I am writing this under the glow of a candle because we have, yet again, lost power. Okay, technically I am writing this under the glow of the computer screen but the thought of writing something by hand and then transposing it seems far too archaic, even despite the near-biblical proportions of the last few days.
It is rain here. It has stopped ‘raining’ and has become a location all its own, similar to when someone says, “Hi, we’re in Delaware” I can say that right now I am in Rain, Guatemala. It has poured, non stop, for three days straight. I know that we are not quite at the defined biblical duration, but I could easily see this storm being mentioned at least in those brief brochures that Jehovah’s witnesses hand out. The roads are all flooded and the catch basins look like someone mixed up millions of litres of chocolate milk and then possessed the batch with the devil. We have been without power for 4 hours this instance, and I have no idea how long we’ll be without it.
The good news:
- we have become accustomed to being without electricity and, besides my computer, only use it for lighting. Considering we both have decent flashlights, we are able to cope.
- I am writing this on a Saturday afternoon, which would typically be impossible because my computer is not allowed into the forest and we usually venture out into nature from Saturday morning to Wednesday afternoon. Last Monday, while under the tarps in the rainy forest, we proposed to the staff a change in schedule that would see us skip the current forest trip in order to see more of the sights around the Lake, which are difficult to see within the pre-ordained itinerary. With some cajoling of their boss (the ‘visionary’ of this expedition) the staff was able to persuade Mark that we should forego the forest, hence I have a tin roof over my head and I am able to write
- If I have posted this it is because power has been restored to the town and to the internet sites. There’s a strange conflux of time going on as I write this sentence now.
- We have also avoided some of the other Acts of God that have besieged the area...
Near Antigua, the old capital city of Guatemala, there is an active volcano. This volcano typically emits a constant volcanic plume and cascading lava flow which gave geologists some assurance that pressure build-up is within control and an eruption is less likely. This volcano is a popular tourist attraction and we had planned to walk up its slopes when we toured the area nearer the end of June. We have been told that he lava flow, especially while aglow at night, is stunning. Apparently, though, earlier in the week there were signs that something was amiss with the volcano and these warning signs prompted officials to close the paths leading up to and down the volcano. Everyone’s fears were realized on Thursday when Volcano Pacaya did erupt. We have had scarce reports up to now (I have had limited internet access since Thursday, and also, the no-power thing) but the last we heard they feared 65 people were dead. I do not wish to make light of this tradegy, but I am glad that the eruption was somewhat foreseen and I can only assume that lives were saved. I also hope, though, that they reopen the paths before we get there because I really wanted to see this lava flow. I am kidding mom(s).
I gave a link to the weather forecast for the area and I hope, by the time you click on it, that the rain has moved on. When I look at the forecast all I can see is storms and thunderstorms. If, when you look at it, there is still no sign of clear skies, then I believe we can both agree that this is the beginning of the 2012 prophecy and we are likely to be either washed away as sinners or gathered up amongst God’s chosen people and asked to board Noa’s (it’s way hipper without the H, and it’s more 21st century) catamaran. [Sidenote: please don’t comment pointing out that Noah collected animals, because I know that. If you’re here looking for accuracy in fables (oxymoron (triple parenthesis’ score!)) then you have ventured onto the wrong blog.]
Long story short – Robyn and I are wet but we’re fine. At least we’re not in the forest through all this.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Life is a Beautiful, Strong, Opininated Woman
We have been back from the beach now for two weeks, but I took a week off from writing so now I’ll catch everyone up. The beach we went to was near Iztapa which is on the Pacific coast at the very Southern end of Guatemala. It would typically be a 5 hour drive from Lake Atitlan to this area, but, as usual, we don’t seem to want to follow the norm...
Our chartered ‘bus’ was scheduled to leave Panahachel at 9am on the Saturday the 8th. ‘Pana’ is a 30 minute boat ride from San Marcos so this meant an early morning for us all in order to get there on time. We got off the boat in Pana and waited at the designated pickup point for our driver, Cruz. In reflection, this is quite an ironic name for a driver, and even more ironic was the fact that his driving style was to avoid his namesake at all costs. We left Pana shortly after 9 and were flying out of town as soon as we were strapped in. The van had three rows of bench seats in the back and a roof rack where our bags travelled. Cruz also had installed a thumping sound system, and Robyn and I, being the first aboard, chose the back seats for the journey, which was a mistake. I am reasonably sure that this car was equipped so as to produce enough noise for Helen Keller to enjoy the record selection. And it was wired such that the back seat was the epicentre of low frequency emissions. Our trip was akin to someone slipping a bass drum over our heads and beating the thing for hours on end.
This would’ve been distracting had Cruz’s driving style not been a merge of Indy car and video game. I have never seen a large vehicle pushed to its limits (but just barely not over them) in an effort to arrive in ‘good time’. And I drove a Previa and made the most out of it. Cruz was darting around anything that he could manage to swerve around, regardless of its weight, size, or literal horsepower. Even more impressive was his ability to field music requests while passing an eighteen wheeler going up a blind curve. The man was on a mission. We had brief stops along the way for plantain chips, coconuts, and fresh fruit, and arrived in the beach town around 1pm. I must say that, despite some hairy moments, the trip was just fantastic enough to be enjoyable and the time flew.
We got out of the car and immediately appreciated the effect that elevation has on weather patterns. San Marcos and the whole lake is at an extreme elevation. It is supposedly the highest elevated freshwater lake in Central America (although that doesn’t really stir up images of grandeur in my mind either) and this elevation leads to a climate that is cooler and more temperate, where the rains clear our any humidity and the sun shines warmly. By the time we got down to the beach we had dropped from this elevated state to sea level, and then we got a taste for the true Guatemalan climate: the sun was like staring at a glowing element while inside an oven, the volcanic sand held heat better than burnt popcorn kernels, and it was more humid than a Russian bathhouse. I immediately began to sweat, and did not stop until 9 days later, when we left. En route we were all dreaming of working on our tans and feeling some warmth after weeks in the rainy forest, but our arrival helped us quickly realized that this was not a climate to trifle with and we sought shelter with haste.
Brooke led us to our home for the next week and a bit – a seemingly abandoned beach-side building that was erected by the Guatemalan ministry of natural resources. It is typically used to collect and help nurture the sea turtle population in the area and prevent poaching. When the turtles lay their eggs on the beach, workers collect the eggs and incubate them in a fenced-in sanded area that is within the boundaries of the structure. This way poachers can’t easily dig the up and sell them, which is a thriving business in Guatemala. The structure included two concrete rooms with no doors and no furniture, a broken toilet with no roof and a working shower, also without cover. There was running water out of a shin-high tap and a series of poles from which we hung our hammocks and declared our ‘bedrooms’ for the trip. I borrowed a hammock from someone in San Marcos because Robyn and I only brought down one hammock between us. This actually worked out well because the hammock I used was a much better size for me. As an aside, both Robyn and I broke her hammock on separate occasions: I was sitting on hers one afternoon reading a book in front of me when the rope holding me up snapped. I hurled the great 4 foot distance to the ground and somehow managed to absorb all of the impact with my elbows. I am pretty sure I went into shock but maybe I just overreacted. Either way it hurt a lot. When Robyn took the same plunge she was just about to fully lied down when the rope snapped again, but she fell with a pillow under her head and did not seem to hurt herself in the least. With our hammocks in place it became quite clear that there was little in the way of seating in the whole area: the structure had roughly-poured concrete flooring and there were no seats in sight. The sand was an option except for the scorching heat and lack of shade. Regardless, we used our hammocks for all reclining activities and it wasn’t so bad. We had a beautiful view of the ocean, which was 50 feet away, and no one had to work the next day, so we had it pretty sweet.
Our first day was spent setting up and settling down, including fixing the toilet and having a few swims. The beach was dark grey volcanic sand that was quite unique and very hot. The beach was a steep grade but rockless and the surf was big, strong, and relentless. I thoroughly enjoyed playing in the waves but I think it was a little intimidating for most of the rest of the group. Thanks to family vacations and to my brother for sibling-rivalrying me into playing in the ocean, I felt quite at home. Surprisingly, the beach was deserted and there weren’t many buildings in the area, let alone a hotel or tourist industry. Apparently the fact that it was down season, combined with another, more popular beach in the area, created a sort of ghost town of our beachfront. It was a strange, desolate feeling.
The first night we ventured into the surrounding village to check out the sights and sounds. The village was quite small (fruit and vegetables arrive twice-weekly via boats) but included a small school and 5 corner stores. The centre of town was a basketball court with some covered stands, which on the first night was doubling as a small soccer pitch for organized games of 5 on 5. It appeared that neighbouring towns had sent representative teams because the games did not last very long and there were quite a few different jerseys represented, all playing each other in round robin style. Robyn and I bought some snacks at the nearby shop and watched for a while. The guys who were playing were quite skilled, and we were amazed by the amount of physical contact – they may as well have been throwing hip checks on each other. Once we had had our fill we went down to the beach to take a night walk, which became a ritual, and watched the crabs dart out of their holes and scamper through the surf. They ranged in size from barely noticeable to about the size of a baseball, and could really move. As we walked each night we tried to avoid the numerous bunkers they all stayed in within the sand but invariably we would step on or near an abode just as the curious occupant was about to come out. Luckily we never had any incidents with these crusty fellows and would get back to our beds each night without injury.
Sleeping in a hammock is a new experience for me. Sleeping in a hammock while sweating profusely from the humidity takes this novel event to a whole new level. Once the sun set each evening the gentle breeze that blew off the water all day held its breath, and the humidity was allowed to set in like a thick fog. Walking, talking, and even eating led to perspiration, and I resorted to showering right before bed in order to cool down, but this still did not save me. To make matters more interesting, the lack of wind gave the mosquitoes a chance to sniff around and so we had to take shelter under mosquito nets or risk waking up with an abundance of itchy constellations all over our bodies. When I eventually did get settled into my hammock, under the net, I would usually read for an hour or two because of the early timeframe that we would typically retire at. This was my favourite time of the day – it was quiet and I was within my own little cocoon, away from the thirsty insects and inside my books. Sleeping in the hammock was bearable, and I got better at it as the week went on, but I still have rug burn on my hips and I am not going to make it a typical sleeping style anytime soon.
Each morning we’d wake at 6:30 in order to do yoga from 7-9. The workforce of insects switched from the night watch of the mosquitoes to the morning shift of the swarming fleas. These were terribly annoying, especially when we were holding difficult yoga positions and you were forced to sit and watch these pests huddle around your ankles, or hands, or even your eyes. They seemed to have an affinity for my eyeballs. Regardless, we got to watch the sun rise each morning from the neighbouring yoga chalet as we went through our practice, which was quite a spiritual experience.
After hot yoga and cold oatmeal (making a fire at that time of the day would’ve been death) we were pretty much free until meditation at 5pm. We spent the days suntanning, listening to music, and reading a lot. We’d go for walks through town and up and down the beach and generally had a very relaxing time. We did take a couple opportunities to go into the local school and help lead some arts and crafts lessons but for the most part we were on our own. One of my favourite aspects of the setup was the freshwater shower. After spending time in the sun, sand, surf, sweat, and saltspray, I would often trek to the tumbling tap and, under the uncovered stall, wash everything off. The water was sourced from a water tank in the centre of town and would come out of the tap almost as hot as a shower at home, despite the fact that no artificial heat is applied to it. My favourite part of the whole experience was that, as it poured out from above, the water would splash off and spray in all directions and, because there was no roof, the sun would catch these water particles and create magnificent rainbows all around while you showered. It was like bathing within a prism, and was quite the experience. (At this point I would like to remind everyone that the expedition does not condone the use of alcohol or other illicit substances, and I adhere to the policies of the expedition wholeheartedly.)
We did manage to break up one of the days with a surfing lesson from the guys at the small ‘surf school’ next door. With no sign and hidden surfboards, you’d be hard pressed to know that it was a school, but we spoke to a few foreigners who stayed there for periods of time and it was actually a legitimate business. They even had a website, which means you know they’re good. We scheduled and cancelled a few different days but eventually got ourselves organized for lessons for both Robyn and I. We were led out to the surf mid-morning, when the tide was low, by two Spanish-speaking local guys and two well used surfboards. The fact that neither spoke any English created a bit of hesitation but the lack of better options proved to be the trump card. After a quick lesson on the beach (think of the lesson within ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’ and if you haven’t seen the movie, go rent it and come back to read the rest. I’ll wait.) we were walked into the whitewash to practice our newfound skills. When a suitable ‘wave’ rolled in we would align ourselves and start paddling, while at the same time the instructor would push us with the wave’s momentum in order to get us started. Robyn got up much sooner and more often than I did, but I would like to explain why. When learning to surf, the larger the board you’re on, generally the more success you’ll have. With a larger board the weight is spread over larger surface area and balance is easier to achieve. As a surfer progresses the board size is reduced in order to facilitate manoeuvrability and responsiveness. Robyn and I were both riding the same size board, but I am considerably larger than she, so she had one advantage. Also, when surfing, the initial speed that you’re able to create in order to ‘catch’ the wave is important, and the faster you’re able to go off the hop, the higher the chance of properly riding the crest. Because of Robyn’s petite stature her instructor was able to push her off quite well and she was skimming the surf even before the wave actually grabbed her board. On the other hand, my instructor struggled with my well-proportioned mass and so I was ploughing through the water before I even had an opportunity to stand up. I know he exhausted himself trying to push me around in the water, but I felt like I had an anchor attached to my board and he was struggling to force it through the sand. Now that we’ve cleared the water in terms of Robyn’s unfair advantages, I do need to give her credit – she was awesome. She was very excited to take a lesson in the first place, having gained confidence and skill in the movements through snowboarding, and she took to surfing like an old lady to cats. She got up numerous times and was even carving some turns out before the end of the hour. I was quite proud to see her go and I know she even impressed the instructors with her success. I caught myself a few times just wanting to watch her doing her thing and likely missed out on a few waves for myself, but that’s fine. We have a long beach ahead of us for the next year and I know that I’ll get many more chances to see her ride while also getting better myself.
Fleas, mosquitoes and crabs weren’t the only wildlife that we got to encounter; we also had our own two mascot dogs which were strays from the town that decided early in our stay that they enjoyed the brand of scraps that we produced. The Spanish word for dog is Perro so obviously one of them was named Perry, while the other looked like a Rover or Rex and was called both names interchangeably. They would hang around our area all day and night and acted as our guard dogs. This was much appreciated, but their presence soon caused some problems. The first trouble they literally brought to us each morning in the shape of hundreds of fleas, swarming their canine bodies. The dogs got in the affectionate habit of rubbing against our hammocks each day to say good morning (but mostly to scratch themselves). Imagine the thought of waking from a muggy night’s sleep, knowing that the dog that’s barraging into your hammock is covered in fleas and that these insect travellers are leaving their four legged train in order to rest within the fibres of your hammock. Gag. As if this wasn’t enough, the dog’s were clearly the town bullies: we’d go for walks through the village and the dogs would obiediantly follow us unprovoked. This sounds cute except for the fact that our walking companions would harass ANYTHING in town that they outweighed or outnumbered. Nothing was safe from their intimidation tactics – not children, other dogs, or even the many pigs that roamed the village. It became embarrassing to be associated with these dogs and we would spend a good portion of our walks apologizing to the locals for their behaviour and calling out to them scornfully in English, addressing them by names that we had just made up a few days prior. It would’ve been comical had it not been so frustrating. The situation got to the point that, near the last day, our dogs had cornered and attacked a chicken that belonged to the neighbour. They pounced on it and I thought for sure had killed the thing, but the chicken sprung back up onto its feet and scurried away at its first opportunity. The neighbour, already upset with all of the barking that these mutts did at anyone who walked in our area, saw the attack and came over afterwards to speak with us. Brooke, being the only one fluent in Spanish, jumped up to calm his nerves. After the conversation, she sheepishly returned to the group and let us know that the neighbour had offered to get his shotgun in order to permanently silence the dogs, but she was able to persuade him that they would cause no further trouble. As bad as this all sounds, the dogs showed their true stripes on the morning of our departure. They had obviously grown quite attached to us and the small amount of affection we showed them because they followed us through the town on our walk out in order to see us off. As we boarded the boat to leave for good one of the dogs, which we had never seen even close to the ocean, jumped into the river (the beach was a peninsula between a freshwater river and the salty ocean) and began to swim alongside our boat. The poor dog swam for as long as he could beside our boat until we were too far off and he could no longer keep up. This act of bravery and loyalty endeared him to us all forever and, despite all of their idiocies, we all loved those dogs.
All in all, the beach was a great time. It was a definite change of scenery from what we had experienced to date and allowed us more free time to read and reflect on what we are here to learn about. Although, if I could create the itinerary, I would cut the duration by a few days, we had a lovely time and made the most of our days under the sun. Robyn may have exposed herself a little too much to the sun and incurred an unrequested full-body peel, but that’s part of doing business at the beach. By the time the last night rolled around we were all quite ready to head home, but we all learned a lot while living beside each other in the hammocks.
All this being said, this is also the setting for Robyn and my descent into more severe health issues and the straw that broke the camel’s back and led to a group intervention for one member of the team. You see, despite my efforts to include the emotions that we feel in relation to our surroundings, I have yet to regale everyone with the human dynamic that is living within a group of five strangers (except Robyn, I still know her well). But, now that all the environment that we have lived in have been suitably discussed, I will turn our attention to the human element, which has been interesting to say the least...
Our chartered ‘bus’ was scheduled to leave Panahachel at 9am on the Saturday the 8th. ‘Pana’ is a 30 minute boat ride from San Marcos so this meant an early morning for us all in order to get there on time. We got off the boat in Pana and waited at the designated pickup point for our driver, Cruz. In reflection, this is quite an ironic name for a driver, and even more ironic was the fact that his driving style was to avoid his namesake at all costs. We left Pana shortly after 9 and were flying out of town as soon as we were strapped in. The van had three rows of bench seats in the back and a roof rack where our bags travelled. Cruz also had installed a thumping sound system, and Robyn and I, being the first aboard, chose the back seats for the journey, which was a mistake. I am reasonably sure that this car was equipped so as to produce enough noise for Helen Keller to enjoy the record selection. And it was wired such that the back seat was the epicentre of low frequency emissions. Our trip was akin to someone slipping a bass drum over our heads and beating the thing for hours on end.
This would’ve been distracting had Cruz’s driving style not been a merge of Indy car and video game. I have never seen a large vehicle pushed to its limits (but just barely not over them) in an effort to arrive in ‘good time’. And I drove a Previa and made the most out of it. Cruz was darting around anything that he could manage to swerve around, regardless of its weight, size, or literal horsepower. Even more impressive was his ability to field music requests while passing an eighteen wheeler going up a blind curve. The man was on a mission. We had brief stops along the way for plantain chips, coconuts, and fresh fruit, and arrived in the beach town around 1pm. I must say that, despite some hairy moments, the trip was just fantastic enough to be enjoyable and the time flew.
We got out of the car and immediately appreciated the effect that elevation has on weather patterns. San Marcos and the whole lake is at an extreme elevation. It is supposedly the highest elevated freshwater lake in Central America (although that doesn’t really stir up images of grandeur in my mind either) and this elevation leads to a climate that is cooler and more temperate, where the rains clear our any humidity and the sun shines warmly. By the time we got down to the beach we had dropped from this elevated state to sea level, and then we got a taste for the true Guatemalan climate: the sun was like staring at a glowing element while inside an oven, the volcanic sand held heat better than burnt popcorn kernels, and it was more humid than a Russian bathhouse. I immediately began to sweat, and did not stop until 9 days later, when we left. En route we were all dreaming of working on our tans and feeling some warmth after weeks in the rainy forest, but our arrival helped us quickly realized that this was not a climate to trifle with and we sought shelter with haste.
Brooke led us to our home for the next week and a bit – a seemingly abandoned beach-side building that was erected by the Guatemalan ministry of natural resources. It is typically used to collect and help nurture the sea turtle population in the area and prevent poaching. When the turtles lay their eggs on the beach, workers collect the eggs and incubate them in a fenced-in sanded area that is within the boundaries of the structure. This way poachers can’t easily dig the up and sell them, which is a thriving business in Guatemala. The structure included two concrete rooms with no doors and no furniture, a broken toilet with no roof and a working shower, also without cover. There was running water out of a shin-high tap and a series of poles from which we hung our hammocks and declared our ‘bedrooms’ for the trip. I borrowed a hammock from someone in San Marcos because Robyn and I only brought down one hammock between us. This actually worked out well because the hammock I used was a much better size for me. As an aside, both Robyn and I broke her hammock on separate occasions: I was sitting on hers one afternoon reading a book in front of me when the rope holding me up snapped. I hurled the great 4 foot distance to the ground and somehow managed to absorb all of the impact with my elbows. I am pretty sure I went into shock but maybe I just overreacted. Either way it hurt a lot. When Robyn took the same plunge she was just about to fully lied down when the rope snapped again, but she fell with a pillow under her head and did not seem to hurt herself in the least. With our hammocks in place it became quite clear that there was little in the way of seating in the whole area: the structure had roughly-poured concrete flooring and there were no seats in sight. The sand was an option except for the scorching heat and lack of shade. Regardless, we used our hammocks for all reclining activities and it wasn’t so bad. We had a beautiful view of the ocean, which was 50 feet away, and no one had to work the next day, so we had it pretty sweet.
Our first day was spent setting up and settling down, including fixing the toilet and having a few swims. The beach was dark grey volcanic sand that was quite unique and very hot. The beach was a steep grade but rockless and the surf was big, strong, and relentless. I thoroughly enjoyed playing in the waves but I think it was a little intimidating for most of the rest of the group. Thanks to family vacations and to my brother for sibling-rivalrying me into playing in the ocean, I felt quite at home. Surprisingly, the beach was deserted and there weren’t many buildings in the area, let alone a hotel or tourist industry. Apparently the fact that it was down season, combined with another, more popular beach in the area, created a sort of ghost town of our beachfront. It was a strange, desolate feeling.
The first night we ventured into the surrounding village to check out the sights and sounds. The village was quite small (fruit and vegetables arrive twice-weekly via boats) but included a small school and 5 corner stores. The centre of town was a basketball court with some covered stands, which on the first night was doubling as a small soccer pitch for organized games of 5 on 5. It appeared that neighbouring towns had sent representative teams because the games did not last very long and there were quite a few different jerseys represented, all playing each other in round robin style. Robyn and I bought some snacks at the nearby shop and watched for a while. The guys who were playing were quite skilled, and we were amazed by the amount of physical contact – they may as well have been throwing hip checks on each other. Once we had had our fill we went down to the beach to take a night walk, which became a ritual, and watched the crabs dart out of their holes and scamper through the surf. They ranged in size from barely noticeable to about the size of a baseball, and could really move. As we walked each night we tried to avoid the numerous bunkers they all stayed in within the sand but invariably we would step on or near an abode just as the curious occupant was about to come out. Luckily we never had any incidents with these crusty fellows and would get back to our beds each night without injury.
Sleeping in a hammock is a new experience for me. Sleeping in a hammock while sweating profusely from the humidity takes this novel event to a whole new level. Once the sun set each evening the gentle breeze that blew off the water all day held its breath, and the humidity was allowed to set in like a thick fog. Walking, talking, and even eating led to perspiration, and I resorted to showering right before bed in order to cool down, but this still did not save me. To make matters more interesting, the lack of wind gave the mosquitoes a chance to sniff around and so we had to take shelter under mosquito nets or risk waking up with an abundance of itchy constellations all over our bodies. When I eventually did get settled into my hammock, under the net, I would usually read for an hour or two because of the early timeframe that we would typically retire at. This was my favourite time of the day – it was quiet and I was within my own little cocoon, away from the thirsty insects and inside my books. Sleeping in the hammock was bearable, and I got better at it as the week went on, but I still have rug burn on my hips and I am not going to make it a typical sleeping style anytime soon.
Each morning we’d wake at 6:30 in order to do yoga from 7-9. The workforce of insects switched from the night watch of the mosquitoes to the morning shift of the swarming fleas. These were terribly annoying, especially when we were holding difficult yoga positions and you were forced to sit and watch these pests huddle around your ankles, or hands, or even your eyes. They seemed to have an affinity for my eyeballs. Regardless, we got to watch the sun rise each morning from the neighbouring yoga chalet as we went through our practice, which was quite a spiritual experience.
After hot yoga and cold oatmeal (making a fire at that time of the day would’ve been death) we were pretty much free until meditation at 5pm. We spent the days suntanning, listening to music, and reading a lot. We’d go for walks through town and up and down the beach and generally had a very relaxing time. We did take a couple opportunities to go into the local school and help lead some arts and crafts lessons but for the most part we were on our own. One of my favourite aspects of the setup was the freshwater shower. After spending time in the sun, sand, surf, sweat, and saltspray, I would often trek to the tumbling tap and, under the uncovered stall, wash everything off. The water was sourced from a water tank in the centre of town and would come out of the tap almost as hot as a shower at home, despite the fact that no artificial heat is applied to it. My favourite part of the whole experience was that, as it poured out from above, the water would splash off and spray in all directions and, because there was no roof, the sun would catch these water particles and create magnificent rainbows all around while you showered. It was like bathing within a prism, and was quite the experience. (At this point I would like to remind everyone that the expedition does not condone the use of alcohol or other illicit substances, and I adhere to the policies of the expedition wholeheartedly.)
We did manage to break up one of the days with a surfing lesson from the guys at the small ‘surf school’ next door. With no sign and hidden surfboards, you’d be hard pressed to know that it was a school, but we spoke to a few foreigners who stayed there for periods of time and it was actually a legitimate business. They even had a website, which means you know they’re good. We scheduled and cancelled a few different days but eventually got ourselves organized for lessons for both Robyn and I. We were led out to the surf mid-morning, when the tide was low, by two Spanish-speaking local guys and two well used surfboards. The fact that neither spoke any English created a bit of hesitation but the lack of better options proved to be the trump card. After a quick lesson on the beach (think of the lesson within ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’ and if you haven’t seen the movie, go rent it and come back to read the rest. I’ll wait.) we were walked into the whitewash to practice our newfound skills. When a suitable ‘wave’ rolled in we would align ourselves and start paddling, while at the same time the instructor would push us with the wave’s momentum in order to get us started. Robyn got up much sooner and more often than I did, but I would like to explain why. When learning to surf, the larger the board you’re on, generally the more success you’ll have. With a larger board the weight is spread over larger surface area and balance is easier to achieve. As a surfer progresses the board size is reduced in order to facilitate manoeuvrability and responsiveness. Robyn and I were both riding the same size board, but I am considerably larger than she, so she had one advantage. Also, when surfing, the initial speed that you’re able to create in order to ‘catch’ the wave is important, and the faster you’re able to go off the hop, the higher the chance of properly riding the crest. Because of Robyn’s petite stature her instructor was able to push her off quite well and she was skimming the surf even before the wave actually grabbed her board. On the other hand, my instructor struggled with my well-proportioned mass and so I was ploughing through the water before I even had an opportunity to stand up. I know he exhausted himself trying to push me around in the water, but I felt like I had an anchor attached to my board and he was struggling to force it through the sand. Now that we’ve cleared the water in terms of Robyn’s unfair advantages, I do need to give her credit – she was awesome. She was very excited to take a lesson in the first place, having gained confidence and skill in the movements through snowboarding, and she took to surfing like an old lady to cats. She got up numerous times and was even carving some turns out before the end of the hour. I was quite proud to see her go and I know she even impressed the instructors with her success. I caught myself a few times just wanting to watch her doing her thing and likely missed out on a few waves for myself, but that’s fine. We have a long beach ahead of us for the next year and I know that I’ll get many more chances to see her ride while also getting better myself.
Fleas, mosquitoes and crabs weren’t the only wildlife that we got to encounter; we also had our own two mascot dogs which were strays from the town that decided early in our stay that they enjoyed the brand of scraps that we produced. The Spanish word for dog is Perro so obviously one of them was named Perry, while the other looked like a Rover or Rex and was called both names interchangeably. They would hang around our area all day and night and acted as our guard dogs. This was much appreciated, but their presence soon caused some problems. The first trouble they literally brought to us each morning in the shape of hundreds of fleas, swarming their canine bodies. The dogs got in the affectionate habit of rubbing against our hammocks each day to say good morning (but mostly to scratch themselves). Imagine the thought of waking from a muggy night’s sleep, knowing that the dog that’s barraging into your hammock is covered in fleas and that these insect travellers are leaving their four legged train in order to rest within the fibres of your hammock. Gag. As if this wasn’t enough, the dog’s were clearly the town bullies: we’d go for walks through the village and the dogs would obiediantly follow us unprovoked. This sounds cute except for the fact that our walking companions would harass ANYTHING in town that they outweighed or outnumbered. Nothing was safe from their intimidation tactics – not children, other dogs, or even the many pigs that roamed the village. It became embarrassing to be associated with these dogs and we would spend a good portion of our walks apologizing to the locals for their behaviour and calling out to them scornfully in English, addressing them by names that we had just made up a few days prior. It would’ve been comical had it not been so frustrating. The situation got to the point that, near the last day, our dogs had cornered and attacked a chicken that belonged to the neighbour. They pounced on it and I thought for sure had killed the thing, but the chicken sprung back up onto its feet and scurried away at its first opportunity. The neighbour, already upset with all of the barking that these mutts did at anyone who walked in our area, saw the attack and came over afterwards to speak with us. Brooke, being the only one fluent in Spanish, jumped up to calm his nerves. After the conversation, she sheepishly returned to the group and let us know that the neighbour had offered to get his shotgun in order to permanently silence the dogs, but she was able to persuade him that they would cause no further trouble. As bad as this all sounds, the dogs showed their true stripes on the morning of our departure. They had obviously grown quite attached to us and the small amount of affection we showed them because they followed us through the town on our walk out in order to see us off. As we boarded the boat to leave for good one of the dogs, which we had never seen even close to the ocean, jumped into the river (the beach was a peninsula between a freshwater river and the salty ocean) and began to swim alongside our boat. The poor dog swam for as long as he could beside our boat until we were too far off and he could no longer keep up. This act of bravery and loyalty endeared him to us all forever and, despite all of their idiocies, we all loved those dogs.
All in all, the beach was a great time. It was a definite change of scenery from what we had experienced to date and allowed us more free time to read and reflect on what we are here to learn about. Although, if I could create the itinerary, I would cut the duration by a few days, we had a lovely time and made the most of our days under the sun. Robyn may have exposed herself a little too much to the sun and incurred an unrequested full-body peel, but that’s part of doing business at the beach. By the time the last night rolled around we were all quite ready to head home, but we all learned a lot while living beside each other in the hammocks.
All this being said, this is also the setting for Robyn and my descent into more severe health issues and the straw that broke the camel’s back and led to a group intervention for one member of the team. You see, despite my efforts to include the emotions that we feel in relation to our surroundings, I have yet to regale everyone with the human dynamic that is living within a group of five strangers (except Robyn, I still know her well). But, now that all the environment that we have lived in have been suitably discussed, I will turn our attention to the human element, which has been interesting to say the least...
Friday, May 7, 2010
We return to San Marcos from the forest every Wednesday around 11am. Wednesdays have become the new Saturday for us – it’s the day we look forward to as we are able to emerge from the mountains and get back to a more typical method of living. Although life in San Marcos is worlds away from Canada, it does provide some comforts that we’ve become accustomed to. It truly is amazing how quickly we are able to adapt: Robyn and I felt at home with our host families and in our new room within the first two weeks. With an effort to seek and focus on the positives of a situation, I think we are a species capable of existing happily within a wide variety of circumstances. We will continue to put that to the test, rest assured.
The hour long drive home from the forest is a ride of freedom and expectation: as we sit in the back of a Toyota pickup careening down the various mountain roads I hear every anthem of triumph and energy in my mind as we race back from the wild into the town. We are all exhausted from the hike out, dirty from our chores in the woods, and stinky from the lapse in available bathing water but Wednesdays carry the biggest smiles and most excitement.
When we pull up to the Soul Projects door and unload all of our packs, separating dirty laundry and reloading our bags with clean, the first chore is to wash off the forest, literally and figuratively. We change into our bathing suits and make our way down to the lake for one of our two weekly ‘showers’. With our biodegradable soap in hand we beeline to the rickety wooden structure that serves as the launching point to our cleanliness and leap into our giant freshwater bath. The temperature of the water is refreshing but not numbing and we have yet to have overcast skies for a Wednesday mid-day. I have never felt the renewing effects of soap and water as much as I feel it on these days – it is hard to describe how much better we all feel after swimming, lathering, and laughing down at the dock.
Once we are clean it’s back to base for the day’s lunch and then we’re free for the rest of the day. We are all anxious to launch out on our own for the rest of the evening and explore the area (or just relax) without four other people in your personal space. I should point out that we all get along very well and the forest is a great time, but after four nights together we’re all happy to gain a little breathing space. Robyn and I usually take this time to get to a computer to reconnect with everyone back home. Although we are fully invested in our time here in Guatemala both Robyn and I value our family and friends a lot and we look forward to reading and answering emails so that we can still feel like a part of everyone’s lives ‘back home’. Like a good Canadian boy I also make a point to check out the latest hockey scores each week. We have typically spent Wednesday evenings in a cafe in San Marcos, each taking turns on our own computer, but this past week we ventured over to San Pedro, which has better connection speeds and prices and allows us both to surf at the same time. Although it adds a bit of time and cost to commute across the lake, I think we may make this a tradition.
Every evening that we’re home (Wednesday to Friday inclusive) we are expected to be at our home stays for dinner and breakfast (cena y desayuno) which are both served at seven. Obviously dinner is served en la noches and breakfast is en la manyana. Wednesday evenings, like all evenings, are subdued and we usually find ourselves hanging out in my room for at least an hour before we split up for our dinners. Spending time in the room is a result of a few things: lack of free public places to relax and read/write, frequent rain in the evenings starting daily around four, and my desire to write merging with a reluctance to have my computer out in public. Do not take this as a compliant, though, because, like I said, we already feel at home in this surrogate room.
I think I have given a fair representation of meals here so I will spare a refry of those beans. After dinner I walk across the village (3 minutes door to door) to pick Robyn up from her family. We have been told not to walk around too late into the night and, although I have never felt any concern for our safety, I still wouldn’t want her walking around on her own. I often find myself chuckling under my breath at the concept of a confrontation because of the size disparity between myself and the Guatemalan men : I tower over everyone here who isn’t a foreigner (but I’m not resting on my safety laurels because of it!). We both return to my room again for the rest of the night. We usually read or watch a movie that we saved to the computer. We’re asleep most nights between 9 and 10 so it’s not like we’re throwing parties over here.
Thursday morning, after breakfast, we gather back at base for nine. Every Thursday morning Robyn, Angeli, and I make our way to neighbouring San Juan to help out at Centro du Mayo, which is a drop in program to help people with disabilities, both physical and mental. Run entirely by volunteers (headed by an older Dutch couple), the centre is a place of refuge for people who, until far too recently, were once killed as a means for their families to atone for whatever sin God had cursed them for through their birth. Luckily, places like Centro du Mayo are helping to change the public’s perspective on physical and mental handicaps; unfortunately there are not many centres like this in the area and it is understaffed and underfunded. The centre pulls from three nearby towns and is a welcome place for people of all ages and abilities. We have been told that, if the centre did not exist, most of the attendees would likely it in their homes alone as their parents are forced out to work. Our job, when we arrive, is to take the group, which varies in size from 3 to 10, through a series of arts and crafts that we design and prepare for. I think I have mentioned that Robyn and I are athletes and not artists, and I speak the truth when I say that some of those that we instruct are able to create pieces that are more attractive than those we make, but we both encourage that while laughing at ourselves. As a side note, Robyn will regale, with a strange sense of pride, the D she got in grade 8 art class to anyone who cares to listen.
Now that we have been through the centre three times we have learned the names and faces of the usual suspects and I think they’ve registered ours in return. Domingo is a young man who is quite intelligent and vocal, speaking perfect Spanish, whose physical disabilities limit him to a wheelchair. As he is quite ahead of the rest of the class mentally, he spends the majority of his time on his own accord on a computer that has been ergonomically setup for his use. Israel is a boisterous guy whose mental disability prevents much speech, but his never-ending smile and infectious gigglelaugh do all the communicating he seems to require. Rosalia suffers from cerebral palsy and is severely affected but she still understands what is going on around her and can perform simple tasks with our help. Completing the crafts with her can be challenging, but you can see in her eyes that she’s mentally alert despite what he body is doing, and so she deserves our efforts to help her through any physical hurdle that she may encounter. The list goes on of people, both young and old, who come to the centre for some entertainment, but likely more so for companionship and love. We have also had the chance to get to know some of the other volunteers who fly from around the globe to help out at the centre. These people typically make 2-3 month commitments to help out and, I believe, fund their whole trip on their own accord. Although we only volunteer for 2 hours a week at the centre we have gained an appreciation for the effect we can have if we simply show care and respect to those who deserve it. It is easy to turn a blind eye to those with differing abilities but we have seen that it is also quite easy to embrace them and make a positive impact on both lives in the equation.
We return back to base for noon on Thursday for lunch. Typically this meal is followed by some sort of short presentation by Brooke, our expedition leader, which varies from week to week. We have had videos on first aid, sea turtle conservation, and this is the period in which we watched Earthlings, as I have discussed previously. After the presentation we are free again until our dinner reservations back at our home stays. Robyn and I typically spent the remainder of the sunlight reading at the beach or sipping tea at a cafe. Robyn has chewed through quite a few books already on this trip. I have been reading right along with her but, since arriving in Guatemala, I have been reading Atlas Shrugged, which has understandably slowed my completion rate. I may have a separate post in store for the effects of reading this book within this environment, because it is a compelling masterpiece that espouses some profound ideas (some of which run counter to those proposed within our yoga teachings). Thursday evening melts into night, which ends like every night in San Marcos – quietly, save the barking dogs and buzzing insects.
Friday morning is free time, which Robyn and I take advantage of by requesting our breakfasts either be delayed an hour or cancelled altogether so we can sleep just a bit longer. After waking and feeding ourselves on mangoes, bananas, and coconut bread from the local women who sell fruit (a large mango is $.20CAD) we set off for the second and final bath of the week. Back to the same wooden dock we go. The mornings are easily the clearest and warmest skies so the best time to jump in the lake is 10 or so. After we’re clean again we jump into an internet cafe here in San Marcos where I can post for the week. After this we still have at least an hour before we need to report for lunch so we settle into a peach or mango smoothie at the cafe at the beach and read our books under the cresting sun.
Lunch is at 12, which we make, and then it’s time to round up local kids for some fun and games in the Soul Projects base. We descend into town and try to recruit local kids to join us at the base, where we have more crafts set up but are also able to play other games that are not possible at Centro du Mayo. We have found 7 kids who seem keen to return regularly and we have a chaotic fun time chasing them around the base. The brief 2 hours that we spend with these children, from 1 to 3, remind Robyn why she would never want to be an elementary school teacher. It is a completely different experience than our Thursday morning group, but a lot of fun nonetheless.
The remainder of Friday is again free for our use, but I’m afraid I’d sound like a broken record if I described it again. Suffice to say that the intention of Soul Projects is to slow down and enjoy a life more simplified, and we have embraced this concept. Although our evenings may sound slow and dull we have never felt bored and, with the natural beauty that surrounds us, we often marvel at the wondrous sights and sounds that we have witnessed because we have not been distracted by a full docket of activities.
Friday night blends into Saturday morning, where we rise, share the last breakfast of the week with our host families, and then load up at base in order to drive and hike into forest camp. The build up before arriving at the tree houses make Saturday mornings a bit of a production but once we get there and get ourselves set up we are able to relax and get back into the swing of things in the jungle.
The hour long drive home from the forest is a ride of freedom and expectation: as we sit in the back of a Toyota pickup careening down the various mountain roads I hear every anthem of triumph and energy in my mind as we race back from the wild into the town. We are all exhausted from the hike out, dirty from our chores in the woods, and stinky from the lapse in available bathing water but Wednesdays carry the biggest smiles and most excitement.
When we pull up to the Soul Projects door and unload all of our packs, separating dirty laundry and reloading our bags with clean, the first chore is to wash off the forest, literally and figuratively. We change into our bathing suits and make our way down to the lake for one of our two weekly ‘showers’. With our biodegradable soap in hand we beeline to the rickety wooden structure that serves as the launching point to our cleanliness and leap into our giant freshwater bath. The temperature of the water is refreshing but not numbing and we have yet to have overcast skies for a Wednesday mid-day. I have never felt the renewing effects of soap and water as much as I feel it on these days – it is hard to describe how much better we all feel after swimming, lathering, and laughing down at the dock.
Once we are clean it’s back to base for the day’s lunch and then we’re free for the rest of the day. We are all anxious to launch out on our own for the rest of the evening and explore the area (or just relax) without four other people in your personal space. I should point out that we all get along very well and the forest is a great time, but after four nights together we’re all happy to gain a little breathing space. Robyn and I usually take this time to get to a computer to reconnect with everyone back home. Although we are fully invested in our time here in Guatemala both Robyn and I value our family and friends a lot and we look forward to reading and answering emails so that we can still feel like a part of everyone’s lives ‘back home’. Like a good Canadian boy I also make a point to check out the latest hockey scores each week. We have typically spent Wednesday evenings in a cafe in San Marcos, each taking turns on our own computer, but this past week we ventured over to San Pedro, which has better connection speeds and prices and allows us both to surf at the same time. Although it adds a bit of time and cost to commute across the lake, I think we may make this a tradition.
Every evening that we’re home (Wednesday to Friday inclusive) we are expected to be at our home stays for dinner and breakfast (cena y desayuno) which are both served at seven. Obviously dinner is served en la noches and breakfast is en la manyana. Wednesday evenings, like all evenings, are subdued and we usually find ourselves hanging out in my room for at least an hour before we split up for our dinners. Spending time in the room is a result of a few things: lack of free public places to relax and read/write, frequent rain in the evenings starting daily around four, and my desire to write merging with a reluctance to have my computer out in public. Do not take this as a compliant, though, because, like I said, we already feel at home in this surrogate room.
I think I have given a fair representation of meals here so I will spare a refry of those beans. After dinner I walk across the village (3 minutes door to door) to pick Robyn up from her family. We have been told not to walk around too late into the night and, although I have never felt any concern for our safety, I still wouldn’t want her walking around on her own. I often find myself chuckling under my breath at the concept of a confrontation because of the size disparity between myself and the Guatemalan men : I tower over everyone here who isn’t a foreigner (but I’m not resting on my safety laurels because of it!). We both return to my room again for the rest of the night. We usually read or watch a movie that we saved to the computer. We’re asleep most nights between 9 and 10 so it’s not like we’re throwing parties over here.
Thursday morning, after breakfast, we gather back at base for nine. Every Thursday morning Robyn, Angeli, and I make our way to neighbouring San Juan to help out at Centro du Mayo, which is a drop in program to help people with disabilities, both physical and mental. Run entirely by volunteers (headed by an older Dutch couple), the centre is a place of refuge for people who, until far too recently, were once killed as a means for their families to atone for whatever sin God had cursed them for through their birth. Luckily, places like Centro du Mayo are helping to change the public’s perspective on physical and mental handicaps; unfortunately there are not many centres like this in the area and it is understaffed and underfunded. The centre pulls from three nearby towns and is a welcome place for people of all ages and abilities. We have been told that, if the centre did not exist, most of the attendees would likely it in their homes alone as their parents are forced out to work. Our job, when we arrive, is to take the group, which varies in size from 3 to 10, through a series of arts and crafts that we design and prepare for. I think I have mentioned that Robyn and I are athletes and not artists, and I speak the truth when I say that some of those that we instruct are able to create pieces that are more attractive than those we make, but we both encourage that while laughing at ourselves. As a side note, Robyn will regale, with a strange sense of pride, the D she got in grade 8 art class to anyone who cares to listen.
Now that we have been through the centre three times we have learned the names and faces of the usual suspects and I think they’ve registered ours in return. Domingo is a young man who is quite intelligent and vocal, speaking perfect Spanish, whose physical disabilities limit him to a wheelchair. As he is quite ahead of the rest of the class mentally, he spends the majority of his time on his own accord on a computer that has been ergonomically setup for his use. Israel is a boisterous guy whose mental disability prevents much speech, but his never-ending smile and infectious gigglelaugh do all the communicating he seems to require. Rosalia suffers from cerebral palsy and is severely affected but she still understands what is going on around her and can perform simple tasks with our help. Completing the crafts with her can be challenging, but you can see in her eyes that she’s mentally alert despite what he body is doing, and so she deserves our efforts to help her through any physical hurdle that she may encounter. The list goes on of people, both young and old, who come to the centre for some entertainment, but likely more so for companionship and love. We have also had the chance to get to know some of the other volunteers who fly from around the globe to help out at the centre. These people typically make 2-3 month commitments to help out and, I believe, fund their whole trip on their own accord. Although we only volunteer for 2 hours a week at the centre we have gained an appreciation for the effect we can have if we simply show care and respect to those who deserve it. It is easy to turn a blind eye to those with differing abilities but we have seen that it is also quite easy to embrace them and make a positive impact on both lives in the equation.
We return back to base for noon on Thursday for lunch. Typically this meal is followed by some sort of short presentation by Brooke, our expedition leader, which varies from week to week. We have had videos on first aid, sea turtle conservation, and this is the period in which we watched Earthlings, as I have discussed previously. After the presentation we are free again until our dinner reservations back at our home stays. Robyn and I typically spent the remainder of the sunlight reading at the beach or sipping tea at a cafe. Robyn has chewed through quite a few books already on this trip. I have been reading right along with her but, since arriving in Guatemala, I have been reading Atlas Shrugged, which has understandably slowed my completion rate. I may have a separate post in store for the effects of reading this book within this environment, because it is a compelling masterpiece that espouses some profound ideas (some of which run counter to those proposed within our yoga teachings). Thursday evening melts into night, which ends like every night in San Marcos – quietly, save the barking dogs and buzzing insects.
Friday morning is free time, which Robyn and I take advantage of by requesting our breakfasts either be delayed an hour or cancelled altogether so we can sleep just a bit longer. After waking and feeding ourselves on mangoes, bananas, and coconut bread from the local women who sell fruit (a large mango is $.20CAD) we set off for the second and final bath of the week. Back to the same wooden dock we go. The mornings are easily the clearest and warmest skies so the best time to jump in the lake is 10 or so. After we’re clean again we jump into an internet cafe here in San Marcos where I can post for the week. After this we still have at least an hour before we need to report for lunch so we settle into a peach or mango smoothie at the cafe at the beach and read our books under the cresting sun.
Lunch is at 12, which we make, and then it’s time to round up local kids for some fun and games in the Soul Projects base. We descend into town and try to recruit local kids to join us at the base, where we have more crafts set up but are also able to play other games that are not possible at Centro du Mayo. We have found 7 kids who seem keen to return regularly and we have a chaotic fun time chasing them around the base. The brief 2 hours that we spend with these children, from 1 to 3, remind Robyn why she would never want to be an elementary school teacher. It is a completely different experience than our Thursday morning group, but a lot of fun nonetheless.
The remainder of Friday is again free for our use, but I’m afraid I’d sound like a broken record if I described it again. Suffice to say that the intention of Soul Projects is to slow down and enjoy a life more simplified, and we have embraced this concept. Although our evenings may sound slow and dull we have never felt bored and, with the natural beauty that surrounds us, we often marvel at the wondrous sights and sounds that we have witnessed because we have not been distracted by a full docket of activities.
Friday night blends into Saturday morning, where we rise, share the last breakfast of the week with our host families, and then load up at base in order to drive and hike into forest camp. The build up before arriving at the tree houses make Saturday mornings a bit of a production but once we get there and get ourselves set up we are able to relax and get back into the swing of things in the jungle.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Week Four-tunate to Survive
Hey all,
Writing from San Pedro, a neighbouring village to ours on the lake. We're just got back from the latest trip to the forest and we're doing well. I ended up coming down with the same amoebas as Robyn but mine came with a vengence. Not that nice, but I survived.
Because we're in San Pedro, the internet connection is much better and I've been able to post some pictures. I'd tell you where they all are, but that'd ruin your fun to find them...
I'll be posting again on Friday, mid-day.
Until then.
Writing from San Pedro, a neighbouring village to ours on the lake. We're just got back from the latest trip to the forest and we're doing well. I ended up coming down with the same amoebas as Robyn but mine came with a vengence. Not that nice, but I survived.
Because we're in San Pedro, the internet connection is much better and I've been able to post some pictures. I'd tell you where they all are, but that'd ruin your fun to find them...
I'll be posting again on Friday, mid-day.
Until then.
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