Lake Atitlan

The WiFi is a bit too sketchy. What can I say . . . It's a third world country. They've only had electricity for ten years here in Santa Cruz.

I sit here listening to insects using their wings as musical instruments. Fire-flies flit about. Joe just called me over to check out a caterpillar with a bright set of glow lights on its head and its tail. The waves gently break on the shore. In the distance we can see the lights dotting the shoreline telling us that we aren’t alone. Some people are talking quietly in the distance. It feels like a campground . . . where are we? We are in Santa Cruz de la Laguna, Lake Atitlan. A Mayan village on the most famous lake in Guatemala. It is an extremely deep lake, very clean, and enormous.

Our day started off in Antigua. It started off a little rough. But I digress, let me try and recap our crazy week. Do you remember me mentioning the guy who invited us to his villa? His name is Lex Cargo? Well it turns out that he is pretty famous in this part of the world. I just thought he was this really cool sweet guy, with an unusual style of clothes. I was impressed when he showed up in the main newspaper talking about the movie he is going to be in. He couldn’t wait to tell me about the article. You know, you just never know who you’re gonna run into in this small world.

Last Sunday was a big day for the Antigua firefighters. They got a new ambulance! All of the firefighters gathered at El Centro. Government officials showed up, got their photos taken, and then they backed one of the fire-trucks (donated from Japan) up real close to the ambulance. We waited to see what would come next. They pulled out the hose and baptized the ambulance with a blast of water. Do we do that in the states? I thought it was a pretty cool idea. Joe took off with the camera while I sat up on the Cathedral steps. I couldn’t see him anywhere, then Marvin said, “Look there’s Joe.” He looked like Forrest Gump walking right through the middle of the ceremony, head and shoulders taller and with his infamous cowboy hat. 

A couple we met at church invited us to their new home as their first guests. It was the first time I could envision living here. It was a great two story condo/hotel room, fully furnished, with a cleaning service for about 700 bucks a month. Had a guard at the gate with private parking. Super nice place and an even nicer couple. I think I may have been a little rude about eating all of her cheese though. It was rich and flavorful, with a side-dish of crunchy chocolate and a glass of local apple wine. When I found out he was a retired federal lawman for such departments as the Secret Service and Homeland Security, I was practically frothing at the mouth. I told him I wished I could just download his brain onto my computer like a little external hard-drive. He didn’t think I would feel that way if I knew everything in his head. Probably not . . . but still, it would save me a lot of research.

Mario, the man who is constantly trying to convince Joe and I to buy his flutes and necklaces, asked us to come over to his home for dinner. We said we would be leaving the next day. He asked when we’d be back. Maybe 4-5 years. Okay . . . when you come back, I want you to come to my village as my guest. Of course we told him we would be honored. 

Did I mention that September 15^th is a national holiday here? It’s Independence Day. But to the Guatemalans it is a month long celebration.  It was not unusual to get stopped on our way home by a crowd of spectators watching a parade of school bands march past. We’d heard about the Antorchas (not sure on the spelling). This is a great unifying activity here. For about 3 days before Independence Day the locals arrive in groups of 10 to 50 people. In Antigua they have a torch burning. Each group goes up, lights their torch, and then takes off running to the village of choice. The groups of children stay in Antigua, but the older people run for hours. A bus follows them with lights flashing and horn honking. On the long boring stretches they climb on the bus until the next town. It is done to represent unification amongst the villages. Oddly enough, the people who are bystanders wait with buckets of water, water balloons, and hoses. The goal is to douse the flame, though I think it is more a chance to get everyone wet. We’d stopped at a beautiful restaurant for lunch before descending down to Panajachel. The waiters were professional and elegantly dressed. When we went out to the car we watched in amazement as the waiters hurled water balloons at the busses following the torch runners. They had a pretty accurate aim.  

So Saturday morning we began the next stage of our journey. We had a shuttle bus scheduled to pick us up at 8:00. It didn’t show. We called the tour agency at 8:45 . . . our shuttle had been in an accident. They would send us another shuttle at 5:00pm. Umm, no. So they sent a different shuttle five minutes later. I thought “that’s more like it!” Some things get lost in translation. Joe thought they said this shuttle would stop at another town . . . en route. But it just went to another town, period. I figured it out as we pulled away from our little safe barrio. This shuttle would take us to the opposite side of the lake! Think opposite sides of Lake Tahoe, or Lake Garda. Fortunately we have the little cheapy cell phone Joe bought. I called Lee from our destination house, who spoke to our driver (while he was driving), who agreed to let us off at the major crossroads that would take us to the other side of the lake. The driver pulled over to the side of the road an hour and half later and said “here?” It sounded like a question, but I didn’t know the answer, so we got off. We had a cup of instant coffee at a restaurant and waited.

After that it went smoothly. Lee took us into Pana to buy groceries for the week. Then he helped us negotiate a lancha fee (taxi boat). Twenty minutes later we squirmed our way out of the sardine can onto the dock. Lee bribed the boat captain to take us directly to our own dock. So back in the sardine can, with much less sardines and over to our dock 50 yards away. Later we took a walk along the shore over to the main dock and realized the bribe was well worth it! The path is treacherous. I can’t fathom dragging suitcases along the wooden walkways or over the creeks.

Now it is morning. I sit on our porch sipping a cup of coffee. The lake is amazingly beautiful. Right now it is like glass. Great for waterskiing . . . maybe that is why I miss my parents here. It reminds me of camping up at Trinity Lake or Lake Clementine.

We have a cat named Tigre. He’s a skinny and friendly version of our fat stuck-up cat, Locacita. Also there are three dogs.

Earthquake, Hawkers, New Friends, and Church

Joe and I were sitting at the dining room table eating another delicious meal cooked by Grandma Elaina. She was visiting from the sink where she is doing dishes (she seems to live in the kitchen or on the roof hanging clothes to dry). I heard a bus approach while I thought at the same time buses don’t come up our street. It came closer. I heard and felt the vibration of the base stereo, which was impossible. Then the table began to shake and the house shook. An earthquake! Joe and I stared at each other in stunned silence for a split second. What do people do here in an earthquake we wondered as it built in intensity. Just that day Joe had told me about some photos he’d seen of ruins here after the 1976 quake.

The exterior walls remained standing but roofs caved in. Suddenly Grandma yelled “Terramoto! and sprinted out the front door. Joe and I were hot on her heals. I figured I’m going wherever she goes! Seconds later the whole neighborhood was standing outside in the court in a tight little group with us right in the middle. Telephone poles and trees swayed. It was a 6.5 a couple of hours drive away in San Marcus. For the next two days that’s all anyone spoke about . . . what were you doing when the quake hit? 20 people were injured in the capital because they frantically ran out into the streets in front of cars.

We met a man here named Lex. Lex is a bit of an enigma. He is the wealthy son of diplomatic parents from Italy and Spain. He is probably independently wealthy beyond my comprehension. We met him at our favorite wine bar “Wine and Cigars”. Last week he discovered that I’d brought wine from California. When he heard that I had Modus Operandi he began the bargaining process. Ultimately we ended up at his villa with another couple from Spain, two cousins from the Capital and Fernando (recently moved to Antigua). It was a stunning place with at least six rooms and two gardens in the ancient extremely exclusive part of town. Its not actually where he lives. He lives in a house he designed.  

We chowed on cheese, salami and banana chips and drank wine and whiskey (not us), as he explained his vision for this property. It is to be a place for wealthy/famous men to come to recover privately from various restorative surgeries. I don’t know very many people like that, but he does. 

I couldn’t take any photos of him because he recently got a lead part in a movie and isn’t allowed to be in photos willingly, especially in his home. He let me take a few pics of the house though. He is very interested in playing the lead bad guy in my second book when it becomes a movie. He’s a gorgeous, elegant man, so he’d be perfect.

We found a fabulous church here called El Camino. The service is in Spanish and English. There are a ton of ex-pats there who are so friendly. We met a great couple from the states that move every six months to a new country. She works via Skype, so the world is her office. We’re gonna hook up with them Wednesday.

I’ve become buddies with another writer, Marlayna, but she’s actually successful. Super-adorable little blonde bombshell. The guys just stutter when she enters the room. She writes memoires of her life, and has coined the term Nomadic Memoirist. She’s been traveling abroad for over a year. She just arrived from Dominican Republic. Her current book is about some of the insane dates she’s been on. I’m sure she has tons of material.

Our little house-poodle, Gordo (Fatty) got a haircut. Now we call him Flaco (skinny). Dogs look hilarious after a close haircut. Sort of embarrassed, like they don’t have their clothes on. 

I’ve turned the tables on my Spanish teacher. For the last 30 minutes of class we practice English. It is so funny. She just dreads it! She always pretending to be suddenly sick, or quacking in fear. It’s great to put her in the hot seat, but I am actually still learning Spanish.

At school everyday we have a snack/potty break. All of the vendors know this, so they line up outside the doors. One guy sells nuts. He has all kinds, but I’m completely addicted to the candy coated peanuts. They taste exactly like the peanuts in Cracker Jacks. I get a baggy for a buck fifty. Heavenly.

We booked a room for Marvin and Evelyn to stay here in Antigua one night for their honeymoon. They got money donations to get enough money for gas and his brother loaned them his car. We took them out to dinner last night at Luna de Miel (the honeymoon restaurant with crepes), and today I had by first hamburger since leaving the states. It was exceptionally yummy.

One of the most difficult things for me to deal with here is the constant begging or sales pitching. Jewelry, beautiful fabrics, masks and flutes are the standard street merchants. These people are relentless and do not take no for an answer. The stores are almost as bad, making it uncomfortable to shop with someone breathing down your neck. When walking down the street children come up with their pitiful eyes, and a handful of merchandise, pulling on your sleeve. We have become buddies with a few of the adults.

Juan the peanut dude, Mario the flute guy, Martin the other flute guy, and Ana the table runner lady. Joe always says “Manana”. “Okay Pepe, Manana!” Of course manana arrives with the same response. Now they’re on to him. I always say “No, Gracias”, and keep walking. Yesterday we ran into Mario and shook hands and I got my obligatory cheek kiss. He introduced us to his friend “These are my American friends; Senor Manana and Senora No Gracias.” Man, we thought that was so funny. Great sense of humor. A note to those of you planning to come to Guatemala; bargaining is not their strong point. All you have to do is stare with admiration at what you want to buy. Walk away and return right away. Stare some more. During this very simple process they will drop the price about every 10 seconds. Don’t say anything, just look wistful. Joe bought me a purse because he couldn’t handle the price dropping any lower (a hand embroidered bag on traditional indigenous cloth).

Some healthy looking teenage boys made the mistake of trying to beg from me. “I’m hungry, Lady.” “Go home and eat.” “I live on the other side of town, Lady.” “So do I.” “But you can give me some money or buy this (ugly) bracelet.” “I don’t want the bracelet and I’m not giving you money. Go home.” They stood indecisively for a moment and left with a friendly wave. Later a gaggle of uniformed girls gathered around Marlayna and I for an impromptu English session. Sometimes I get sick of standing out like a Gringa, but it’s simply unavoidable. Maybe that’s why foreigners tend to hang out together at the wine bar.

Last but not least is Santa Domingo. This is a huge majestic ruin which has been restored to a 5 star hotel and museum. They built the resort around the ruins without disturbing them. The church stands in the original spot, but mostly outdoors amongst the massive pillars. Giant parrots hang out on low trees posing for photos.

A wedding here starts at 10 grand US dollars. They own another restaurant and hotel up the mountain. A free shuttle takes you up the impossibly steep hill past all of the trucks and cars that couldn’t make the haul. We went with our teachers for a class excursion. Instead of going to the museum there, we talked them into sitting out on the patio over-hanging Antigua and having a cup of coffee J If nothing else, I am consistent.

New Spanish Words

Boda

 A boda is a wedding. It’s the reason we are here in Guatemala at this particular time, to be at Marvin and Evelyn’s wedding. We were picked up here in Antigua by the best man and Marvin’s sister, Karina. They drove us to Villa Nueva. We spent the rest of the day with the bride doing the usual bride stuff like going to the hair salon. We were fed and basically treated like royalty. Pre-wedding photos of the bride were taken. I got as fancied up as I could with my travel accouterments (especially since Marvin didn’t explain ahead of time that Joe and I would actually be in the wedding party). We followed the bride’s car to the church. She stayed in the car with the blacked out windows ‘til the last second.

Transition of scenes . . . now we are hanging out with Marvin. He was a nervous wreck. I straightened his bowtie, told him how handsome he was, told him his bride looked gorgeous and got in the line-up. The parents sit up on the stage at right angles to the bride and groom. We sat behind the parents. First came the reading of the legal documents for twenty-thirty minutes, then the pastor came on. I handed over the wedding vows and Joe handed over the rings (right after he pretended to forget them). On the stage was a Guatemalan flag and an American flag to honor us. The rest was typical; tons of food, hundreds of relatives, babies crying, children playing, etc. Basically wonderful.

Paragua or sombrilla

This is an umbrella. We’d heard both terms before, but we thought the sombrilla was for protection from the sun. A paragua was for (para) water (agua). Today my teacher explained that paraguas are black and they for men. The colored umbrellas are for women and are called sombrillas. When we got home I gave Joe my dark brown umbrella in exchange for his bright apple-green one J

Mierda

This is a cuss word meaning poop. It is used occasionally to describe the amazing amount of dog poop on the streets and sidewalks. I have learned to watch where I step! There are a lot of homeless dogs here who run in little harmless packs. They follow each other like their noses are Velcroed to their buddy’s tail, in a sort of doggie train.

Llover a cantaros, mojado, and el lodo

Llover is “to rain”, and cantaros is a pitcher. Llover a cantaros is to pour down rain like water being poured out of a pitcher . . .  Which it does almost every day. That brings me to the next word, mojado = wet. My shoes still haven’t dried out completely. Today I broke down and bought a pair of Crocks (not really Crocks but similar plastic shoes). Now when my feet get soaked I can just wipe my shoes off and change socks (if my socks have dried out). El lodo is the mud. I’m sure you see the connection. Last week it rained so hard the water rose above the river and flooded the streets and houses with mud, dirty contaminated mud. Our house is up the hill, thank goodness, but downtown is, well, downtown . . . through the mud.

Aretas

This is a term not found in the dictionary, but is written on a piece of paper in practically every shop here. Earrings. I love earrings! The most common are either jade and silver (Jade is mined here), or beaded danglies. The hardest part is when people yell out “Jade!” from the stores as I pass, because it sounds like Heidi with a Spanish accent. I forgot my earrings at home, so I’ve purchased 3 pairs so far.

Almohada

Another thing I forgot . . . my almohada (pillow).  I never, never travel without my pillow. Our bed has two flat, floppy little pillows. The bed is hard and bumpy. I give myself a fifty dollar allowance for every trip we go on to purchase whatever I need to make myself comfortable. So far I’ve bought two pillows ($12), a comforter to put under the sheets and make the bed softer ($25), plastic shoes to replace the wet shoes ($4).

The grandma Elaina has dibs on the comforter when we leave. I suggested it could be used for the next students, but she said “No, es mio!”

My wet sandals have torn up my feet so much Joe calls them my bloody-stump shoes. The four bucks was worth it.

Now I sit here at Luna de Miel watching another torrential downpour while writing in my book “El Tuberon”. Luna de Miel means Honeymoon. I couldn’t tell you why a crepe restaurant would be called honeymoon, but it’s a hot spot for locals. Great food.

On an entirely different subject, there has been a rash of crime here in Antigua in the last two weeks. Especially against tourists. An Australian girl got her pursed sliced and her wallet stolen. The next day someone nabbed her shoes from in front of her house. A tourist bus got robbed downtown at 4:30 in the morning. Last night a group of 3 women and 1 man got attacked by 4 teens in front of our house at 10:00. I heard the horrific screaming, but lucky Joe slept through the whole thing. The next day I asked our neighbors (fellow students at school) if they knew what happened. They did know . . . it was them that got mugged. One of the ladies went ballistic, the second said she feebly attempted to hit one of the guys who was hitting the third girlfriend. The American man ended the fight by jumping in. He got a knot on his forehead for his troubles. The thugs ran away with nothing. To put your minds at ease, Joe and I never go out on the streets at night. We’re in by 7:00. We’re always careful and don’t carry anything of value in our bags (just raincoats!).

Yesterday the grandson, Fabio, came into our room and started chatting away. I made him go back out and knock. He did. Then he talked me into a game of hide-and-seek. After that I couldn’t get rid of him. I was his new best friend. He ran home, saying he’d be right back. Grandma Elaina came in and asked us if we had invited Fabio to go downtown to El Centro with us. We said “No!” She didn’t think so, but apparently he went home and said he had to eat fast and get ready because the Americans were going to take him to the park downtown. Poor delusional kid J Later when we returned from downtown (without Fabio) he once again invaded our room, this time with a mask he’d made. He really is a cute kid.

Rainy Season!

Did you know this is the rainy season in Guatemala? We didn’t. It clears up for a little while in the morning, but then it clouds over and usually rains. This is our second vacation this year where it was cool and rained. In a way it’s kind of nice to not be tromping around all day in the blazing heat! They don’t know the true meaning of the words ‘hot’ or ‘cold’ here. Joe and I have a joke about Gualtemaltecos; If the temperature drops below 70 degrees Fahrenheit they all put on their down parkas, if it rises above 80 degrees they wear bikinis!

Its always fun walking home in the dark, in pouring down rain, wading through puddles. Elaina, the grandma, and woman of the house, welcomes us as we stand dripping in the entryway. The barking poodle greets us. Josua, the ninth-grader helps me make tea to warm me up. How odd we still haven’t met the owner of the house, Luis. I’ve heard his voice tell the son that we had to pay to use his WiFi, but that’s it. There is a picture of a beautiful woman in the hallway with candles and a crucifix. She was his late wife. Abuela Elaina told us the tragic story of how her husband and daughter died around the same time three years ago.

We rediscovered our favorite terrace bar/restaurant, La Serena. To get to the terrace you have to go up stone steps through a tunnel of plants and flowers. It has a majestic view of the main volcanos; Volcan Agua and Volcan Fuego, and the flowers surrounding the terrace are gorgeous.

Ana, my teacher, is very nice. We get along great with long relaxing talks, and gentle corrections of my Spanish. Joe’s teacher, Jeni, is a riot. We can hear their laughter across the school courtyard (our school is a giant garden). I overheard another instructor tell Jeni that her student was hilarious. You know the saying; “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bulls*#t!” No matter how much he messes up, they all think he’s wonderful J I should’ve explained we are going to a total immersion language school. By the way, the five minute walk to school has changed to ten minutes. They moved the school. It’s in a garden used for school and events on the weekends. Very pretty. They have some vendors selling local food from carts out front.

I finally saw the owner of the house last night through lacey curtains, talking to his son. Apparently he works 12 hour shifts. 

I have two pairs of shoes and a pair of flip-flops. Both of my shoes are soaking wet and show no signs of drying. We’re stuck in the house for the moment. We went out after lunch, but only made it about fifty feet before a torrential downpour got us. Yesterday we ended up sitting in a bar for a couple of hours waiting out the storm. Joe watched soccer and I wrote in my book.

The big day is tomorrow. Marvin and Evelyn are getting married at four o’clock. He’s asked us to give a little speech (translate=Heidi will give a little speech). I will tell you all about it next week.

Random thoughts;

How the TV goes constantly with American programs in English. Though Elaina and the teenagers speak Spanish only.

How sad the dog in front of school is with his fur missing from his muzzle, and sores around his eyes. It breaks my heart. The students feed him, but he is shy.

Chicken in a rich pepper sauce, a traditional dish here like mole is to Mexico. How they provide hot sauce to us because we’re American, though they believe it’s really bad for you.

How busy everyone is! The ninth grader is taking eleven classes and playing soccer for school and a semi-pro team. The college age son works full time and goes to university . . . he leaves at 4:30 and gets home around 9:00pm. As I said, I’ve never even seen the dad. Elaina works all day cooking, cleaning, washing clothes (in a machine), hanging them to dry on the roof, and ironing. Today she was in a rush to meet some friends who are all retired. Joe said, “But you’re not retired . . . you work all day”. She just laughed as she rushed out the door.

The American couple who move from one country to another every six months. The young foreigners who stick their little noses up in the air, and say they live here when they’ve only been here for 3 weeks. Most of them dressed like hippies from a by-gone era. The family at school whose two sons speak several languages because the parents are international teachers and move every few years to a different country.

How obsessed the locals are with Ronald McDonald

Arrival in Guatemala City

Welcome to our latest adventure! Marvin and his fiancé picked us up from the Guatemala City Airport at six in the morning. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be met at the airport. For some reason I’ve never thought it important to meet people at the airport. Gianluca and Egle in Milan, and now Marvin and Evelyn have changed my attitude.

We first met Marvin when he needed a place to live for six months. We gave him our guest room and he’s been like a brother (or a son at times) to us. He announced he’d found the love-of-his-life, was getting married, and wanted us to be in the wedding as his Godparents. At first we thought it would be an inconvenient time of the year to go on a month long vacation, however Marvin convinced us. He is relentless when he wants something.

So here we sit in a café in La Antigua! Guatemaltecos know their coffee. This little courtyard is filled with potted plants, local arts and crafts, a silver cat (named Misha), who likes my lap (and drools), and the cacophony of foreign accents trying to master Spanish. My second novel (3/4s done) takes place here. I’m super excited to be writing here.

Marvin drove us straight to his home where we had a traditional breakfast of tortillas, black beans, eggs and coffee. We were in a fog of exhaustion, but it was pleasant. Finally got to meet the elusive brother who is a pediatrician. Got my hugs from Mom, Dad, and Sister. We both fell asleep for a couple of hours. When we woke up they said it’s time to prepare for lunch. Okay. So off to the market for a chicken, avocados, and chips (we brought the spices from California—Marvin’s favorite food, guacamole). The market was an experience of its own. Jam packed with people, children, hawkers, mud, dogs, and anything you could possibly want to buy.

They drove us to Antigua, and we dropped off Evelyn for her bachelorette party. We found our school and checked in. We had two choices of homes to stay in. The first was next door to the school. I’d requested a private bathroom, but this one didn’t have one. The bathroom isn’t a deal-breaker for me, but the bedroom the size of a closet with no window was. We went to the second house. Perfect. A large room with a window, and a private bathroom. It’s a pretty five minute walk to school. 180 bucks for a week, includes three meals a day and private Spanish instructor for 4 hours/day. The bonus is the stairs, I won’t need a Stairmaster.

We wandered around town last night until we found my favorite wine bar, Sangre. Isn’t that a cool, kinda creepy name? Marvin has become a bit of wine connoisseur. Then we went out to dinner at  . . . McDonalds. I’m not kidding. This McDonalds is absolutely gorgeous! An open courtyard, massive garden, luxurious cushy chairs and of course the giant plastic Ronald McDonald with ten kids climbing on him. We passed on the chocolate cake and mocha at their McCafe, though it looked delicious.

Back home we were greeted by their ferocious poodle and a teenager, Joshua. We unpacked and passed out. Today we are refreshed after a nerve-wracking shower with the infamous “widow maker” showerhead (with live electricity running through it to heat the water!). I made Joe go first.

Random thoughts;

Driving through Guatemala listening to the beach boys singing  “I wish they all could be California girls”, hearing “Hotel California” at Sangre.

The weird feral cat sitting on top of the pile of shirts for sale at the market. It was snarling, meowing in its deep croaky voice, and drooling frothy slobber all over the pile of clothes. Another foreigner was watching it with equal horror, but when I brought it to the attention of the shop girl she just smiled . . . “Yes it’s a cat,” like it was a teddy-bear or something! Yuck.

The wine bar with more people speaking English than Spanish. The crepe restaurant full of locals with the sign “Worst Terrace in Town”. A different terrace with the great view and hammocks, but no patrons. Frida’s bar where Joe was told that he looked and acted like a former president of Guatemala.

The jam-packed artist indoor market which was like a labyrinth . . . where a salesman told me I was from California. I asked how he knew that, and he just shrugged and made a tall figure in the air with his hands “You look Californian,” and asked “Are you from Texas?” to Joe. It’s the cowboy hat.

How giant I feel here, with big feet . . . kinda like Fiona. Maybe I should roar. A lady was walking in front of me this morning whose legs were barely taller than my knees.