Although I'm not exactly certain what caused the shift, it has finally come and I am ready to return to Canadian soil. I think it happened as I approached the prospect of a week in Antigua, celebrating Semana Santa. I know that it cemented upon my return to San Marcos.
I have been in Guatemala for four months, and will be here for just over another two weeks. There is no question it has been a life changing experience - though in what ways and to what extent, I suspect I won't really know for months yet.
In true Shosh-style, I essentially ran out of money after about my first month here, and so, faced with my own immanent and premature departure, I promptly panicked, pouted, whined and agonized. Then I stopped, remembered there was another way, and I put out a request to the universe: show me the money. I asked for a clear sign - is it time for me to go? Or should I stay? And if I'm to stay, show me how I'll pay for it. And then I let it go . . . and accepted that I didn't know if I was staying or leaving, but I was ok either way.
Within 36 hours I was offered a job as a waitress; a day later I was offered a place to stay, essentially for free, I just had to pay the hydro bill and take care of the cats. The universe provided - and it was effortless for me, I just had to let go.
Three months later, I have been working 5 nights a week at the restaurant, and teaching my dance class once a week. I've managed to save a little - just enough to go to Antigua for the week (again, with a free place to stay). One does not get ahead here, one gets by. And for as long as I've needed to be here, to be present to my growth, to soak in the lake and the energy of this sacred place, that has been enough.
When I left for Antigua, I was in definitive need of a vacation . . . . from my vacation???? It was a reminder of how profoundly I was not on vacation here, and although fundamentally, that's ok - I didn't come for a 'vacation' so much as a journey . . . I was tired from working 6 nights a week. Something had shifted.
When I returned to San Marcos from my week in Antigua, I landed with an emotional thump. I didn't want to return to work; I didn't want to work that hard just to 'be' here anymore. It wasn't the first time I had recognized that I could work half as hard to earn 10 times as much at home, but it was the first time it had really bothered me. Up until this point, the appeal of staying here out-weighed the appeal of earning money, instead of peanuts. For the first time, the prospect of returning to Canada, to work, felt exciting and full of possibilities. Up until that point, it had felt only daunting and somehow like a 'should' hanging over my head.
I've actually seen very little of Guatemala - this vast country of highlands, lowlands, mountains, lakes, ruins, beaches, fascinating people and culture. I have spent almost all of my time in San Marcos, learning, growing, resting, healing . . . and working. Once the emotional dust from my week in Antigua settled, I became clear that although there is so much more here I could do and see and experience - and I would like to return for all those things - I have gotten what I needed out of this journey. It has been exactly what it needed to be.
What surprises me, perhaps the most, is my choice to return to Ontario instead of BC. Not that I plan to stay there long - BC is truly my home - but some part of me is truly mystified by my choice to spend summer in smoggy, unrelenting, citified Ontario, rather than swimming off the rocks at home on Cortes. As that decision settled into my spirit (with some fine protest by my mind!!) I realized that I have a profound need to reconnect with my family. I don't fully understand it - beyond the obvious (I love them, I miss them . . . etc.), but something larger than me is clear I need to go home to them this summer, and so it shall be.
So, the journey home will be a longer, more circuitous one than I originally envisioned, but I trust that all things unfold as they are meant to. I have some exciting hopes and plans for my time in Ontario, and I am looking forward to reconnecting with many old friends in a way that just doesn't happen in 2-week visits. I plan to be back in BC by the end of September, grounded and ready to settle in to my home.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Semana Santa in Antigua
Easter Week: The biggest celebration in Guatemala. In a way that many Westerners can't relate to, Christianity - in various strains - still powerfully guides life in Central America, especially among the indigenous. Religion here is far more evangelical and almost fundamentalist, though fortunately, it doesn't appear to spark quite the same level of violence as in other parts of the world. Devotion, however, is a living thing.
In San Marcos, one of its obvious elements is the daily sermons and psalms sung over the loud speakers from the two big churches every day (sometimes all day for days on end . . .)
With the arrival of Semana Santa, the entire country is mobilized into ritual, devotion, and creative acts of tribute to the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The epicenter is Antigua - so that's where I went to experience it. (Turns out the second biggest and similarly interesting festivities are right on the lake where I've been living, over in Santiago - but I didn't find that out until I got back).
Antigua: The celebration is at least a week long. It starts the Sunday before Easter and grows each day, in exponential proportions as Good Friday approaches. I arrived by chicken bus on Tuesday afternoon, and as I crossed through town to find where I would be staying, I could see that the streets were already beginning to fill with tourists, vendors, alfombras and processions. Alfombras are the incredibly beautiful tapestry carpets created on the roads that the processions then walk over. It's an incredible process to witness and contemplate. It was these carpets that really became the focus of my week.
My beautiful friend Leigh, Bless her, had rented an apartment for the week, and generously offered to let me stay with her. Among other things, Semana Santa means that accommodation in Antigua is incredibly hard to come by, and double the price of any other time of year. Leigh's generosity made this experience possible for me. (Muchas Gracias Chica!!!) This apartment became our base camp from which we went on excursions in search of food, processions, alfombras, stories and pictures. We found copious amounts of each.
It's hard to remember the sequencing of the week - between the colours, sounds, energy and lack of sleep . . . it's all a bit of a blur. We were warned early that sleep would be at a premium, as the processions and the parties were pretty much continuous, going right through the night, from Wednesday through Saturday morning This was no understatement, and it became clear quickly that there was no way to do and see everything, and that sufficient sleep was unlikely. It didn't Leigh and I long to find a favourite coffee shop to start each day at. Overlooking Parc Central, it provided an ideal launch point for the day, and a beautiful place for people watching and taking pictures of the festivities.
The Processions:
Each day was marked by processions. Early in the week saw one or two each day, by Friday there were four full processions, starting at 4am and continuing through to 2am Sat. morning. (If not later . . . ) Each procession demarcated a pivotal part of the crucifixion story - from the betrayal right to the crucifixion itself on Friday - this being the most graphic set of floats and most intense devotion by those in the procession.
The floats themselves were awe-inspiring. Full-size floats with large tableaus of Jesus and whichever other characters were relevant to the particular story of that procession. These floats, unlike those we might be used to in the Western world, are carried by men in purple robes - not on truck-beds, even though they are likely about the same size & weight. Watching the procession, you can see the strain on the faces of the men literally shouldering these burdens. Some floats, featuring the Virgin Mother, or another important female figure, were carried by women - these floats generally appeared to be smaller and lighter.
Each procession started in one of the many churches in the city, and culminated at one of them - sometimes the same one sometimes a different one, following a prescribed route and timetable. Although the focus/story of each procession was slightly different, the basic elements were consistent: Young boys/men in purple robes with big hanging censors smudged the path, including the carpets with incense (copal, I think). They were followed by a roman gladiator-style band - horns, drums . . . something to announce the coming procession; then the gladiators, on foot, on horse, and/or with chariots, then more people wearing robes, carrying portraits, banners and signs, followed finally by the men bearing the floats. Behind the floats trailed another band - this one in black suits, looking more like an orchestra. Behind the procession trailed the children and other folks seeking to collect some of the debris from the trampled alfombras.
One evening we got to watch a procession go directly under our window - some of the photos form that are incredible. Frankly, I have literally hundreds of incredible photos from that week. At least half of them are of the alfombras.
The alfombras:
Stunning, intricate, time-intensive, creative works-of-love. There are two basic types of alfombras: Wood chip stencil style and those created out of grass, straw, flowers, corn-husks, fruit, vegetables, carvings, and other assorted ingredients. Regardless of the type or the level of intricacy, they are incredibly time intensive, and clearly works of love and devotion. Even the simplest grass and straw alfombras take remarkable time and work to create. People locate them, in front of their home or business, based on the prescribed route maps so that they are ready a few hours before the procession will arrive at that location. Often this means that folks are out on the street at 1, 2, 3 in the morning creating them for processions that will start at 4am.
On Thursday night, Leigh and I went to bed early and set our alarm for 2 am so that we could wander the streets watching them be built. Just as the intensity grows exponentially over the week, so does the intricacy and beauty of the alfombras. We witnessed some of the most stunning pieces of artwork early that morning, wandering the darkened and quiet - but vibrantly alive streets. We watched the procession start at 4am, wandering ahead of it to catch photos before they walked over the carpets, obliterating them. I can't help but think that these carpets are not just acts of devotion, but an incredible exercise in detachment for their creators- knowing they will exist for but a few hours (sometimes for less time than they spent creating them) before being trod over the procession.
The food:
Our constant search for alfombras was trumped only by our daily search for the food vendors - who moved their obscenely large fair each day to correspond with where the most important processions culminated. To get an idea, picture your favourite fall fair- and all of the food vendors there, then double the number of vendors, triple the number of people . . . and of course, make the food Guatemalan. Tortillas heaped with meat, sauce and salads; Papusas (tortillas filled with gooey melted cheese), tostadas piled with guacamole, frijoles, beet salad and coleslaw; sandwiches aplenty, cotton candy, fried plantains, yucca, potatoes, etc.; candy apples, pineapple empanadas (like a calzone, but sweet), mangoes on a stick, coated in ground Pepita; pineapple juice, orchata (a sweet rice milk), chucitos, tamales . . . and of course, lots of soda and agua pura. And all of it CHEAP. Dinner for 25Q (about $3) meant eating til we hurt.
To provide some variety, we visited a couple of restaurants, in between our vendor hunts. One is my favourite from my first time in Antigua, when I first arrived here. The food was as fabulous as I remembered - a banquet of traditional Guatemalan stews, salads, and other sides to choose from. The prices were steeper than I remembered. It's remarkable how different my perspective on money and price is after four months here, and especially after working in a restaurant. Leigh had been craving Thai food for a few days, so we decided to give that a try one night also. Sadly, we both left still craving Thai food - as their version, while interesting, was definitively not Thai. And because we're both foodees, and cheap, we also made a few meals at the apartment - generally tortillas (we bought those - 5 for 1Q) and Guacamole (I made that). I think my belly is still recovering from all the food.
The People:
People watching at any large festive event is always interesting. This one didn't let me down. Because of the importance and scope of this celebration, it attracts thousands of people from across Guatemala and around the world. Because it's a religious celebration, it is family friendly, and it was quite amazing to watch the hundreds of processants in purple walk by - and realize that many of them were children, and some infants-in-arms . . .in purple! In the park, children ran around with noise-makers, balls, and glow-sticks - some playing, some selling them. Much like my first trip to Antigua, I was humbled by how young the children selling to tourists are - whether it's jewelery, cloth or services. My last trip, I discovered that the shoe-shine boys start as young as 5 or 6.
The Guatemalan chant - pan de banane, pan de coco, pan de chocolate???? which I hear every day in San Marcos had many refrains in Antigua over Semana Santa as women chanted out the contents of their food baskets - be it fruit, breads, sweet corn, etc.
The tourists were also incredibly interesting. My favourites were the Israelis that I found myself standing next to watching the Crucifixion process on Good Friday. Not that they particularly stood out visually, although their Hebrew speech made it obvious to me where they were from. But I found myself quite amused at the irony of so many jews hanging out watching the deeply religious Easter celebration in all its glory. I didn't get their full story - but it seemed they were a good-sized group. Certainly gave me a smile for the morning.
There are so many details and so much more about this rich week that I can't even begin to put into words. I know that I would love to do it again, and see more of the processions themselves, and have more time to hang on either end of the week so that I could better stretch myself without sleep for the good parts. I know that for everything I saw, there were at least 5 amazing things that I didn't . . . and in a phrase appropriate for the parallel Jewish holiday that same week: Daiaynu. It was enough.
*End note: In looking up the correct spelling for "alfombras", I found this website which describes fairly accurately and concisely some of what I've subjectively described above - check it out if you're curious: http://www.questconnect.org/guat_semana_santa.htm#Carpets
In San Marcos, one of its obvious elements is the daily sermons and psalms sung over the loud speakers from the two big churches every day (sometimes all day for days on end . . .)
With the arrival of Semana Santa, the entire country is mobilized into ritual, devotion, and creative acts of tribute to the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The epicenter is Antigua - so that's where I went to experience it. (Turns out the second biggest and similarly interesting festivities are right on the lake where I've been living, over in Santiago - but I didn't find that out until I got back).
Antigua: The celebration is at least a week long. It starts the Sunday before Easter and grows each day, in exponential proportions as Good Friday approaches. I arrived by chicken bus on Tuesday afternoon, and as I crossed through town to find where I would be staying, I could see that the streets were already beginning to fill with tourists, vendors, alfombras and processions. Alfombras are the incredibly beautiful tapestry carpets created on the roads that the processions then walk over. It's an incredible process to witness and contemplate. It was these carpets that really became the focus of my week.
My beautiful friend Leigh, Bless her, had rented an apartment for the week, and generously offered to let me stay with her. Among other things, Semana Santa means that accommodation in Antigua is incredibly hard to come by, and double the price of any other time of year. Leigh's generosity made this experience possible for me. (Muchas Gracias Chica!!!) This apartment became our base camp from which we went on excursions in search of food, processions, alfombras, stories and pictures. We found copious amounts of each.
It's hard to remember the sequencing of the week - between the colours, sounds, energy and lack of sleep . . . it's all a bit of a blur. We were warned early that sleep would be at a premium, as the processions and the parties were pretty much continuous, going right through the night, from Wednesday through Saturday morning This was no understatement, and it became clear quickly that there was no way to do and see everything, and that sufficient sleep was unlikely. It didn't Leigh and I long to find a favourite coffee shop to start each day at. Overlooking Parc Central, it provided an ideal launch point for the day, and a beautiful place for people watching and taking pictures of the festivities.
The Processions:
Each day was marked by processions. Early in the week saw one or two each day, by Friday there were four full processions, starting at 4am and continuing through to 2am Sat. morning. (If not later . . . ) Each procession demarcated a pivotal part of the crucifixion story - from the betrayal right to the crucifixion itself on Friday - this being the most graphic set of floats and most intense devotion by those in the procession.
The floats themselves were awe-inspiring. Full-size floats with large tableaus of Jesus and whichever other characters were relevant to the particular story of that procession. These floats, unlike those we might be used to in the Western world, are carried by men in purple robes - not on truck-beds, even though they are likely about the same size & weight. Watching the procession, you can see the strain on the faces of the men literally shouldering these burdens. Some floats, featuring the Virgin Mother, or another important female figure, were carried by women - these floats generally appeared to be smaller and lighter.
Each procession started in one of the many churches in the city, and culminated at one of them - sometimes the same one sometimes a different one, following a prescribed route and timetable. Although the focus/story of each procession was slightly different, the basic elements were consistent: Young boys/men in purple robes with big hanging censors smudged the path, including the carpets with incense (copal, I think). They were followed by a roman gladiator-style band - horns, drums . . . something to announce the coming procession; then the gladiators, on foot, on horse, and/or with chariots, then more people wearing robes, carrying portraits, banners and signs, followed finally by the men bearing the floats. Behind the floats trailed another band - this one in black suits, looking more like an orchestra. Behind the procession trailed the children and other folks seeking to collect some of the debris from the trampled alfombras.
One evening we got to watch a procession go directly under our window - some of the photos form that are incredible. Frankly, I have literally hundreds of incredible photos from that week. At least half of them are of the alfombras.
The alfombras:
Stunning, intricate, time-intensive, creative works-of-love. There are two basic types of alfombras: Wood chip stencil style and those created out of grass, straw, flowers, corn-husks, fruit, vegetables, carvings, and other assorted ingredients. Regardless of the type or the level of intricacy, they are incredibly time intensive, and clearly works of love and devotion. Even the simplest grass and straw alfombras take remarkable time and work to create. People locate them, in front of their home or business, based on the prescribed route maps so that they are ready a few hours before the procession will arrive at that location. Often this means that folks are out on the street at 1, 2, 3 in the morning creating them for processions that will start at 4am.
On Thursday night, Leigh and I went to bed early and set our alarm for 2 am so that we could wander the streets watching them be built. Just as the intensity grows exponentially over the week, so does the intricacy and beauty of the alfombras. We witnessed some of the most stunning pieces of artwork early that morning, wandering the darkened and quiet - but vibrantly alive streets. We watched the procession start at 4am, wandering ahead of it to catch photos before they walked over the carpets, obliterating them. I can't help but think that these carpets are not just acts of devotion, but an incredible exercise in detachment for their creators- knowing they will exist for but a few hours (sometimes for less time than they spent creating them) before being trod over the procession.
The food:
Our constant search for alfombras was trumped only by our daily search for the food vendors - who moved their obscenely large fair each day to correspond with where the most important processions culminated. To get an idea, picture your favourite fall fair- and all of the food vendors there, then double the number of vendors, triple the number of people . . . and of course, make the food Guatemalan. Tortillas heaped with meat, sauce and salads; Papusas (tortillas filled with gooey melted cheese), tostadas piled with guacamole, frijoles, beet salad and coleslaw; sandwiches aplenty, cotton candy, fried plantains, yucca, potatoes, etc.; candy apples, pineapple empanadas (like a calzone, but sweet), mangoes on a stick, coated in ground Pepita; pineapple juice, orchata (a sweet rice milk), chucitos, tamales . . . and of course, lots of soda and agua pura. And all of it CHEAP. Dinner for 25Q (about $3) meant eating til we hurt.
To provide some variety, we visited a couple of restaurants, in between our vendor hunts. One is my favourite from my first time in Antigua, when I first arrived here. The food was as fabulous as I remembered - a banquet of traditional Guatemalan stews, salads, and other sides to choose from. The prices were steeper than I remembered. It's remarkable how different my perspective on money and price is after four months here, and especially after working in a restaurant. Leigh had been craving Thai food for a few days, so we decided to give that a try one night also. Sadly, we both left still craving Thai food - as their version, while interesting, was definitively not Thai. And because we're both foodees, and cheap, we also made a few meals at the apartment - generally tortillas (we bought those - 5 for 1Q) and Guacamole (I made that). I think my belly is still recovering from all the food.
The People:
People watching at any large festive event is always interesting. This one didn't let me down. Because of the importance and scope of this celebration, it attracts thousands of people from across Guatemala and around the world. Because it's a religious celebration, it is family friendly, and it was quite amazing to watch the hundreds of processants in purple walk by - and realize that many of them were children, and some infants-in-arms . . .in purple! In the park, children ran around with noise-makers, balls, and glow-sticks - some playing, some selling them. Much like my first trip to Antigua, I was humbled by how young the children selling to tourists are - whether it's jewelery, cloth or services. My last trip, I discovered that the shoe-shine boys start as young as 5 or 6.
The Guatemalan chant - pan de banane, pan de coco, pan de chocolate???? which I hear every day in San Marcos had many refrains in Antigua over Semana Santa as women chanted out the contents of their food baskets - be it fruit, breads, sweet corn, etc.
The tourists were also incredibly interesting. My favourites were the Israelis that I found myself standing next to watching the Crucifixion process on Good Friday. Not that they particularly stood out visually, although their Hebrew speech made it obvious to me where they were from. But I found myself quite amused at the irony of so many jews hanging out watching the deeply religious Easter celebration in all its glory. I didn't get their full story - but it seemed they were a good-sized group. Certainly gave me a smile for the morning.
There are so many details and so much more about this rich week that I can't even begin to put into words. I know that I would love to do it again, and see more of the processions themselves, and have more time to hang on either end of the week so that I could better stretch myself without sleep for the good parts. I know that for everything I saw, there were at least 5 amazing things that I didn't . . . and in a phrase appropriate for the parallel Jewish holiday that same week: Daiaynu. It was enough.
*End note: In looking up the correct spelling for "alfombras", I found this website which describes fairly accurately and concisely some of what I've subjectively described above - check it out if you're curious: http://www.questconnect.org/guat_semana_santa.htm#Carpets
Friday, April 16, 2010
The School of Natural Living
This is a long entry - because there is so much to tell and describe. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry. The experience just can't be condensed any further!
I just spent about 24 hours on a Perma-Culture Eco-Farm / School just outside Santiago on Lake Atitlan. It was an amazing and memorable experience. We arrived about 2pm on Wednesday ... already discovering in the process of our departure/pick-up that our hosts function on Guatemalan time.
We arrived to one of the most beautiful pieces of land, covered in lush grass, foliage, crops, trees and buildings, carved out of the rock of the steep mountain-side. Our first sight, though, was the three hot tubs emerging from the lake at its shore . . . well, two were emerging, one was fully submerged. We discovered that with the changing water level of the lake the first one had fully succumbed to rising tideline - the other two have been under water for a couple of years, but have recently re-emerged, although they are expected to be under water again within the next couple of years, as the water levels are rising by about a meter a year with the global change in climate.
As an aside, I discovered that a huge chunk of San Marcos is expected to be underwater within about 15 years. Barrio 3 is the highly populated and built up area, mostly inhabited by gringos, that I currently live in; and was apparently just part of the lake until about 50 years ago anyway. It was built up with land-fill as the water level of the lake dropped and the shoreline receded. It will be very interesting to see what happens over the next 10-15 years. Enough about that though - back to the school!
Upon our arrival we were shown to our house for the night; at the top of the property, up about a million stone steps. It was stunningly beautiful - but just a taste compared to the view of the property, lake and mountains from there. We took some time to settle in, ground our bodies and our belongings and then headed down to begin our learning journey. We started in the outdoor cooking area, learning to make tortillas. The dough was already prepared; our job was to learn to make this dough (maza) into round little tortillas, without sticking it our hands, dropping it, squishing it, or creating weird wavy elipticals. Much tougher than you might think - and humbling to watch how quickly not only our teacher did it, but also her 13 year old son - who assisted as translator when necessary.
The hosts of the school are a family of eight - Antonio is a gringo, settled in Guatemala for many years, Susanna is an indigenous woman born here on the lake, and they co-parent six beautiful children. Amongst them there are three languages: English, Spanish and Kekchiquel. Antonio speaks English and Spanish, and I think understands some Kekchiquel, Susanna understands English quite well, but only speaks Spanish and Kekchiquel. Their oldest son, Marlon, is fully fluent in all three languages - I think the only one, so far, in the family as such - although all the children are learning English through their dad. The blend and contrast of languages and cultures here was quite beautiful and striking. Susanna was our cooking teacher for the 2 days and I feel like I learned almost as much about Kekchiquel culture as I did about Mayan cooking in that process.
Once tortillas were accomplished (I am quite proud of my ability to make them quickly and remarkably round - though I come nowhere close to their skilled speedy hands), we wandered back up some stairs, around a big tree, down some stairs, past the fish pond and arrived essentially just in front and slightly below the outdoor cooking area - into the lower kitchen. My photos are wholly inadequate to depict the setup of the property - but because it is carved into rock, it curves around in some ways that are sometimes less than efficient walking-wise, but absolutely beautiful. In the kitchen we learned to make guacamole and chilmole. Guac I'm quite comfortable with already, but Chilmole was a new one on me: it's essentially a tomato salsa with mint. Oh, my, Goddess!!!!!! Wow, was it good. And then we ate. Tortillas, guacamole and salsa. Surprisingly filling and SOOO yummy.
Our next task was to make chuchitas with the remaining tortilla dough - turns out it's essentially the same dough for several of my favourite dishes. mmmmmm. Chuchitos are what I knew as Tamales in Canada. They are corn dough wrapped around filling (usually tomato sauce and veggies or meat), wrapped in a corn husk and steamed. Learning to make them is again about learning to maneuver the dough - you start by making a tortilla, cup it, fill it, fold it and wrap it. My friend Sophia calls this the art of Edible Origami.
Mid-way through the process the rain began to fall . . . in earnest, so we hustled into the kitchen to complete assembly and get the chuchitos into a pot. We watched as Susanna created a steamer out of a big pot - lining the bottom with corn husks to cover the water, and then stacking in our little packets, covering the top with a damp cloth before putting the whole thing on the stove. With that task complete, save for letting them boil, we returned to our house, got our towels and headed for the Mayan sauna. We decided that sauna was better before dinner, rather than after.
The sauna was amazing - and a bit different from the ones I've gotten used to in San Marcos. Like everything else, it's quite traditional, rustic and brilliant. An open fire in the corner, with a big barrel of boiling hot water beside it, a rock face to be splashed with water (for steam) behind it, and a big tub on the floor filled with a mix of the boiling water and some cold water from the spigot beside the fire. The mix of water in the big tub is used to pour over your body as you sweat out the toxins. It's brilliant.
Boneless after our sauna, we climbed back up the many steps to our house where we found our dinner in a couple of pots on the stove. Chuchitos and frijoles (black beans). I was so baked I fell asleep without eating - it just required too much energy. Fortunately, chuchitos are just as yummy re-heated the next day - so I had mine with my tamales for lunch on day 2. Antonio had set us up with some 'camp' lanterns before our sauna, as the only power on the property is solar or gas. The lights are plugged in to solar panels during the day and used for light at night. Their longevity is determined by how sunny the day was. Between the sauna, the day's activities, and the lack of artificial light stimulation, it was an early night for all of us. I'm always amazed at how much earlier I naturally go to sleep when there is no electricity - even if it's just lights . . .somehow I stay up later when I have power. hmmmm . . .
The sunrise over the mountains from the house is stunning. I know this intuitively, even though I was too tired to drag my butt out of bed to see it. I vow to be more diligent next time I stay there - and I am reasonably confident there will be a next time.
Day 2 started with fresh fruit, Guatemalan coffee and hot chocolate and chilling out. Like Day 1, it flowed at a very leisurely pace. Our agreed-to 8am start actually looked more like fruit starting to be cut at 8:30, leisurely noshing while traditional corn gruel and black bean cereal was made, followed eventually by our lesson beginning around 10:30ish.
Day 2's project was Tamales. This we made almost from scratch. Susanna had soaked the rice overnight already and, after drying it in the sun, Antonio and Marlon had ground it. We started with the ground rice in a big pot, well covered in water - milky from the rice. We cooked that, stirring constantly, until it began a thick glue-like paste that took two to stir. This was deeply enlightening - tamales are not corn; they are rice - and the dough is a surprisingly yummy gruel. Since only one of us needed to stir the pot for most of that time, we worked on the sauce at the same time. The ingredient list was beautiful and the end result spectacular. Incredibly flavourful, not too spicy - sooo good.
When it was done cooking, we let the gruel cool while we finished making the sauce, chilled out and had more coffee and then we returned for our next origami lesson. We filled large leaves (I assumed banana, but turns out they are Calla-lily leaves!!!), with the rice mixture, created a dip for the sauce (just like mashed potatoes and gravy) and then gently spooned the rice up and over the sauce creating a little volcano like thing. Then the precarious folding began. Many leaves later, we again watched as Susanna filled a big pot with a little water, a bunch of corn husks and then piled the tamales in to the pot, carefully creating a circle of them, leaving the middle an empty pillar for steam to rise; and again, covering it with a wet cloth. This time they tamales were cooked on the fire outside - as the sun was shining.
While the tamales cooked, we headed down to the lake for our solar heated hot tub. My first bath in months - and only my second truly hot water experience in Guatemala. aaahhhh. Being the true gringos we are - we gathered some clay from the lake bed (it's prolific at their shore), and covered our faces in it for skin masks. We hung out in the hot tub until we were prunes while the kids giggled at us and swam in the lake around us. Once fully cooked, we each hopped in to the lake to rinse of the mask and enjoy a cool swim. All of us hopped back in the hot water once more for a soak before we headed back up for lunch.
After our leisurely (and enthusiastic) consumption of lunch, we cleaned up, said our goodbyes and prepared to head back. That too ended up being a long process - from rounding everyone up, to good-byes, to departure (including bailing out the back of the boat to counter its small hole) . . . and then a slow trip across the lake with a very full boat. We had one more person on the return trip, and a full gas tank. (apparently we had come across the day before on fumes). We landed back in San Marcos around 4pm, less than an hour before the rains started again. whew!
It's hard to believe it was only slightly more than 24 hours - it felt like more than 2 days. There is something to Guatemalan-time. Days are full without being hectic. There is time to just be, and it all gets done . . . eventually, and what doesn't isn't important.
I just spent about 24 hours on a Perma-Culture Eco-Farm / School just outside Santiago on Lake Atitlan. It was an amazing and memorable experience. We arrived about 2pm on Wednesday ... already discovering in the process of our departure/pick-up that our hosts function on Guatemalan time.
We arrived to one of the most beautiful pieces of land, covered in lush grass, foliage, crops, trees and buildings, carved out of the rock of the steep mountain-side. Our first sight, though, was the three hot tubs emerging from the lake at its shore . . . well, two were emerging, one was fully submerged. We discovered that with the changing water level of the lake the first one had fully succumbed to rising tideline - the other two have been under water for a couple of years, but have recently re-emerged, although they are expected to be under water again within the next couple of years, as the water levels are rising by about a meter a year with the global change in climate.
As an aside, I discovered that a huge chunk of San Marcos is expected to be underwater within about 15 years. Barrio 3 is the highly populated and built up area, mostly inhabited by gringos, that I currently live in; and was apparently just part of the lake until about 50 years ago anyway. It was built up with land-fill as the water level of the lake dropped and the shoreline receded. It will be very interesting to see what happens over the next 10-15 years. Enough about that though - back to the school!
Upon our arrival we were shown to our house for the night; at the top of the property, up about a million stone steps. It was stunningly beautiful - but just a taste compared to the view of the property, lake and mountains from there. We took some time to settle in, ground our bodies and our belongings and then headed down to begin our learning journey. We started in the outdoor cooking area, learning to make tortillas. The dough was already prepared; our job was to learn to make this dough (maza) into round little tortillas, without sticking it our hands, dropping it, squishing it, or creating weird wavy elipticals. Much tougher than you might think - and humbling to watch how quickly not only our teacher did it, but also her 13 year old son - who assisted as translator when necessary.
The hosts of the school are a family of eight - Antonio is a gringo, settled in Guatemala for many years, Susanna is an indigenous woman born here on the lake, and they co-parent six beautiful children. Amongst them there are three languages: English, Spanish and Kekchiquel. Antonio speaks English and Spanish, and I think understands some Kekchiquel, Susanna understands English quite well, but only speaks Spanish and Kekchiquel. Their oldest son, Marlon, is fully fluent in all three languages - I think the only one, so far, in the family as such - although all the children are learning English through their dad. The blend and contrast of languages and cultures here was quite beautiful and striking. Susanna was our cooking teacher for the 2 days and I feel like I learned almost as much about Kekchiquel culture as I did about Mayan cooking in that process.
Once tortillas were accomplished (I am quite proud of my ability to make them quickly and remarkably round - though I come nowhere close to their skilled speedy hands), we wandered back up some stairs, around a big tree, down some stairs, past the fish pond and arrived essentially just in front and slightly below the outdoor cooking area - into the lower kitchen. My photos are wholly inadequate to depict the setup of the property - but because it is carved into rock, it curves around in some ways that are sometimes less than efficient walking-wise, but absolutely beautiful. In the kitchen we learned to make guacamole and chilmole. Guac I'm quite comfortable with already, but Chilmole was a new one on me: it's essentially a tomato salsa with mint. Oh, my, Goddess!!!!!! Wow, was it good. And then we ate. Tortillas, guacamole and salsa. Surprisingly filling and SOOO yummy.
Our next task was to make chuchitas with the remaining tortilla dough - turns out it's essentially the same dough for several of my favourite dishes. mmmmmm. Chuchitos are what I knew as Tamales in Canada. They are corn dough wrapped around filling (usually tomato sauce and veggies or meat), wrapped in a corn husk and steamed. Learning to make them is again about learning to maneuver the dough - you start by making a tortilla, cup it, fill it, fold it and wrap it. My friend Sophia calls this the art of Edible Origami.
Mid-way through the process the rain began to fall . . . in earnest, so we hustled into the kitchen to complete assembly and get the chuchitos into a pot. We watched as Susanna created a steamer out of a big pot - lining the bottom with corn husks to cover the water, and then stacking in our little packets, covering the top with a damp cloth before putting the whole thing on the stove. With that task complete, save for letting them boil, we returned to our house, got our towels and headed for the Mayan sauna. We decided that sauna was better before dinner, rather than after.
The sauna was amazing - and a bit different from the ones I've gotten used to in San Marcos. Like everything else, it's quite traditional, rustic and brilliant. An open fire in the corner, with a big barrel of boiling hot water beside it, a rock face to be splashed with water (for steam) behind it, and a big tub on the floor filled with a mix of the boiling water and some cold water from the spigot beside the fire. The mix of water in the big tub is used to pour over your body as you sweat out the toxins. It's brilliant.
Boneless after our sauna, we climbed back up the many steps to our house where we found our dinner in a couple of pots on the stove. Chuchitos and frijoles (black beans). I was so baked I fell asleep without eating - it just required too much energy. Fortunately, chuchitos are just as yummy re-heated the next day - so I had mine with my tamales for lunch on day 2. Antonio had set us up with some 'camp' lanterns before our sauna, as the only power on the property is solar or gas. The lights are plugged in to solar panels during the day and used for light at night. Their longevity is determined by how sunny the day was. Between the sauna, the day's activities, and the lack of artificial light stimulation, it was an early night for all of us. I'm always amazed at how much earlier I naturally go to sleep when there is no electricity - even if it's just lights . . .somehow I stay up later when I have power. hmmmm . . .
The sunrise over the mountains from the house is stunning. I know this intuitively, even though I was too tired to drag my butt out of bed to see it. I vow to be more diligent next time I stay there - and I am reasonably confident there will be a next time.
Day 2 started with fresh fruit, Guatemalan coffee and hot chocolate and chilling out. Like Day 1, it flowed at a very leisurely pace. Our agreed-to 8am start actually looked more like fruit starting to be cut at 8:30, leisurely noshing while traditional corn gruel and black bean cereal was made, followed eventually by our lesson beginning around 10:30ish.
Day 2's project was Tamales. This we made almost from scratch. Susanna had soaked the rice overnight already and, after drying it in the sun, Antonio and Marlon had ground it. We started with the ground rice in a big pot, well covered in water - milky from the rice. We cooked that, stirring constantly, until it began a thick glue-like paste that took two to stir. This was deeply enlightening - tamales are not corn; they are rice - and the dough is a surprisingly yummy gruel. Since only one of us needed to stir the pot for most of that time, we worked on the sauce at the same time. The ingredient list was beautiful and the end result spectacular. Incredibly flavourful, not too spicy - sooo good.
When it was done cooking, we let the gruel cool while we finished making the sauce, chilled out and had more coffee and then we returned for our next origami lesson. We filled large leaves (I assumed banana, but turns out they are Calla-lily leaves!!!), with the rice mixture, created a dip for the sauce (just like mashed potatoes and gravy) and then gently spooned the rice up and over the sauce creating a little volcano like thing. Then the precarious folding began. Many leaves later, we again watched as Susanna filled a big pot with a little water, a bunch of corn husks and then piled the tamales in to the pot, carefully creating a circle of them, leaving the middle an empty pillar for steam to rise; and again, covering it with a wet cloth. This time they tamales were cooked on the fire outside - as the sun was shining.
While the tamales cooked, we headed down to the lake for our solar heated hot tub. My first bath in months - and only my second truly hot water experience in Guatemala. aaahhhh. Being the true gringos we are - we gathered some clay from the lake bed (it's prolific at their shore), and covered our faces in it for skin masks. We hung out in the hot tub until we were prunes while the kids giggled at us and swam in the lake around us. Once fully cooked, we each hopped in to the lake to rinse of the mask and enjoy a cool swim. All of us hopped back in the hot water once more for a soak before we headed back up for lunch.
After our leisurely (and enthusiastic) consumption of lunch, we cleaned up, said our goodbyes and prepared to head back. That too ended up being a long process - from rounding everyone up, to good-byes, to departure (including bailing out the back of the boat to counter its small hole) . . . and then a slow trip across the lake with a very full boat. We had one more person on the return trip, and a full gas tank. (apparently we had come across the day before on fumes). We landed back in San Marcos around 4pm, less than an hour before the rains started again. whew!
It's hard to believe it was only slightly more than 24 hours - it felt like more than 2 days. There is something to Guatemalan-time. Days are full without being hectic. There is time to just be, and it all gets done . . . eventually, and what doesn't isn't important.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
The Chicken Bus
The chicken bus is not just a form of transportation from a to b, but rather a full-spectrum experience. I'm not sure why they are called 'chicken' buses - as they are old discarded school buses from the US . . . although it may be related to the possibility that the passenger manifest, such as it is, may include chickens.
I had my first (and likely my only) chicken bus experience en route to Antigua for Semana Santa. I traveled with my friend Steph, which is good, because I might well have lost my nerve mid-way to Antigua if not for her steady certainty.
The relatively short trip to Antigua, when done by shuttle is a door to door operation in a single vehicle (flat-tires and other such break-downs not-withstanding) To do the same journey by chicken bus requires four transfers. Each bus change requires the concurrent transfer of one's luggage off the roof of one bus and onto the roof of the next. Watching the process is both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Each bus has two workers - one is the driver, and the other I'll call the 'handler'. He takes fares, deals with the people and handles the luggage. As far as I can tell, insanity is part of both job descriptions. Absolute fearlessness is essential for the handler. At major transfer points he is the one that takes the baggage, recently removed from the previous bus, and installs it at the top of his bus. He also removes the baggage and passes it off to its owners at each departure, tucking up new pieces as folks get on the bus. None of this sounds terribly glamorous . . . until you are witnessing the process.
Maneuvering luggage on top of the bus means climbing the ladders at the back on either side of the emergency exit door. (used as a regular entrance and exit - that's where we boarded and departed each of our buses) What makes the luggage process spectacular is that the handler runs up and down these ladders while the bus is in motion. The big load is dealt with at the major transfer points with the bus stopped, but after that, he runs up the ladder in anticipation of someone's exit, hucking their stuff down at them as the bus begins its departure. Sometimes that means he hops off the ladder at the back and runs beside the bus to the front, jumping on there as the bus begins its acceleration. (Marathoners have nothing on these guys).
One would think that given that this all happens around people on-boarding and off-boarding that at least the bus is moving fairly slowly. That would be a deeply erroneous assumption. Remember the insanity clause. The bus generally goes at top speed, careening around corners (many prayers were said on that journey), and screaming to a not-quite-stop so folks can on-board or off-board at random spots along the road. Actual bus-stops not required - neither a demarcated spot or an actual full-stop of the bus. Locals seem to have almost the same ease hopping on and off a moving a vehicle as the handler, though I admit he did come to a full stop for brief moments for some passengers . . . but not for all.
We were on bus 3 of 4 was when the rain came. The bus was only about a quarter full. In addition to Steph and I there was one other traveler - a Norwegian girl, and all three of us had our big packs on top of the bus. We were watching the sky darken, and the wind pick up . . . and little drops begin to fall . . . and I wondered aloud about our packs up above . . . If the rain stayed light, we might be ok, if it picked up, we were all screwed. It would be days before the contents dried. As the rain got more enthusiastic, I decided to risk the ask. I wandered up to the front (holding on for dear life as we continued to ricochet along the highway in the rain) and offered my most charming and sheepish grin to the handler. In my sad Spanish, I asked if perhaps he could retrieve our packs from the top and bring them in? I was pleasantly amazed when he agreed - with an indulgent you-dumb-gringos look, mind you, but it didn't feel mean . . . just humourous.
I had made the assumption that if the handler agreed, the bags would come down at the next stop, or maybe even that they would stop the bus to do it. No sir. At full throttle, going up a hill and around corners, in the pouring rain, that man hopped out the back door, swung up the ladder to the top of the bus, unhooked our packs from the rack, and swung each of them down to some locals who hauled them in the door. The Norwegian girl's pack must've weighed close to 50 pounds. It's amazing to me that this experience fit into one paragraph - because truly, it felt so much bigger than that. I cannot begin to fathom the fearlessness, sense of immortality . . . I don't even know how to process belief set that goes with swinging one's body and someone else's heavy bags off the back of a bus hurtling through pouring rain on curving hills at full speed . . .
The rest of the journey was completely uneventful. I'm not sure, really, how it could have been anything but, by comparison! We made our last transfer, back in the sunshine, though we put our rain covers on our packs just in case. The last bus had good music, so we bopped along; it was also the fullest, so I shared a seat with two other people. Remember that these are children's school buses - designed to seat 2 children to a seat, not 2-3 adults and a child. Crammed to the gills, we arrived in Antigua without incident, pulling in to the most colorful yard of buses I've ever seen. Dozens of brightly coloured chicken buses, parked in rows, waiting to depart, belching smoke, hanging out ... wow. A truly Guatemalan experience. And don't worry Mom & Dad, I'm perfectly safe!
I had my first (and likely my only) chicken bus experience en route to Antigua for Semana Santa. I traveled with my friend Steph, which is good, because I might well have lost my nerve mid-way to Antigua if not for her steady certainty.
The relatively short trip to Antigua, when done by shuttle is a door to door operation in a single vehicle (flat-tires and other such break-downs not-withstanding) To do the same journey by chicken bus requires four transfers. Each bus change requires the concurrent transfer of one's luggage off the roof of one bus and onto the roof of the next. Watching the process is both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Each bus has two workers - one is the driver, and the other I'll call the 'handler'. He takes fares, deals with the people and handles the luggage. As far as I can tell, insanity is part of both job descriptions. Absolute fearlessness is essential for the handler. At major transfer points he is the one that takes the baggage, recently removed from the previous bus, and installs it at the top of his bus. He also removes the baggage and passes it off to its owners at each departure, tucking up new pieces as folks get on the bus. None of this sounds terribly glamorous . . . until you are witnessing the process.
Maneuvering luggage on top of the bus means climbing the ladders at the back on either side of the emergency exit door. (used as a regular entrance and exit - that's where we boarded and departed each of our buses) What makes the luggage process spectacular is that the handler runs up and down these ladders while the bus is in motion. The big load is dealt with at the major transfer points with the bus stopped, but after that, he runs up the ladder in anticipation of someone's exit, hucking their stuff down at them as the bus begins its departure. Sometimes that means he hops off the ladder at the back and runs beside the bus to the front, jumping on there as the bus begins its acceleration. (Marathoners have nothing on these guys).
One would think that given that this all happens around people on-boarding and off-boarding that at least the bus is moving fairly slowly. That would be a deeply erroneous assumption. Remember the insanity clause. The bus generally goes at top speed, careening around corners (many prayers were said on that journey), and screaming to a not-quite-stop so folks can on-board or off-board at random spots along the road. Actual bus-stops not required - neither a demarcated spot or an actual full-stop of the bus. Locals seem to have almost the same ease hopping on and off a moving a vehicle as the handler, though I admit he did come to a full stop for brief moments for some passengers . . . but not for all.
We were on bus 3 of 4 was when the rain came. The bus was only about a quarter full. In addition to Steph and I there was one other traveler - a Norwegian girl, and all three of us had our big packs on top of the bus. We were watching the sky darken, and the wind pick up . . . and little drops begin to fall . . . and I wondered aloud about our packs up above . . . If the rain stayed light, we might be ok, if it picked up, we were all screwed. It would be days before the contents dried. As the rain got more enthusiastic, I decided to risk the ask. I wandered up to the front (holding on for dear life as we continued to ricochet along the highway in the rain) and offered my most charming and sheepish grin to the handler. In my sad Spanish, I asked if perhaps he could retrieve our packs from the top and bring them in? I was pleasantly amazed when he agreed - with an indulgent you-dumb-gringos look, mind you, but it didn't feel mean . . . just humourous.
I had made the assumption that if the handler agreed, the bags would come down at the next stop, or maybe even that they would stop the bus to do it. No sir. At full throttle, going up a hill and around corners, in the pouring rain, that man hopped out the back door, swung up the ladder to the top of the bus, unhooked our packs from the rack, and swung each of them down to some locals who hauled them in the door. The Norwegian girl's pack must've weighed close to 50 pounds. It's amazing to me that this experience fit into one paragraph - because truly, it felt so much bigger than that. I cannot begin to fathom the fearlessness, sense of immortality . . . I don't even know how to process belief set that goes with swinging one's body and someone else's heavy bags off the back of a bus hurtling through pouring rain on curving hills at full speed . . .
The rest of the journey was completely uneventful. I'm not sure, really, how it could have been anything but, by comparison! We made our last transfer, back in the sunshine, though we put our rain covers on our packs just in case. The last bus had good music, so we bopped along; it was also the fullest, so I shared a seat with two other people. Remember that these are children's school buses - designed to seat 2 children to a seat, not 2-3 adults and a child. Crammed to the gills, we arrived in Antigua without incident, pulling in to the most colorful yard of buses I've ever seen. Dozens of brightly coloured chicken buses, parked in rows, waiting to depart, belching smoke, hanging out ... wow. A truly Guatemalan experience. And don't worry Mom & Dad, I'm perfectly safe!
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