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....
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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
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