from DC brought $1,000 to help an AIDS organization, we’d brought school supplies. So many travelers have recognized the dire poverty here and help where they can.
Chichi was a sensation overload of noise, crowds, smoke, choices and color. Jammed with shoppers, traders, peripatetic hawkers, calling out, ringing bells, making whatever noise they could to attract attention and sell their wares. My refrain was, “no, gracias” “no, gracias” “no gracias”. It’s rare that I can see easily over the heads in a crowd, (I’m 5’5 ½ ”) but there was no problemmo here.
To escape the hubbub and regroup, I wandered behind the street stalls into a courtyard that advertised a museum. I wasn’t disappointed and left half an hour later after a tour personally conducted by the Administrator, Shirley Taylor. Further conversation about my quest for naturally dyed yarn directed me to a women’s coop in Sololá. Back on the street, Dennis had found an ice-cream shop and was quite happy licking his ice-cream cone and looking at music CD’s.
After two hours, we’d had enough shopping and “no gracias” and made our way to the Hotel St. Thomas for a pit stop. We had a snack of fried bananas and beer. The hotel was bustling with waiters in traditional dress catering to tourists. The gardens were splendid, though I felt sorry for the clipped-wing parrots permanently perched for the benefit of tourists and their cameras. Our waiter gave us passes to use the clean facilities where a Mayan woman monitored the traffic. I felt sad that, even though we weren’t staying at the hotel, we had unchallenged entrance because of what we looked like. Only the locals, who were employed there, were allowed on the premises.
We rejoined the bus at the gas station for the return journey to Panajatchel at 2:00 pm. In Pana I met with women from the Friendship Bridge (micro loans and fair trade for women) www.friendshipbridge.org and La ComUnidad (weaving cooperative) to gather more contact information regarding natural yarns. As I stepped outside, Dennis, sitting on the curb, was haggling over a wall hanging with a street vendor who had a huge basket of weavings on her head. He wrapped up the deal and we headed back to the public boat dock and back to Santiago and dinner.
But it wasn’t quite that simple! The owners of two boats argued about whose passengers we should be. A pushing and shoving match between the two men ensued, off the dock into the surf and back on the dock again. We got vocal (from a safe distance) with some “no, no seňors,” but didn’t know the word for fighting. Besides, they completely ignored us anyway. We chose our own boat and sat down. The “discussion” moved to the beach wall. No blows were landed and eventually about 45 minutes later than promised, we took off. Vans, buses and boats never take off until they’re full no matter that they promise to leave in ten minutes. Bit by bit, local commuters had filled up the stern benches – we’d sat pretty much forward. A Mayan woman sat next to me. And what a Boat Ride! No life jackets, no cushions, no handles, just hard fiber glass benches. The wind had picked up across the Lake and our captain, testosterone up, floored it (or whatever the boating equivalent is). At first it was funny, the bow rearing up in the air on the crest of a wave then smacking down hard through space to the water that felt like concrete. We guffawed like idiot gringos on vacation. There was nothing to hold on to other than the bench. You couldn’t stand up because of the low canopy. I was sure I would have internal injuries. It felt as though my innards were crunching together. I decided on holding the abs tight, straight spine, and flexible knees. “Donde esta el medico?” I shouted over the engine to the T’zuxuhil woman next to me. She laughed. I turned around to check out the regulars – they were straight-faced and stoic. In the very few lulls I “chatted’ in my pigeon Spanish to the woman, my age, next to me, about grey hair, the effects of gravity and aging. We understood each other well and had a good laugh.
SANTA CRUZ: Next day, Rolando, our boat captain, picked us up at the Hotel Bambu dock and transported us, gently, (“was this speed okay for us?”) across the Lake to the village of Santa Cruz to meet with Carolyn Johnson, and Education Consultant working with Cooperative Education. We took a tuk tuk up the extremely steep, cobbled road that led up from the water to the village and school. Carolyn is a former principal and teacher who quit her job to help others bring reading programs and teacher training to this and other poor villages around Lake Atitlan www.coeduc.org. The founders of CoEd are also school teachers. CoEd adds 25 or 30 schools each year to their remarkable programs. We also met a Rotarian in the school working on measuring the success of the programs. Miracles in Action is also supporting the building of a vocational center in the village www.miraclesinaction.org.
We walked back down to the water and found Bistro Jacaranda, run by an Englishman from Coventry. What a beautiful oasis to listen to opera while drinking the perfect cup of tea (imported from England) and a real bacon and eggs English breakfast with fresh juice. We took our boatman a cold Pepsi and were back in Santiago for lunch.
I finally found time to visit the tienda in the basement of Hotel Bambu. This delay in shopping demonstrates how busy we had been. I found the whole shop was filled with hand spun, naturally dyed product from local coops. Right there under my nose. I bought a couple of things and made copious notes from product labels to pass on to my gringa buddy in Belize.
For dinner we tuk tucked into Santiago to the Pescador restaurant. We chose to sit outside and watch the very interesting world go by this busy intersection. An old man watched through his shuttered window across the street while a younger man sorted, bundled and heaved onto his back, a huge mound of fire wood. Chicken buses, painted in wild flames, disgorged their passengers in the middle of the intersection. The kid on the roof of the bus would stomp his foot for the driver to stop, and then hand down huge sacks of oranges and all manner of hefty bundles to disembarking passengers. Street vendors constantly badgered us to buy their weaving. The sheer busyness of it all was fascinating.
PANABAJ: Felipa from Sharing the Dream, had kindly agreed to meet us on her day off, Saturday, to guide us to the refugee camp at Panabaj, located between Santiago and Chacaya. For a video of kids from the camp, check out www.puebloapueblo.com. Our mission was simply to deliver a key to the camp administrator for the “bottle house” so that someone at the camp could live in it. We had met an East German woman, Susanne, from Pura Vida in the village of San Marcos. Susanne works with the Guatemalan Health Ministry and many others on the ill effects of trash. They collect plastic pop and water bottles, stuff them with candy and chip wrappers. The bottles then serve as bricks or “eco units” for building walls within a chicken-wire frame and a finish layer of stucco. Check out www.puravida.com.
From the camp we caught another pick up back to Santiago where Felipa took us to her mother’s shop on the hill down towards the public dock. We visited a little with Magdalena (Lena) and sister Martha and then bought a few things, one of which was a belt of beaded lilies that took her ten days to make ($26). Felipa showed me how to fasten it. I’ve never been successful in keeping it from slowly unwinding. The three of us went for lunch, then as Felipa went home to do her chores, we wandered up to the ice-cream shop (again), then tuk tukked back to Bambu.
Ronaldo picked us up at 11:00 the next day and took us over the Lake to the village of T’zununá and the Hotel Lomas built over 300 feet up the mountainside for our last couple of days. This was eco luxury, apart from my dancing with a scorpion in the shower. Dennis was under the weather. The views from every point were spectacular. Fresh lake bass for dinner and home made Tiramisu for dessert. The included breakfast was local coffee, fresh juice, home-made whole grain or white toast, butter and home-made strawberry jam. Oh yeah! The owners of Lomas are involved in establishing a Reiken reading program in the village, helped by Miracles in Action and others. It seems that all the gringos are doing something to help.
So that’s about it. We took the public boat back to Panajatchel and cruised the stalls. We bumped into volunteers from Sharing the Dream and learned about a school they run for the children of homeless families. Back on the shuttle bus at 1:00 pm to Antigua for an evening that included last minute frantic shopping, and a wonderful dinner at Santa Domingo, set among ancient ruins and lit by candle light. Next morning, after a run to Fernando’s Coffee Shop down the street to purchase of some local green coffee beans, our faithful shuttle bus carried us back to Guatemala City for the flight home.
If you enjoy reading this kind of thing, I can forward to you a journal written by volunteers for Sharing the Dream who also have just returned from a trip to Guatemala.
Dennis and Marilyn
www.compassionatetraveloundation.org