Introduction

Winter '99

Winter '00

Winter '01

Winter '02

Winter '04

Winter '05

Email

HOME

 

Winter 2003


Jan. 8, 2003
Quetzaltenango, Guatemala

Greetings,

We have been in Guatemala just over two weeks. We plan to be down here for almost three months. Before we left it seemed like a pretty long time, but the first two weeks have passed very quickly, and the rest of the time probably will also pass more quickly than we expect.

This year we took a Greyhound up from Ashland, and flew out of Portland. In accordance with the most recent security regulations we had "locked" our luggage with plastic zip ties rather than locks. I guess the theory is that if someone wants to inspect the luggage they can easily cut the zip ties. That would seem to defeat the whole idea of a lock.

Our main concern, however, was how we could get into our luggage once we arrived since other security regulations forbid us carrying anything sharp. We decided to try to smuggle through some nail clippers in Faye's carry-on bag. We also wanted to smuggle some fruitcake to eat once we landed in Guatemala. I had read that in the airport X-ray machines fruitcake looks a lot like C-4 explosive (except for the bits of candied fruit, I would think.)

We dutifully arrived at the airport two and a half hours before our flight and went through the check-in procedure with some apprehension. At the counter Faye's checked pack was "randomly" selected for the high-powered X-ray inspection. We didn't think it had anything to do with her Canadian passport until, at the gate, she was once again "randomly" selected for a more personal inspection, along with a handful of Hispanics. Faye was chagrined that the authorities could possibly suspect a Canadian and muttered anti-American sentiments all the way down the ramp to the plane.

So, we left the Land of the Not-so-free-as-we-used-to-be and the Home of the Increasingly Paranoid with mixed feelings. Both the nail clippers and fruitcake made it through, but it was strange to think such things could be considered a threat to "security." What's next? By all accounts, by the time we get back things could be even worse. As I heard someone say a few days before we left, when the price of freedom is freedom, maybe things have gone too far.

We landed in Guatemala City about 10 p.m. on Christmas Eve. We normally try to get out of the city as quickly as possible. It is ugly, dirty, noisy and dangerous. But because of the hour we had reserved an overpriced room at a traveler's hotel near the airport. I had stayed there once before, but had forgotten just how close to the airport it was. We bargained with a taxi driver and beat him down to $5. We got in his cab and rode in comfort to the front door of the hotel- about a block and a half away.

Holidays in Guatemala are celebrated with massive quantities of firecrackers, some of which are so large that they differ from bombs only in intent. When we first got to our room we felt like we were in a war zone, under heavy fire. As midnight approached it was more like being in a burning ammunition dump. Nearby explosions rattled the windows and vibrated our bed springs. The more distant ones across the city were so constant that it sounded like a hailstorm. I'm not sure what the favorite Christmas song is here, but it certainly isn't "Silent Night."

The next morning, Christmas Day, we had planned to take a relatively comfortable Greyhound-type bus up to Quetzaltenango, a three or four hour trip from Guatemala City. But the better bus lines were taking Christmas off, so we had to ride on of the colorful, but crowded, chicken buses. Our luggage was thrown on top of the bus and we shoved our way inside. It was not the comfortable ride we had hoped for, but at least it was cheap. Our combined fare for the 160-mile trip was less than half what it cost us to go a block and a half the night before.

Virtually everywhere except on maps Quetzaltenango is known by an abbreviated version of its prehispanic name- Xela (pronounced SHAY-la). It is Guatemala's second largest city, but compared to the capitol it feels safe and civilized. It is known for its cultural and educational institutions. The dominant architectural style is turn-of-the-century neoclassical, rather than 17th-century Spanish Colonial. There are monumental stone building around the city's central plaza, and a few blocks away there is a beautiful theater with massive columns, which has recently been restored to its original splendor.

In the mid-1800s German settlers established large coffee plantations which brought prosperity to the region, at least to some. In 1902 an earthquake and the eruption of a nearby volcano devastated the city. But there is little evidence of it now except for some old photographs hanging on cafe walls showing crumbled buildings and rubble-filled streets.

There are a couple of coffee shops in Xela with walls covered with old photographs and newspaper clippings going back more than 100 years. In addition to impressive architecture the photos document a segment of society here that at the turn of the century rivaled in culture that of other world cities of the time. The newspaper clippings tell of civic clubs, beauty pageants, and of artists and performers visiting from Europe. Doctors, lawyers and other professionals advertised their services.

Though this "upper crust" represented just a small percentage of the Guatemalan population, and the wealth of a few was gained largely at the expense of the Mayan natives, the situation was not so different in many other developing countries, ones that are considered "first world" today.

It is intriguing to wonder how things could have been different here. The history of this region has been shaped by many factors, such as geography, climate and natural disasters. But more importantly Guatemala and the other Central American countries have been victimized by more than four centuries of exploitation- religious, economic and political. I'll resist launching into a lecture about that, but it didn't get to be the troubled, corrupt "banana republic" than it is known for without a little outside help.

My four god-children and their family moved from their little village of San Antonio Palopo to Xela about eight months ago. So, instead of going to San Antonio as we usually do on our trips down here we came to Xela to spend time with them in the city. It has been a different experience for us, and in most ways, better. The German's were sent packing during World War II, largely at the insistence of the U.S., but their influence is still evident in the number of good bakeries and coffee shops and a thriving beer industry.

Some of the city's finer points may be lost on my kids and their family, but life seems to be better for them here. I had some concerns about how they would adapt, but they are doing fine. The kids are benefitting from better schools and exposure to a wider variety of influences. The market for the family business- selling their handmade textiles- is better too. They were able to buy a lot on the edge of town and plan to build a small house next year.
Faye and I plan to spend some time in the village towards the end of our trip, but we'll be covering a lot of ground between now and then. We'll spend another week or so here in Xela, then we'll head south into El Salvador and Nicaragua. Should be interesting....



Jan. 22, 2003
Leon, Nicaragua

We left Xela, Guatemala, for El Salvador the middle of January, feeling like we had had enough city life for the time being. Xela is at about 6500 feet and we had made use of our cold weather clothing, which is taking up so much space in our packs.

But leaving Xela we quickly descended into the tropical environment of Guatemala´s coastal lowlands. Banana trees and coconut palms replaced the struggling pine forests of the highlands (decimated by villagers seeking firewood to cook their tortillas.) Further south the tropical vegetation gave way to dry hills and fields of cattle.

Compared to the highlands both the country side and the people of the lowland area seem uninteresting. In contrast to the Mayas of the highlands who wear colorful outfits unique to each village (the women at least) the lowlands are populated by ladinos, more hispanic than Maya, who wear mostly cheap westernized clothes, pure polyester.

We arrived at the Salvadoran border about nine hours after we left Xela, hot, sweaty and tired. Fortunately the border formalities went smoothly. We were the only ones going across. The usual gaggle of "helpers" who try to carry your luggage or point you to the right window were strangely absent.

Usually the first thing one does after getting across a border is change some money into the local currency. But we were informed by the money changers that they were no longer changing U.S. dollars into Salvadoran colones because El Salvador was all dollars now.

El Salvador adopted the U.S. dollar as its official currency in 2001. We were here just about the time that happened. Even then the ATM machines were spitting out U.S. $20 bills. One of the things the opponents of "dollarization" were afraid of was that prices would rise once the dollar became the standard. But as far as we can tell that is not yet the case. Two years ago one could technically use dollars for purchases, but colones were much more common. Now it is the opposite. But it seems that prices in dollars are simply what they were in colones, divided by the exchange rate, which was fixed at 8.75 to the dollar. So you get odd prices such as 12 cents for intra-urban bus fares, 37 cents for a soda, 46 cents for a couple of avocados.

Another more philosophical issue related to "dollarization" are the implications of a country giving up its own historical currency and adopting the currency of a foreign country. The currencies of Europe have largely been abandoned in favor of the Euro. But the Euro was newly coined and symbolic of the economic unification of Europe.

El Salvador is hardly unified with the U.S., but the economic reality here is that U.S. dollars have been flowing into the country for a long time, partly in U.S. aid but more importantly from Salvadorans living and working in the U.S. About 25% of Salvadoran citizens live outside the country, mostly in the U.S. and the money they send back is an important part of the Salvadoran economy. So it was probably easier to adopt the dollar than maintain a de-facto dual currency.

But money is more than just a means of exchange. A teacher in the U.S. can give quite a history lesson with just a dollar bill. A Salvadoran teacher could do the same with colones. But when Salvadoran colones have disappeared entirely, replaced by U.S. dollars, a link to Salvador´s history will have disappeared. How will Salvadoran teachers explain the images on U.S. dollars?

Back to the travelogue... El Salvador is about twice a long as it is wide (or vice versa) and lies pretty much east-west. It is bordered on the south by the Pacific Ocean and has some very nice beaches. We had thought about beach hopping our way down the coast. But we were eager to get to Nicaragua and decided to spend just a few days on a beach, then move on.

We returned to a little settlement we had visited two years ago. We had rented a second story room overlooking the ocean from a family, and hoped it would be available again. We got off the bus and walked a couple hundred hards down a dirt road to where the family lived. When we walked up they recognized us immediately and called us by name. (We wondered whether they had had any other guests since we left!) They apologized that a storm had blown off half the roof of our room, but thought that since it wasn´t the rainy season it wouldn´t matter. We agreed, and settled in for a few days of morning swims in the ocean (Faye just waded in the surf), lots of reading and lying around in the hammocks. At night the full moon shown through the missing half of our roof, and the tide roared up to within a few feet of us on the beach below.

It is difficult to leave a beach in this climate. Tempuratures that are bearable in the shade with a breeze blowing in off the ocean become nearly intolerable a hundred yards away from the ocean. Climbing on a bus is the last thing you want to do. With a stack of books and a hammock I could happily stay a month or more on a beach. But the essence of travel is not staying, but going.

So, after the weekend we boarded the first of half a dozen buses that would take us to a seedy border town on the eastern edge of El Salvador. It wasn´t our idea of a great destination, but we wanted to be certain we could get across the stretch of Honduras that separates Nicaragua and El Salvador without spending the night. As bad as the Salvadoran border town was, it reminded us of most of the towns in Honduras we have been to.

We found a sleezy hotel- the only kind there was- did a little grocery shopping, then locked ourselves in for the night. We took some comfort in the steel door and thick block walls which could stop bullets if need be. The fan in our room operated only at top speed and sounded like an airplane taking off. But at least it drowned out the noise outside our room. A thin mattress did little to soften the wood slats of the bed.

We took off early the next morning to begin our blitz across Honduras. We were fortunate to find a mini-bus on the Honduran side which took us directly to the Nicaraguan border on the opposite side of the country. Within three hours we had crossed two borders, both of them annoying. (Sometime I´ll write a few pages on border crossings in this part of the world.)

On the Nicaraguan side the roads were poorly maintained. The scenery improved as we passed volcanos and herds of grazing cows, but we weren´t going anywhere fast. As our bus bounced its way through potholes and dust settled on our sweaty bodies we began contemplating a trip to Italy.

We are looking forward to exploring Nicaragua. After a good night´s rest and our first full day here in Nicaragua we have already been favorably impressed.


 

 

Feb. 27, 2003
Granada, Nicaragua

As you may recall we left El Salvador not in the best of moods. After squeezing onto too many crowded buses (one of which broke down), an uncomfortable night in a sleazy border town and two tedious border crossings we entered Nicaragua looking forward to a break, and to exploring a country we knew very little about.


Like most Americans much of what I knew about Nicaragua came from biased news coverage of the Sandinista revolution twenty years ago, and the "Contra war" that followed. (It has been interesting filling in the gaps from Nicaraguan accounts.) More recently we had heard favorable reports from a handful of travelers who had been to Nicaragua. We hoped we could find some interesting places and that conditions would at least be tolerable. Fortunately Nicaragua has far exceeded our expectations.

Our first stop was Leon, the former capital from the Spanish colonial era until the mid-1800s. Faye was feeling so traumatized by our trip that she broke out her Mastercard and we checked into one of the city's finer establishments. At $35 it was way over our budget- we try to average about $20 a day for everything. But with such refinements as air conditioning, a decent mattress and hot showers it seemed worth it. The hotel was a remodeled old colonial building with a very nice patio encircling a tropical garden. After getting cleaned up and relaxing a bit we strolled out to explore the city feeling more like rich folks on a vacation than bus-weary backpackers.

Leon has some impressive old cathedrals, including Central America's largest. Begun in 1747 it took more than one hundred years to complete. In the 70s virtually the entire city resisted the Somoza regime and paid for it dearly. Somoza's National Guard bombed the city and there is still evidence of that damage. There are numerous murals around town commemorating the war and those who died fighting. But in spite of the damage it wasn't even close to what we thought we might find in Nicaragua. Most of the damage has been repaired and the town felt peaceful and fairly prosperous.

From Leon we went to Granada on the western shore of huge Lake Nicaragua. It is the oldest continuously inhabited city in the Western Hemisphere, founded in 1524. In the past four centuries Granada has had its share of excitement. Three times in the 17th century Granada was sacked by English and French buccaneers who sailed up the San Juan River from the Caribbean and across Lake Nicaragua. (During the California Gold Rush the Nicaraguan government granted American capitalist Cornelius Vanderbilt a transportation concession to carry forty-niners from the East Coast along a similar route- up the San Juan River, across the lake, then to Rivas, a ways south of Granada. From there they were shuttled across to the Pacific port of San Juan del Sur, just 12 miles or so from Rivas, where Vanderbilt's ships carried the men to San Francisco.)

In the 1850s Granada was the headquarters for one side of a civil war. The opposition was based in Leon. In a very bad political move the Leon faction hired the American adventurer William Walker to attack Granada. They got more than they bargained for. In 1855 Walker captured the town with a band of 56 mercenaries. He declared himself president and made English the official language of Nicaragua. Walker was a Tennessean and gained support from some Southerners by legalizing slavery and proposing that Nicaragua could be colonized by the Southern slave states.

It is impossible to know how long Walker could have lasted in his quixotic kingdom. He made the other Central American countries nervous by announcing his intention of taking over all of Central America. But his biggest mistake was threatening Vanderbilt's transportation business. Vanderbilt was making a million dollars a year on the enterprise and Walker wanted it. Vanderbilt helped finance a coalition of Central American forces who finally drove Walker out of Nicaragua in 1857. As Walker left he ordered his men to burn Granada. He left the epitaph "Here stood Granada."

It was not Walker's first attempt to get a piece of Latin America-- he had declared himself president of Baja California in 1853. Nor was it his last; he led an attack on the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua six months after he was driven out of Granada, but was arrested and sent back to the U.S. His last attempt was in 1860, near Trujillo, Honduras. After being defeated he surrendered to some nearby British troops, who he thought would be sympathetic. They weren't. Walker was turned over to military authorities in Honduras who executed him by firing squad. (We visited his grave in Trujillo a couple years ago.)

Granada is remarkably attractive with wide streets and tidy colonial homes. Ironically I think one reason that is so is most of the buildings were rebuilt after Walker burned the town in 1857, not so long ago for this part of the world.
Within an hour of arriving we were ready to put a down payment on a place. The Nicaraguan government has made foreign ownership and investment attractive, and quite a few of the colonial homes in Granada are being bought by foreigners and fixed up. A lot of the old public buildings and plazas have been restored, as well as a number of magnificent colonial cathedrals. From what we understand most of the work has taken place in the last three or four years.

I wouldn't be surprised if in the next few years Granada becomes a popular vacation destination. There is plenty to do nearby to keep one busy for a week or two. One morning we trekked to the top of a nearby volcano and looked down into the smoldering crater. Another day we visited a village where artisans specialize in making pottery. There are more than 400 small islands in Lake Nicaragua, most uninhabited, and one can hire a boat to explore them. There are many fancy restaurants (out of our budget) and several very nice hotels in historic buildings-- rooms from $35-$75 a night.

For those like us with more time and less money there are quite a few places with decent rooms for $10 or less. Food is reasonably cheap. We found a place that makes great pizza for under $3.

From the beach in Granada we could see the twin peaks of Ometepe, the largest fresh water island in the world. It is formed by two volcanos, one dormant, the other just dozing. After ten days or so in Granada we took a four-hour boat trip over to the island, once again not knowing what to expect. Petroglyphs, pottery and carved stone statues have been found on the island, evidence of habitation going back 3000 years. Today about 35,000 people live there, scattered about in several settlements and a couple of larger towns.

The boat got to the island after dark and we rode in the back of a pickup to the nearby town. It was hard to see much but we could tell that we were passing through a forest of banana trees. The next morning we woke to a mix of domestic and jungle sounds, chickens and wild parrots.

We spent the next several days on a couple of tranquil beaches. The lake is so large it was almost like being on the ocean, but with fresh water. Quite nice. The jungle came down nearly to the water, and at night particularly it sounded pretty exotic with the cries of parrots, the chirps of frogs and other jungle animals and the occasional roar of a howler monkey. (To hear howler monkeys you would think they were the size of gorillas. But they are not much bigger than a cat.)

The two volcanos dominate nearly every view on the island. We spent a couple nights on the lower slopes of one of them at a coffee plantation called Finca Magdalena. During the Sandinista era the landlord was relieved of ownership and the plantation was given to the people that had been working on it. Today 29 families run it cooperatively. They supplement their income by taking in guests at the old hacienda, built more than a hundred years ago. It is pretty basic but the view over to the other volcano is spectacular.

There was definitely a sense of pride in the workers we encountered and they seemed happy (a little too happy when they came traipsing past our door at 5:30 in the morning on their way to their communal breakfast!) If you want to know more about Finca Magdalena their website is www.coop-cdc.com.

From the island it was a short hop over to the Pacific Coast, to the fishing village of San Juan del Sur, not far from the Costa Rican border. The village is pretty quiet so far, though it is getting a reputation as a good vacation spot. There were a few yachts in the harbor alongside the fishing boats. It looked like the town was expecting a lot more visitors- a dozen open air restaurant/bars lined the beach, mostly empty. For now the town is busy only on weekends, and when the occasional cruise ship pulls into the harbor. We found no trace of the more than half a million gold prospectors that passed through San Juan in the 1800s on their way to Cornelius Vanderbilt's ships.

Unfortunately San Juan was quite windy. The place we stayed the first night wasn't built very well and the wind blew so hard that Faye was afraid it was going to come apart. Lying on the beach one was assured of a rosy glow, if not from sunburn then from sand blasting.

After a few days of that we returned to Granada, where we are now. We plan to head back to Guatemala in a few days. (No chicken buses- we're taking a luxury bus direct form Managua to Guatemala City!)

The small part of Nicaragua we have explored in the past few weeks in some ways surpasses anywhere else we've been in Central America, which is quite a surprise. There are more travelers here than we expected, but nearly all seem to be here for the first time. For now we feel like we've discovered something. But I think things are going to change quickly here. Nicaragua seems ready and eager for more visitors. Tourism is becoming a significant part of the economy. For better or worse Nicaragua may become the next Costa Rica.

We'll spend most of our last month in the little village of San Antonio in Guatemala. We have some catching up to do there.


 
Mar. 18, 2003
Panajachel, Guatemala

 

Current events make me feel like this little newsletter is rather irrelevant. When all hell is about to break loose who wants to read this stuff? Most of it I wrote when it seemed global opposition to the war might prevent it. I think those within the borders of the U.S. don't realize quite how widespread that opposition is. Of the many people we've met from around the world in our travels, opinion has been unanimously against the course the U.S. is taking. But evidently that is not going to be enough. It is ironic that one of the cornerstones of democracy, public opinion, is taking such a beating, at least on a global level. I wonder what we are really making the world safe for?

So, I am going to send this out anyway, just for the record. Read it if or when you feel like it....

----------------------------------

The first-class bus ride back to Guatemala from Nicaragua a month ago was uneventful so in retrospect at least seemed to pass quickly.

It took about twelve hours to get from Managua to San Salvador. Since few, if any, buses travel at night in Central America we had to spend the night there. As soon as we arrived we were advised that the streets of San Salvador were not safe after 8:30 at night. I doubt they are very safe before then either. There was a motel attached to the bus station, which was fortunate for both the hotel and us. Since they had a captive audience they were able to charge double the price the room would have been worth in any other circumstances. We popped out briefly for a quick supper, then scuttled back to our dingy room.

The next day we got into Guatemala City early enough to catch a chicken bus up to Antigua. Antigua has long been known as a charming colonial town and is, by far, Guatemala's most popular tourist destination. In the past couple of years an enormous amount of money has flowed into Antigua and the town has crossed the line from touristy to trendy.
There are many posh hotels, up-scale shops and restaurants serving a variety if international cuisine. It is starting to feel like a colonial theme park. Even the newly built MacDonalds resembles an elegant 17th-century building. Most of the authentic homes from that era have been restored to their original splendor, or better, and many now house offices, shops and other tourist-oriented businesses.

The flea-bag travelers' hotel where we usually stay when we are in Antigua has not changed noticeably in at least fifteen years (that I know of). But when we checked in this time we were astonished to find the owners had attempted some improvements, though not enough to elevate it from one star to two.

We didn't have the budget to take advantage of what Antigua is offering its visitors these days, so after a couple of nights we moved on to Lake Atitlan and the village of San Antonio, where we have spent most of our time the past few years when we've come to Guatemala (and where we can rent a humble little room for about $2 dollars a day.)
San Antonio is about the same as always-- not much has changed since last year. It is still a dusty little Mayan village, for the most part untouched by tourism. There is a packaged boat tour that takes people to visit three villages on the lake. When they come to San Antonio the boat usually stays about 45 minutes, which is at least a half hour more than necessary. After a quick look around a lot of the tourists just hang out by the boat waiting to leave.

As I've written before, my four god-children and their family lived in San Antonio until they moved to the city of Xela a little less than a year ago. What little charm the village had for us seems to have vanished with their absence.
But they aren't the only ones who aren't in San Antonio any more. Don Pablo, the kid's grandfather and the patriarch of the family, died last April. In the past few years he had gradually lost his eyesight and suffered increasingly from various pains and ailments. In spite of everything from hospital tests to divinations from local witch doctors no one was able to determine exactly what was wrong with him.

There is no such thing as malpractice here, so he was often sent home with odd treatments, such as drinking diluted urine (Guatemalan homeopathy). I told him that didn't seem like a very good idea to me, but he insisted it was a time-honored remedy.

He died on his way to visit a doctor in Xela, and his family buried him there in the city cemetery without ceremony. I was surprised to learn he wasn't brought back to San Antonio, but I guess the family had its reasons, which I don't claim to understand.. In a village like San Antonio Don Pablo's absence cannot go unnoticed. But whenever someone asks where he is the family just tells them, "He is in Xela."

Don Pablo was a remarkable man. In many ways he was like hundreds of other elderly Mayan village men. He always wore the traditional outfit of San Antonio. But I learned early in our acquaintance that it was a mistake to rely on any preconceived ideas I had about men who looked like him. Our first conversation was about satellites and television signals. (I wasn't able to tell him anything he didn't already know.) He was self-educated and an avid reader. In spite of his many questions I learned not to assume I knew more than he did.

On the other hand he believed in many things we would consider superstitions. He was intrigued by modern technology and tried to understand as much as possible. But what he couldn't understand he accepted in a way similar to the way he accepted the curious remedies given to him by dubious healers. Sometimes it was just a matter of faith.

I've written before about Don Pablo's Mitsubishi mini-van. In spite of the fact that is was a worn out pile of junk, and no one in the family knew how to drive, he bought it with the dream of becoming a transportation czar, or something. The mechanical equivalent of a witch doctor temporarily brought it to life a couple years ago and we had a brief misadventure. But except for that it sat parked in front of Don Pablo's door gathering dust and chickens.

The other day when I realized it was no longer there I asked Petrona, Don Pablo's oldest daughter, where it was. After the briefest of pauses she said, "It's in Xela." I knew what that meant. May it rust in peace.

I was in Xela myself most of last week (in fine health, thank you). I wanted to spend a few more days with my kids before coming home. They are all back in school after a nearly two-month strike by public school teachers. Rolando, their older brother, is attending a private school and was unaffected. Little Sarita, who is five and a half already, has been looking forward to starting school for more than a year, so she was eager to see the strike settled.

Actually it wasn't really settled, it just ended. The teachers wanted a better salary and improved teaching conditions. The president promised them both when he was elected three years ago. I guess that money was needed elsewhere. The teachers got hungry before they got what they wanted. But there's another election coming up. I don't think we've heard the last of this issue.

In the city it is difficult for me to think of activities that will be interesting to all the kids, and to me. We spent a few hours one day at a mall, window shopping and eating ice cream. The mall is three stories high and Sarita seemed to thoroughly enjoy every single stair step, up or down. She proceeded to each step in the most interesting way she could think of which, of course, took quite a bit of time and really annoyed her two older sisters, Yessica and Angelina.

The next day Sarita and I went back by ourselves and she discovered she quite liked having me drag her along the slick floor while she pretended to ski. When we passed the ice cream place she insisted on buying me a cone. What a kid!
One activity we all liked was a trip to the thermal baths in Almolonga. Almolonga is a village a few miles from Xela and there are several bath houses with water piped in from mineral hot springs. In contrast to bath houses in Japan (and San Francisco) the bath houses of Almolonga are a family affair. There are a number of individual rooms with concrete tubs about 5'x6' wide and a couple feet deep. It is not unusual to see rather large families going into the rooms. I don't think it is so common for a big white guy to go in with a bunch of little brown kids, but nobody seemed to think it was strange. (A couple of nuns went in just before us. That struck me as a little strange!)

Hot water is not common in Guatemalan homes and baths are unheard of. It was quite a novelty for the kids to splash around in the hot water, and a real luxury for me. It was the best two bucks I've spent.So, that's about it for this year. I plan to leave for home in about a week. Who knows what will happen between now and then? Faye flew to Canada a couple weeks ago to spend some time with her mom, who has been sick. We hope to meet in Portland, Faye flying from the north and me from the south- if the borders and airports are still open. Then one last bus ride and we'll be back in Ashland.

As I said at the beginning, at the moment things don't look good. It feels like we're on the eve of destruction. The eyes of the world are not only on Iraq but the U.S. I don't think there are going to be any winners in this one.

Until next year....... Jim