Jan. 6, 2001
San Antonio Palopó, Guatemala
We flew most of the way this year, and arrived in Guatemala City on Christmas Day. We had wondered whether traveling on Christmas was a bad idea, but everything went smoothly. Probably nearly everyone who was going somewhere for the holidays was already where they were going, leaving the airports and bus stations calmer than usual. Our fellow travellers seemed to be an unsentimental bunch and we heard little mention of the holiday.
From Guatemala City we had hoped to get to Panajachel, the resort town on Lake Atitlan which is just a few miles from San Antonio. But we couldn’t find transportation at that late hour, so we took a taxi to Antigua, which is only 45 minutes of so from the airport. Antigua is an attractive colonial town popular with tourists, ex-patriates and students who come there to attend the numerous language schools.
In years past I wouldn’t be caught dead in a taxi or tourist shuttle here. I figured what was good enough for the Guatemalans was good enough for me, and always insisted on traveling by public bus. But this year in addition to our travel packs we had a crate of Christmas presents for my godchildren, and we didn’t feel like dealing with Guatemalan mass transit.
Actually, this was not the first time I had succumbed to the lap of luxury. Last Easter my mother and I spent a couple weeks here. She had broken her arm just a couple of days before we arrived so I didn’t make her fight her way onto the colorful but overcrowded public buses. We got around exclusively by taxi, tourist shuttle and even a small airplane. I kinda liked it.
Once you’ve broken ranks with the common folk it is hard to stop sliding down the slippery slope of comfort and convenience. But I’m not too worried. Our travel budget will quickly compel Faye and I to reunite with the bus people.
In Antigua we stayed at Posada Refugio, a modest lodging that has been popular with budget travelers for something more than the dozen years that I’ve lodged there. The beds are lumpy, the rooms are painted a particularly unpleasant shade of green, the facilities are shared by all and are, shall we say, unpretentious. But the price is right- a little more than six dollars for the two of us.
I’ve written before about how disorienting it is to fly here, rather than taking the bus through Mexico as we have done a few too many times before. We arrived in Antigua about 36 hours after we left Ashland. We needed food and sleep. Most of the restaurants we were familiar with had thoughtlessly closed for Christmas, so we ate our first meal in Guatemala at a cheap Chinese place, whose employees evidently had a better work ethic.
Back at Posada Refugio we collapsed on our lumpy beds and slept soundly, our dreams muddled by snatches of various foreign languages and the explosions of celebratory firecrackers which broke through to our subconscious. When we awoke night had fallen and we both had trouble figuring out where we were. Later, as we went out in search of supper I felt like I was watching a 3-D movie, in the scene but not part of it. Such was the feeling of disorientation. It was a couple of days more before the feeling fully faded.
We made it out to San Antonio the day after Christmas. We were met by the welcoming faces of my little family here. They quickly relieved us of our luggage and carried it all up to our room. We’ve stayed in the same place for four years now. So, while I can’t say it felt like home, it certainly felt familiar. Each year when we return there are more improvements to our quarters. The first year we were here we cooked our meals over an open fire and bathed in the lake. The second year we gained the use of a small adobe building next to our room to use as a kitchen, and was loaned a propane stove. I think it was later that year that we got a water spigot in our yard so we didn’t have to carry it in buckets from the community spigot.
The major improvement this year is a shower with hot water. When we arrived Petrona, an aunt of my godchildren who owns the place we stay, proudly showed us the shower but apologized that the water heater didn’t work. Here, a common form of water heater is an electrical apparatus that is built into the showerhead. The temperature of the water is inversely proportional to the volume. You can have a nice flow of tepid water, or a trickle of hot water. For those of us who were raised with the idea that electrical appliances should be kept away from water, standing under a showerhead with wires coming out the top is a little disconcerting.
Still, I had to figure out why the thing wasn’t working. I turned the water on, and half of it came squirting out the top, around the wires. That can’t be good, I thought. I took everything apart, dried it out, and eventually got it fixed so water only came out where it was supposed to. At some point the wet apparatus must have blown the breaker. I fiddled with that a bit and got electricity restored. Petrona was very impressed, and we are able to take at least lukewarm showers. Fear of electrocution tempers our enjoyment.
My godchildren are all doing well and are growing up fast. Angelina will start fifth grade later this month, Bruce enters second grade and Yessica starts first grade. Sarita is three, and is a real handful, as she has been from the time she was born. It will be very interesting to watch her grow up. She doesn’t speak any Spanish yet, only Cakchiquel, the Mayan dialect spoken by the people around here. But she is pretty good at making her will known, so I’ve picked up a few more Cakchiquel words from her. Sometimes she will whisper something earnestly into my ear and I have no idea what she is saying. But it doesn’t seem to matter. When it matters she figures out a way of making me understand.
During the first few days we get back to the village we run into many friends, asking the usual questions- How are you? When did you get here? How long did it take? How much did it cost? Shortly after we arrived we were invited to the home of a family Faye has known for a few years. It was a traditional one-room adobe house, with some additions for extended family. It was located a ways up the mountainside, but the hike was worth it. The view was spectacular, out over Lake Atitlan with the volcanoes in the background. We looked down on part of San Antonio. The corrugated tin roofs formed a picturesque patchwork pattern in various shades of rust. Directly below us was the ravine which serves as the village dump, which detracted a bit from the scenery.
We were invited in to chat. Faye had to remove a couple of chickens from one of the beds to give ourselves a place to sit. Other chickens wandered around on the earthen floor. A child brought in a puppy and put it on the other bed. Faye commented that they must really like animals. Just then a pig emerged from under the second bed and walked drowsily out the door.
We were graciously offered a hot drink called “atol” which is made from corn flour and sugar, about the consistency of a gruel. Faye was a little afraid of being poisoned, and the thought certainly passed through my mind. But we accepted the drinks in the spirit they were given, and suffered no ill effects.
A lot of the people here haven’t heard that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” For many it is next to impossible. When the walls and floor are made of dirt, and everything is cooked over an open fire there is only so much you can do. When we are here during the holidays we are often invited to various homes where we sometimes eat food from kitchens of questionable cleanliness. But so far so good. Most of the holiday specialties are various flavors and consistencies of corn meal. I actually like most of it. It is a real honor to be invited to share their food, so we do our best to enjoy it.
This year for a change we spent New Years in Panajachel. Fireworks are a big holiday tradition here. I’m sure in comparison a war zone would have seemed tranquil. Perhaps safer too. We dodged fireworks as we walked around town, and near midnight the field next to our hotel caught fire. We were glad to get back to the village where things are usually more peaceful.
The man who lives in the place at the bottom of our stairs is on his an annual New Year’s bender. We hear him moaning and crying out during the day and half the night. Normally he is a very mild-mannered guy. He listens to sermons on his radio all day as he works. (He is an excellent seamster.) I don’t know whether the sermons drive him to drink, or whether he listens to them most of the year in atonement for the couple of weeks he is drunk. He usually emerges around the middle of January looking haggard and contrite.
Car Trouble
A couple of years ago Don Pablo, the patriarch of the family, bought a Mitsubishi mini-van. He is nearly blind now. But he couldn’t drive even if he could see. No one else in the family can either. I have no idea why he bought it. The vehicle has sat idle since. Last year they evidently thought there was a problem with the carburetor. Kennedy, Don Pablo´s only son, looked near and far for a replacement, without success. I had no reason to doubt the diagnosis, so I didn’t check into the problem.
This year the car was becoming a real eyesore. Two of the tires were flat, it was dirty and the kids were using it to play inside. I decided to intrude. My automotive knowledge is pretty much limited to old Volkswagens, but I figured I had to know more than they did. That was an idea which seemed to surprise them. Just as we sometimes limit them according to our ignorance, they sometimes limit us according to theirs.
Anyway, after tinkering for a bit all I could find wrong was a stuck accelerator and a leaky gas line. I fixed those and the car started up just fine. Most of the family was on hand for the blessed event. The excitement and amazement on their faces was more than I deserved. They thought I was a mechanical genius. Life should always be so easy.
Alva immediately asked me if I would give her driving lessons. (Alva is a daughter of Don Pablo, one of Petrona’s younger sisters.) In a year or so she will be the first person in the village to graduate from university. Now she wants to be the first woman in the village to drive a car. My fear is that letting her behind the wheel might put her graduation in jeopardy.
As it turned out, all the excitement was a bit premature. The next morning as we got ready for a test drive I found there was a big problem with the clutch. I had to admit it was more than I could handle. I’m sure my newly elevated status dropped by at least a couple of notches. It will take more than $200 to replace the clutch, so Alva´s graduation may be ancient history before she gets her chance to be the first woman in the village to drive a car.
Finally, we are happy to report that the music situation in the village, which has annoyed us so much in the past, has improved. The loud speakers atop the churches are quiet most of the time, and what we do hear seems to be of better quality. Maybe it just sounds better at lower volumes. At any rate I have vowed not to say any more about it.