Volcanes y la enfermedad- dos recordatorios de la mortalidad

Today I am not feeling well. I am not sure if it is the food, or a random bug or just the clumination of stress and adjusting to a new lifestyle but somewhere around mid morning I began to feel queasy, feaverish and clammy. I ended up taking my weekly exam early and bailing for an epic nap because tonight we are leaving on a 10-hour bus to Tekal.

However, prior to the sudden onset of whatever knocked me on my ass, a group from my school hiked up the Carro de la Cruz- a lookout point over Antigua opposite the Volcan Agua- and I was able to take some pretty amazing pictures of the sprawling ciudad and how it is dwarfed by the volcano. On rainy days the volcano is shrouded and it is easy to forget it is there. But on clear days it is a towering pinacle of rich green and a reminder of the temoprality of life. Well actually it is dormant so that was really unessisary dramatic effect on my part- but still. Just to the right of the town you can see two more volcanos: Fuego and...something else. Does it matter really though? What name can beat FUEGO? The mother of these volcanos obviously loved him the best. He, also, is not dormant and is one of the two we saw errupt on sunday.

As I mentioned, I am about to get on a bus to Tekal. Thus there will be no more posts until probably Monday. However- that post will most likely be incredibly epic and worth the brutal wait-as I know you all are eagerly anticipating each and every one of my posts. They are just that awesome.

Fantasmas de una civilización caida

Today a group from my school took a fieldtrip to the Iximche Mayan ruins. I thought it would be a nice break from the usual seven hours of craming my brain full of verbs, however my teacher this week is overly ambitious and spent the way there constantly quizzing me on the names of body parts and trying to force me to conjugate past tense- something we only just touched on yesterday...but of course I should already have it down.

The ruins were pretty amazing. It is so easy for me to only think of existance in terms of my immediate world. Sometimes when I stop and think of even the billions of people living lives entirely seperate from mine in this very moment it blows my mind. Therefore, standing within the towering, moss-covered traces of a civilization that existed over 800 years ago I am very aware of how insignificant I am in the spectrum of existance.

While my knowledge of Mayan culture is limited to the few NatGeo specials I´ve seen (I couldn´t even remember, when coming down here, if it was the Aztecs or Mayans in Guatemala) I do know that their dissapearance as a culture is one of the few great Anthropological mysteries that exist today. The idea of a culture that completely dissapates is hard to imagine today. In an era where everyone is accounted for, where most of the land is mapped and citizenship to one country or another is a requirement the idea of a civilization just dissapearing is facinating. I guess the forfront theory currently is that they logged so heavily in order to make the stucco that coated their buildings, the weather patterns changed entirely and they had no food or water.

Acording to the flyer we were handed regarding the Iximche ruins- the Spanish, who invaded in 1524- made Iximche the first capitol of Guatemala. The ruins consist of three distinct plazas that divided the three classes of people. Each plaza has the remnants of mulitiple temples and before each are numerous stone alters where the poor would bring offerings to the Gods or the king in order to gain assistance with their perils. These offerings ranged from candles and produce to animals and slaves who would be used for sacrifice.

On the way back I though again a lot about the dichotomy that exists here between old and new. America is a relativly new country. Thus even in places like Boston where you see the old architechture side-by-side with the towering new skyscrapers, the old is still new enough that it barely fell before our ability for everything to be well-documented. We benifited from being the offshoots of another culture already in the upswing of industrial advances. Thus the new isn´t in contrast with the old but really just the natural path of our cultural growth and we have no traditions that cannot addapt to the rapid growth. On the other hand there is the Mayan culture and the Guatemalan culture. I see the people who still hold on to the culture and the traditions- which do not fit into the advancements that are popping up around them. Their way of life is in opposition with the colonization and modernization that I see all over Antigua and much of Guatemala where I have visited. Women clad in the traditional garb sit outside of McDonalds and peddal their woven goods. Men walk along steep mountain roads with bags of firewood hanging from their head as buses, cars and motorcycles rumble by. I find myself constantly unsure weather these archaic ways of life are out of tradition or poverty? And if the changes are with or against the desires of the Guatemalan people. Do they want two Sushi resturants, an Irish pub, a Burger King? Is the loss of what I see as authenticity a gaining of the assets of Western culture or a loss of their own?

And this is what I think about every day on my way to school. No wonder my brain is tired.

Vocabulario de cientos palabras

I spent the past year of grad school wrapping my brain around the idea of language as a cultural construct- and how that enables or limits your ability to conceptualize the world. Now, while learning a new language, I find myself on the front lines of this concept.

The process of learning a language requires the pairing up of words "this means this". However, words rarely possess a one-to-one exchange across languages. Each word holds meaning within the culture that one cannot fully understand until, if ever, one knows the language in and out. Thus the crude attempt at swapping one word for another makes for a shakey and tedious aquisition of ideas. However I think it is nessisary to the learning of a language. I find it difficult to wrap my brain around the new words and phrasing and grammar without taking everything and associating it to what I am already familiar with. I wonder how long it takes until that constant pairing is no longer nessisary and you are able to just own the word as what it is.

Another interesting delima I find myself having is the complete and utter loss of the power of my vocabulary. In English I like to think I have a fairly good vocabulary. Through Grad school, and a general desire to articulate myself better, it continues to grow. However I rarely am at a loss of a multitude of words to express what I´m thinking. Suddenly I no longer have most of those words. I speak like a two-year-old. My sentences are jaggedly pieced together verbs, usually in the wrong tenses, that usually, vagely and in the simplest terms express what I need to say. I only talk when nessisary, and only attempt comments I´ve plotted out in my head and feel I can probably tackle. It is odd to be robbed of the ability to communicate. However, at the same time it is amazing to be learning to communicate all over again. It is like a puzzle- how to use the limited resources I have to get my point across. I´m like McGyver of limited Spanish.

I can see why Antigua is an ideal place to do a begining immersion program. The combination of neumerous schools and a population that speaks mostly only spanish makes for a perfect blend of being forced to practice my Spanish with a safty net for when I don´t have the words.

compras=matemáticas mental

Today I am tired. It is raining again and I am a little burnt out on blogging from yesterday´s epic post. However, because I care about you- my faithful readers- I will do a quick post. Today´s topic is money.

In Guatemala the currency is the Quetzal. The US dollar to Quetzales ratio is aproxamately 1 to 8. This makes spending money a constant game of mental math for me. For instance, I currently have 192 Quetzales on me. Sounds like a lot right? However it is really only about $25 dollars. Similarly everything sounds expensive. Drinks range from Q15-Q50, meals from Q30-Q150, and when shopping in the market I always balk at the price. Q80 for a shirt??? Q500 for a painting??? In actuality most things are pretty cheap here. The good thing is that it makes me a good haggler because the shock on my face at the price is genuine. It also means I haven´t spent a ton of money here. My meals are provided with exception of Sundays and so my expenses have been mostly trips, drinks and the few presents I have bought for people (mostly me...).

At my school the other day someone was saying how many of the locals make only Q15 a day. Later that night Tom, a man who eats meals with us and has lived in the area for three years, informed us that most houses in the area of downtown Antigua sell for 1,000,000 US dollars. Just another reminder of the tragic discripency that exists between the native Guatamalens and the culture of tourists, students and foreigners. It´s symbiotic since the economy seems to teeter precariously on the tourist trade, however it is sad to see people being nosed out of their own town.

I won´t even pretend to understand economics. However in a world where worth is set by a seemingly arbutrary monatary number it is interesting to see how that shapes the social dynamics and allows such a vast difference in human livelyhood.

Well that is all for now. Time to pay my Q12 and go eat my free dinner.

encima corriente de la mierda sin una remo...literalmente.

I may end up with dysentary. And if I´ve learned anything from Oregon Trail that means my health will decline quickly until my death is signified with a sorrowful midi fanfare. I just want to say, before that fateful moment, that I´ve enjoyed my time with you all. Too bad I was brought down by a fateful kayak trip.

Before anyone panics let me explain- yesterday was what was supposed to be Jamil and my awesome kayak/Monterrico beach trip with Old Town Outfitters. It started out well- the two of us piled into a large van, our kayaks strapped to the roof, and our tour guide (Webber I think...) behind the wheel. Jamil who had recently taken a day trip to the Volcano Pacaya was lamenting about the dissapointing lack of lava he witnessed. Webber (prononced with a Spanish emphasis), filled him in on the history of the activity of the volcanos surrounding Antigua (there are 3. Two of which are active- Pacaya and Fuego). "If you are lucky," he said "you may see Fuego explode". Well it was our lucky day and as we rounded the bend and Fuego came into view we could see the distinctive plume of smoke/ash rising from it´s peak. In fact we were doublly lucky because perhaps 30 minutes later as Pacaya came into view we saw a series of explosions errupt from its volcanic maw. Now keep in mind these are a frequent occurance and nothing like the massive lava spewing disasters Pierce Brosnan and the movie studios in Hollywood have lead us to belive are the inevitable consequence of an active volcano.

As we drove through the lush countryside I felt imensly happy. The day was beautiful, we had witnessed two volcanos, and as we wizzed past fields of sugarcane and large eared cows I cheerily chatted with Webber. About two hours after leaving Antigua we arrived at our drop-off point. The plan was simple- kayak through the mangroves (a vast wetland near Motorrico beach) and arrive at the beach aproximately two hours later for lunch, then spend an hour or so chilling on the beautiful black sand beach before kayaking back to our van.

The Mangroves are, I imagine, similar to many types of wetlands. Vast waterways winding between trees and grasses that some parts of the year are not underwater. Some portions are wide and riverlike- snaking from the small towns that sit on its banks, around a series of islands and eventually reaching the ocean. (At least I belive it reaches the ocean. We never did.) However, once one leaves the safty of the open spaces the Mangroves are a dense and complex maze of narrow waterways that run through a tangled mass of tree roots. The water, resembling a fragrant broth of rotting vegitation and fish,was unmistakably not potable and the smell soon clung to our clothes as it sprayed from our paddles in waves of droplets as we struggled through the barly-kayak-sized openings between root systems and branches. But before I sound too bitter too early let me go back to the begining of the trip.

The first hour was heaven. Crusing along the water between the wide open patches and the cavernous tunnels of trees, we saw birds and exotic lizards, glowing waterlillies standing regally between patches of lillyponds, and small thatched roofed houses that stood on the banks of small islands in the middle of the Mangroves. The sky was clear and the sun was perfect.

However, somewhere between the second and third hour I suddenly became concerned. Our guide, on several occasions reqeusted we stay put as he went ahead to make sure we could get through. At first this seemed like a courtious act, not wanting us less experienced kayakers to get stuck, however eventually it became evident that perhaps there was a bigger problem. We were lost. The last three hours we frantically followed behind him as he lead us through increasingly narrow passages that proved incredibly difficult for us to navigate. Eventually we would always hit a point where he would say "wait here" and we would sit for 10-20 minutes as the foul water permiated our pores and the awareness of the multitude of insects crawling along our boats made us squirm with anticipated discomfort. This was especially true after we floated by what I quickly recognized as a tarrantula, either dead, or balled up because it was in the water- I didn´t wait to find out.

As the hours passed and it was evident that this was no longer part of the intended trip Jamil and I grew increasingly weary. Each trudge forward was met with a nessisary backtrack, and no explanation as to where we were going or what his plan was. Just an occasional "this way" as he sped ahead and we struggled through branches and roots and shallow water to keep him in our sight.

Finally-around 4´oclock (we had gotten in the water around 11) he lead us to a place where a tree streched across the water too close for us to boat under.

"All we have to do," he said "is climb out of our boats, pull them over the log and get back in."

I stared at him. Knowing he wasn´t kidding but hoping that maybe I was wrong. I thought about the distinct potentiality of tiping my kayak while trying to scramble back in and sending myself and my belongings into the dark murkey pungent soup. I made him promise, about three times, that if we did this it would definitely lead to an exit. He promised and I reluctantly allowed him to help me out of my kayak and onto a thin less-than-stable log. He managed to pull my kayak up and over and helped me back in without the occurance of my dreaded overboard.

Luckily he was right and after a frantic dash by him- with us trying vainly to keep up- we reached a riverbank. We got our of our canoes and found ourselves in a small town, across from a run down resort. Wet, exhausted, sweaty and filthy we followed our guide into the resort where he said we would eat lunch. After he ordered us a round of Gallos I calmed down a little. He told us the plan- we would hire a dude to drive our canoes to a dock where we and them would be transfered to a boat and taken back to our van. We were too tired, and it was too late to care too much about missing the beach. We also figured we would have a better case for getting the refund we planned to demand if we had been denied a portion of the promised excursion.

So we trucked it, and boated it, and crawled into the van to head back to Antigua as the sun was going down. As we once again drove past the rich green fields of sugarcane and sleepy cows I dreamed of the shower I would take and the epic blog I would post. However the day was not yet done with us, and suddenly it began to pour. While this is typical for Guatemala (it rains almost every day in the evening) this proved especially problematic because of a portion of the road between us and Antigua that had been partially damaged during the massive floods in May. On our way down Webber had pointed it out to us explaining how the water normally passed under but when it rains a lot it will come up and over turning a wide section into a temporary river. As we drew close to that second we knew we were in trouble. Traffic slowed, then stopped. From the back seat where I was curled up wanting to sleep through the rest of the trip I heard Jamil and Webber saying something about a car and the river. I sat up and looked ahead of us. Through the darkness I could see the outline of a small car and the torrents of water that had engulfed it. Evidently a family had attempted to go across and become stuck just as the water was rising. They had gotten out safely but the car was at the mercy of the pounding current. The policia had closed down the road and traffic quickly backed up for miles on either side. We got out of our cars and stood around in the downpour watching the car and the attempts to pull it out. Eventually, after a tractor and twelve men shifted the car away from the depths and the rocks blocking its way it was removed. The water subsided. We crossed.

We arrived home at 9:30. Tired, filthy and generally pretty anoyed. I took a shower and passed out cold. Lets hope our trip to Tekal this weekend has a better ending.

Vivonoche de Antigua la segunda parte

Last night I witnessed the most bizzare nightlife fusion- karaoke in Antigua. As many of you know I am a karaoke efficianado. I´ve sung karaoke at many bars in many cities. The process is almost always the same, and the ediquit is fairly straight forward- you pick a song and when it comes up you sing it. Being a fan of karaoke I was stoked when a few of my classmates mentioned yesterday that there was karaoke that night at club Dos Mil (2000). Since I´ve been feeling isolated from my classmates (because they are all very young and usually about five minutes into listening to them spout off about their twenty-one-year-old views of the world I feel old and irratable) I also figured it would be a good opportunity to bond. However, evidently in Antigua karaoke is 40 percent karaoke and 60 percent spring break. As we pushed into the densely crowded bar a group of college-aged girls were standing on the tables singing a sloppy rendition of something cliche. We sqeezed past the hordes of bro-y white dudes and twenty-something girls and attempted to reach the bar. I started looking for a karaoke book and the karaoke host. The host was no where to be seen. In fact there seemed to be no order or rules to the karaoke. It was just drunk groups of people crowded around the microphone. Was this some kind of karaoke Anarchy? Finally I found someone who explained to me that the bartender also acted as the host. So I scrawled some of my standards on slips of paper and handed them over, happy to know it was not in fact a karaoke free-for-all.

It took over an hour and a half for my song to come up. In the meantime I watched the very white crowd freak out as standard after standard came on. Summer Lovin´, I Will Survive. I sat on the edge of a couch near my co-workers watching them gleefully sing along. I did not. I felt old, and out of place. Finally my song came up- after my classmates had left and the bar had begun to empty out. Bohemian Rapsody is one I like to pull out for singing-happy crowds. However a few individuals took the desire to sing too far. A girl with sleepy drunk eyes stared me down while holding out her hand and repeatedly requesting the mic. Sorry drunk girl. My song, my mic. Then a tall Austrailian dude stood next to me chanting over and over"let me sing. Let me sing." I held my ground and continued to sing "nothing really matters...anyone can see...nothing really matters...nothing really maters to me..." then I handed him the mic figuring he could finish off the song for me... I always mess up the "anyway the wind blows..." so I figured my charitable act would also work out for the best. However, drunk Austrailian who had spent the past three minutes demanding I let him sing didn´t even sing it. I yelled at him. He appologized adding "well you sang it really well so I guess it´s ok that you didn´t let me sing". Thanks dude.

Today was my first day without plans. After breakfast Jamil and I went to Old Town Outfitters- a small operation that provides unique tours and some outdoorsy gear- to pay for our trip tomorrow. We are going to Monterrico beach to kayak through the mangroves. We had attempted to book a trip to Tekal for this weekend but it didn´t quite work out so we decided to put it off until next weekend. I´m just excited to finally get out and do something active in nature. After a nap we walked around the marcado which is vast. They have booths with everything from odd meats to clothes. It´s overwhelming but kind of awesome in a rediculous way.

G.A.E.V. (Gracias A Dias Esta Viernes)

It is my first friday in Antigua after a very long week. I´ve gone from feeling out of place and uncomfortable to finding a bit of a groove, and from speaking practically no Spanish to being able to hold short (although often technically incorrect) coversations. Since I have been here a week I think it´s due time I do a post on the nightlife in Antigua- mostly because it is so bizarre. Being a town that straddles an odd line between old and trendy, impovershed and thriving, and crawling with English speaking tourists while the natives rarely speak a lick of it themselves- Antigua has an equally odd nightlife. It is vastly geared towards the predomanantly young tourist/student population-to a point I find almost insulting.

We headed out last night because one of the two students who are in my homestay house was heading home today. Being my first real time out I was amazed by the hordes of club-wear clad non natives who swarmed the streets. I don´t know where the native Antiguans hang out but it isn´t in downtown Antigua. We walked past Monoloco- a local dance club known for its super cheap ladies nights (Q3- which is esentailly 40 cents), and typical sleezy club scene. From its dark neon lit depths poured the driving beat of a Kanye song or something similarly popular in the US right now.

Our destination was...well I can´t remember the name...but a bar that is nestled in one of the many crumbling ruins that exist throughout the town. It was a pretty cool place- cement stairs spiraling up to the bar. Half was a partially open patio that lookoed out over the ruins. It was cool except the empty Gallo bottles that I could see strewn around ground- a kind of extra f-you to the locals. We will build a bar in your ruins and then not even respect them.

A issue I´ve had since I got here is how little authenticity I feel exists. At the bar my friend ordered pizza, the band played Sublime and Jimi Hendrix covers, our host mother frequently serves us things like pancakes, spagetti and hot dogs. In coming here I wanted street tacos and Guatemalan music. Instead it seems like Antigua has rolled over a submitted to what they belive the typical non-native likes/wants.

However, perhaps on the other hand it is the Guatemalen culture embracing the bounty of the other cultures that continue to colonize it and I shouldn´t expect them to stick to the illusion of authenticity when they´ve just surcumb to the inevitability of change.