Almost Home...

Looking from Flores to the mainland


Almost sunset


Breakfast view


The staircase


Looking down the staircase

Just another 8 to 9 hour bus ride on a "luxury liner" with Linea Dorada, the maybe-premium coach tour company here in Guatemala. The trip here was horrific: my next-door neighbor overflowed into my seat; my carefully chosen 'avoid sitting near the bathroom' location failed miserably (never assume... the bathroom was in the center of the bus!); I spent 6 hours trying to call SpiritAir (yes, I procrastinated) to change my flight to Friday (successful, thank you, Lord!); and at 3:00 a.m., when I'd finally been asleep an hour and a half, we had a stop at a "departamento" border to check for illegal transport of fruit. Next time I'll either fly or take the "camioneta" (chicken bus): the first one is only financially uncomfortable, and the second is clearly designed to be as miserable as possible, so the pain is expected, understood, and somehow more tolerable.

To my surprise, when I arrived in Flores and waited the expected 1.5 hours for the shuttle to Tikal, we did not get our rooms or a chance to shower, etc. Instead, we got a running commentary from a guide named "Nixon," and then dumped our bags, and took off for our tour of the ruins. It was all very interesting, and was perhaps even more surreal having had only two broken hours of sleep. Photos to follow.
The hotel was nice, but like life on a tour-ship, everything was a la-carte after the "package, Plan B" wore off... so no agua-pura in the room (Q20), nor shampoo (brought some), and electricity only was on from 6:30 pm to 10:30 pm (expected, diesel generators). But the pool smelled wonderfully of chlorine and was delightful, the food at the restaurant wasn't bad, and I met some very nice folks along the way: Julie and Brian of Berkeley, CA, Frank and Marty, teachers; and Guiermo and Laura, de Buenos Aires, Argentina. And our guide, Constantino, was knowledgable and interesting.

Once back, I found the town of Flores to be quite touristy, but not as bad as Panajachel... no children following you around insisting you buy their trinkets, just the requisite number of stores with Gallo-beer t-shirts and the like.

Need to run for the bus... hurry up and wait... then sleep in Guatemala tonight and fly home tomorrow, Lord willing... I'm really looking forward to home.

P.S. almost missed the stupid bus back to Guatemala City; my ticket reads "Departure Time: 10:00" but that meant from the bus depot on the mainland, not the pickup spot on the island of Flores... that departure was at 9:30. After a couple of frantic phone calls and a wild tuk-tuk ride across the bridge and past the busy market, I made it with a minute or two to spare.

Blue Plastic Tarps and 24 People in Bill's Old Truck

More on the transportation here... 'cause I just can't get over it: just rode here to Columba in the rain with 4 other friends and about 15 other strangers (now family)... in the back of a 20-year-old mini-pickup. When the rain really got going the people in front pulled the large blue sheet of plastic over the metal framework (for holding onto) and hunkered down. Me being one of the tallest people in town, and in the back of the truck bed, I got to be an anchor point - yee-haw!

I'll try to get a photo of this arrangement before I leave, but the camera's at home (where it's dry).

Clearly I've got a mixed-up westernized view of life here... I'm certain every person in the truck would love to have their own convenient and dry form of transport... but there's still an amazing power of life, of overcoming, here in rural Guatemala.

A few more days to school here in the mountains, then back to (stinky) Xela-Quetzaltenango, and then... who knows?

Maybe a trip to Tikal, to see some centuries-old ruins (and a lot of tourists, I assume).

Hope everyone is having a great 4th... I'm sorry I'm missing the cookout (I would LOVE one of Greg's monster burgers right now!)

Take care!

Volcanic Dandruff

Just rode into Columba in the back of a very crowded pickup with Jennifer, a Kansas City, Missouri teacher. This morning brought a cloud of fine volcanic ash, much like the oak pollen of central Florida, except white instead of golden, so all of us passajeros have a fine coating of dust... and I'm grateful for my eyeglasses for a change.

The transport system here is something the USA could take lessons from... just add an automatic disclaimer, "I will not sue the vehicle's owner or operator," and this totally privatized network seems to move people and stuff to the various destinations with moderate efficiency and next to no comfort. And if ever there were a place that could use clean fuel, like electric or hydrogen, it is Guatemala.

I cannot rave enough about my satisfaction and gratefulness to be here at the Mountain School... bugs are a, to me, slight problem, but the teachers, living arrangements, and scenery are spectacular. My only slight complaint is that in living in the hostel-like environment of the school and eating alone in a family's home, one student per family, I greatly miss the lack of communal cooking and eating (most of the families eat at different times and serve the students seperately). This came into focus when we enjoyed the weekly Cena International (Int'l Dinner - I made veggie chili with Valerie, a grad student from NY... ) I can't wait to get back to the Marks Street Pot-Luck Suppers!

Yesterday morning I took a hike to a waterfall, el cataracta (? no dictionary handy?) with Jorge a strong, small man who knows a lot about plants and wildlife... I've got a few pages of notes on medicinal herbs from his garden tour. Round-trip to the waterfall was about 2.5 hours, not too strenuous, but the altitude still has me struggling with the uphill parts. The three good-natured and extremely stinky dogs from the school came with us, and we all were a bit tuckered out by the time we got home. After showering and washing (by hand, on a stone 'pila' or sink) my filthy clothes, I lay-laid down,and the afternoon rains pounding the metal roof overhead were a perfect lullaby.

Jorge at the waterfall



Yours truly