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August 31, 2004
Exchange rate: $1 = about 8 Quetzales
Hola:
After a couple of weeks savoring the magical aura of Lago de Atitlán, my son Matt
and I headed north into the part of Guatemala known as the Highlands. Actually the first stop was in the village
of Chichicastenango, which I wrote about in the last edition. We made it there in the back of a beat-up old pickup
truck, weather permitting a terrific way to travel, and we shared the ride with a few local women on their way
to the big Sunday market, taking with them huge baskets of goods to sell. After a day and a night in Chichi, we
wanted to keep moving more deeply into the mountains, so we climbed on to one of Guatemala's famous "chicken
buses".
If you've ever wondered what happens to all the old, out-of-service American school buses, then you need to look
no further then Guatemala. Once the buses arrive (presumably someone drives them here) they brightly paint them
up, bolt in two ladders on the rear and luggage racks above the seats and on the roof, and install sound systems
that don't work worth a damn. Since very few Guatemalans own cars or even motorbikes, these buses are widely utilized.
Aside from catching rides in pickup trucks, renting a car or hiring a much more expensive shuttle bus, they are
pretty much the sole means of traveling in southern and central Guatemala. And let me tell you - they are some
kind of trip - truly the quintessential Central American travel experience! Despite some intensely uncomfortable
rides Matt and I found them to be our preferred mode of transportation, and I think you'll get agreement on that
from most of those who come here and cover much ground.
Since for locals they're frequently the only option for getting their goods to and from market, almost anything
may wind up sharing the ride - consequently the name "chicken bus". And rule number one is: there is
no such thing as "too many people" on one. Each of the seats is designed for three students, as in children,
but be assured that each seat is filled with three or more passengers of any age. Then the aisles are jammed full
to the point that the guy who collects the money often needs to perform some impressive acrobatics.
Sometimes this involves climbing along the top of the seats, which dictates that he be fairly small and agile.
Another trick is for him to exit out the front door up on to the roof, using a window as a step. He'll then cross
to the back, open the door, and enter through what had once been the emergency exit but is now just the rear door.
Mind you, this all happens while the bus is zooming down horrifically potholed, winding roads, bouncing and swerving
like crazy! The first time Matt and I witnessed this death-defying maneuver we were suitably impressed.
But our little friend must also be strong enough to hoist bags, boxes, backpacks and any other baggage up on to
the roof where it's then hopefully tied down and covered with a tarp against the rain. I saw one guy hoist several
100 lb (43kg) bags of fertilizer on to his shoulders, one at a time of course, and zip up the rear ladder as if
they weighed next to nothing. These guys are tough as nails! And by the way, in addition to the free circus show
it's very economical to ride the chicken buses. You can usually figure on about Q10 per hour of travel, so you
can cover a lot of ground for very little money.
But back to the inside. As passengers continue to get on you must squeeze together and a big dude like me soon
finds his knees jammed into the back of the seat in front. Often seats are massively ripped up or broken and sometimes
the windows are stuck shut or open. Usually the radio is alternating between two or more stations blasting out
several cheesy Guatemalan pop tunes…. very loudly. And it seems that within approximately five minutes after boarding
a bus, no matter how bumpy the ride is or what time of day it is, a Guatemalan falls asleep. On one occasion I
was precariously perched on the aisle with three guys sleeping on me - the two men on each side of me, each utilizing
a shoulder, plus a young kid standing behind me who'd flopped over on to my back. Anyone with personal space issues
might consider hiring a taxi.
I've mentioned that there seems to be no limit to the number of passengers - as long as someone is willing to squeeze
on and pay, then why not? On one trip it got to the point where I counted, as best as I could, over 80 people inside.
Plus there were also at least 10 more riding on the roof! Since many passengers in the past fell off and were killed
that way, it's now against the law for people to ride on top and consequently this particular bus was eventually
stopped by the police (we were on a major road) and the driver was either ticketed or paid a bribe, or both, we're
not sure. But we waited about twenty minutes for this to transpire and then took off again. Then about two miles
down the road we were stopped once more and the whole procedure repeated itself. The passengers patiently waited
without mumbling a word, so I suspect that this was not an unusual occurrence.
We left Chichi and paid Q3 to travel 13km to Santa Cruz del Quiché, and then changed buses for Sacapulas,
which cost Q13 and took another hour. Once there, we waited a while and bought some amazing soup from a roadside
food stall that was made from corn and beans and sprinkled with ground sunflower seeds. Then we got on yet another
bus (Q20 more) that was jammed full, Matt having to continually stand, jammed behind the last seat, during an intense
two-hour elevation gain on a wretched dirt road that was full of debris from storm run off. Eventually we arrived
in Nebaj, at 1900m (6232 ft.) high in the Cordillera de los Cuchumatanes, the highest mountain range in all of
Central America. Exhausted, we quickly checked into a very basic room that cost us a total of Q40.
In this region of the Highlands are Ixil Maya villages that are remote and somewhat removed from modern influences,
so traditional ways are proudly preserved. These people are descended from the builders of the famous temple cities
of Tikal, Chichen Itzá and Palenque, and Nebaj has been inhabited for more than a thousand years. Handicrafts
and clothing were striking and differed in style from what we'd seen around Atitlán. In particular, we noticed
women wearing brilliant head cloths which were twisted and wrapped around their heads, decorated with bright green
tassels. And the huipils (a one piece pullover) were of complex geometric designs in greens, yellows, reds and
oranges, each worn with brilliant red cortes (skirts).
And as impressive as their attire is, equally notable is how the women manage to elegantly transport articles on
their heads. First they position a towel-like cloth, after which they hoist up baskets or other items and then
move around just about anywhere without mishap. This might be up and down steep broken up streets or hilly paths,
in and out of shops and comedors (simple restaurants), on and off crowded buses…anywhere. As in Africa and Asia,
this method of transporting goods is both practical and no doubt a centuries old art form passed on from mother
to daughter at an early age. Perhaps for a young lass, negotiating a difficult course for the first time, laden
with a suitable burden, becomes her coming of age ritual, her rite of passage into womanhood?
The town of Nebaj (population 9,000) was nothing to brag about, particularly since for some reason (construction
I presume) an ugly corrugated metal fence surrounded the central square. The market was typical for a town this
size and there were a few inexpensive comedors. But it was nature we'd come to experience and the next morning
we were off on a hike, joined by Marcelo, a Brazilian also staying at our hotel whom we found to be an excellent
companion: light in spirit and full of zest for life.
This was the rainy season in Guatemala, which means one needs to be ready for heavy showers at any given time,
especially in the afternoon. And the higher in altitude you go the more likely a downpour is. The three of us struck
off, puffing up a trail, and soon encountered rain which kept up with us, on and off, for the entire hike of several
hours. The climb, taking us past tiny hamlets, isolated houses and fields of various crops, was unrelenting and
sometimes quite steep. Those working in the fields or sharing the trail, some carrying firewood or other necessities
of day-to-day life, all extended their most enthusiastic greetings.
I'm afraid I held back the others as I was really feeling the altitude, as well as still carrying the extra weight
I'd gained while endlessly stuffing my face with tacos for eight months while in Mexico! Eventually we reached
Cocop, a tiny, old-fashioned, peaceful village with an appallingly violent history. At this point, I'll bring in
a little historical background so you can fully grasp the complete picture here, and for that we need to begin
a few decades ago.
In 1945, a philosopher named Juan José Arevalo was elected as president of Guatemala and quickly established
the nation's social security system, a Bureau of Indian Affairs, a modern public health system and liberal labor
laws. He dismantled the previous police state apparatus, instituting press freedom and other democratic rights.
In the wake of WW2, this was Guatemala's first ever free election. But the new constitution disallowed more than
one term of office, so after these progressive steps forward he was succeeded in 1951 by Jacobo Arbenz Guzmán.
The new president, under a fully democratic process, then moved towards breaking up large estates and fostering
productivity on small farms, a step designed to help the poorer segments of society. But this was a problem, as
you will see.
Large companies such as United Fruit found this trend disturbing since it was severely cramping their style. For
example, UFC had previously had free reign to control vast amounts of land (550,000 acres, 85% of which was idle)
and reap massive profits, grossly underpaying locals. In case you didn't know, United Fruit is a multinational
American owned corporation that has been in operation throughout much of Central America for a long time. So back
in Washington D.C., U.S. Secretary of State John Foster Dulles directed his brother, C.I.A. director Alan Dulles,
to do something about it, since if you also didn't already know, big business has more than just a little bit of
influence on American foreign affairs. In this particular case the Dulles brothers had previously been partners
in a law firm whose biggest client had been… you guessed it: United Fruit.
So, as it has frequently done throughout the world, the C.I.A. secretly plotted the overthrow of a democratically
elected government. In this case they organized a "liberation army" under the leadership of two exiled
Guatemalan military officers, and based out of neighboring Honduras, an invasion ensued with U.S. fighter planes
strafing the presidential palace. President Arbénz was forced out and the violence, oppression and disenfranchisement
that resulted fueled the formation of guerrilla groups trying to resist this clear-cut foreign interference. Bear
in mind that the American government actions were done under the banner of anticommunism, the rallying cry of that
era for many similar actions… including a few years later in what would become the Vietnam War.
The history of Central America is also a history of American military interference, either directly or covertly.
Going back to the Monroe Doctrine in the mid 19th Century it's been the policy of the U.S. to arrogantly lay claim
to and dominate this region, due to its immense opportunities for investment and exploitation by American corporations.
Honduras, Panama, Nicaragua (anyone remember the Iran-Contra Affair, the brainchild of Reagan?), El Salvador… in
each case the United States government directly organized coups and/or funneled billions of dollars in "aid"
to prop up dictators who protected the interests of American corporations while personally bleeding the economy
before fleeing to exile somewhere safe.
I'm not making this up or exaggerating, my friends… read your history from somewhere other than American high school
history books. Even the Lonely Planet Guides, certainly apolitical as can be, explicitly tell the sordid tale.
So if I or anyone else were to suggest that the U.S. recently went into Iraq for less than egalitarian reasons
and possibly under false pretenses, why should it surprise anyone? In the 1950s and 60s the rallying cry was "anticommunism".
Now it's the "War on Terror". In either case, what the public was told was not the whole truth and the
cronies of those calling the shots have reaped huge financial and political benefits.
Look at the companies now raking in massive profits as a result of " the liberation and rebuilding" of
Iraq, such as Halliburton whose former C.E.O. is none other than current American V.P. Dick Cheney. That's just
one example. Am I the only one who's read about the funny stuff going on there? The bottom line in Guatemala is
that what the C.I.A. did back in 1954 directly triggered an intensely and progressively worsening economic and
political scenario that resulted in 36 years of civil war, hostilities in which about 200,000 people died, untold
thousands were tortured and "disappeared", and as many as 150,000 refugees were externally displaced.
The region I was hiking in was one of the hardest hit by the atrocities perpetrated by military regimes that took
turns overthrowing each other during the 1970s and 1980s while outdoing each other in carrying out atrocities that
repeatedly brought outcries from groups such as Amnesty International. In the early 80s, a certain President (General)
José Efrain Ríos Montt, an evangelical Christian, while acting in the name of anticommunism and anti-insurgency,
initiated a "scorched earth" policy in which over 400 villages were exterminated… 400 indigenous villages!
Cocop was one of them.
Cocop lay in a small valley and consisted of a few very simple and very poor houses and a couple of tiendas (small
shops). As we took the muddy path through it, women and children who seemed a bit shy warmly greeted us. I don't
recall seeing anyone very old, but that shouldn't be a surprise. In 1981, the army came through and murdered 68
people… everyone present in Cocop that day. Everyone - man, woman and child! Those who were fortunate to be elsewhere
at the time fled and did not return for eight years. In this area, virtually all the rural settlements were destroyed
and thousands of Ixils died in the 1980s.
We moved on through some very pretty countryside and for quite some time were quietly accompanied by a family of
four who were also walking to town and we exchanged pleasantries while they kept us from inadvertently veering
off the trail. It rained on and off. At one point we took advantage of a break in the drizzle and enjoyed a modest
but superb picnic, sprawled out in a verdant meadow. Later on we reached a town called Río Azul and witnessed
something that was particularly disturbing - political posters with Ríos Montt's name and photograph on
them!
It seems that not only has this scumbag never been brought to justice for his past crimes but is still active in
his political party, the openly corrupt F.R.G. His grotesque image and name would frequently reappear during our
travels in Guatemala. But this is politics, Guatemalan style. The last president, a certain Alfonso Portillo (also
of F.R.G.), is wanted by the Guatemalan government for stealing millions of dollars in public funds and is now
living in luxury in Mexico (there's no extradition agreement between the two countries). He's also an admitted
murderer and bragged that this proved that he was tough enough to defend "his people"!
The countryside in this area is beautiful and there are extended multi-day hikes you can take that are breathtaking.
There's a non-profit organization within Nebaj called Trekking Ixil that we visited which assists hikers and provides
bike rentals and horseback riding, and despite the violent past we were strongly assured it's totally safe to explore
remote parts of this area. There's also Artesania Ixil, a cooperative that promotes the community's unique textile
crafts and has organized the women artisans "to help prevent exploitation by unscrupulous intermediaries".
See www.nebaj.org for additional information on this region.
The evening following our hike Matt, Marcelo and I joined some Israelis we'd met earlier for a sauna that'd been
set up for us all. We were led to a tiny hut in a lady's muddy backyard and huddled together around a wood fed
fire. It was smaller, more primitive and not as hot as the typical Native American "sweats" I frequently
attended back in Arizona, but assured us of an even more restful sleep that night.
The next morning the three of us were off to Todos Santos, which is farther west in the Highlands. The trip was
brutal! At the bus station at 7:30, our bus didn't leave until 10:30 and we all waited while it rained, continually
splashing us where we stood. The bus was absolutely jammed full as it started up a steep, twisting dirt road, but
15 minutes after departing we encountered a landslide that completely blocked our way. Most of us piled out and
watched a huge backhoe take on the mass of earth. About an hour-and-a-half later we finally moved on.
Eventually, who knows exactly how much later, we arrived in Sacapulas where it was, of course, raining. I walked
off in search of something to eat and returned with fresh tortillas with which we all ate a salad concoction that
Matt had creatively whipped up… this while huddled under an overhang along the road. Eventually another bus stopped
so we then left for Aguacatán, a very rough ride on a very rough road and we stood in the aisle all the
way as the bus lurched, swerved, swayed and jolted us constantly. But the scenery was intense… high country at
its best! We had another delay for a landslide, but only for about 15 minutes this time.
Once in Aguacatán we tumbled out of the bus and collapsed on to the sidewalk, exhausted but determined to
push on. We then walked to where we could get a 4 pm bus to Huehuetenango, another hour-and-a-quarter. Once in
Huehue, Matt and I decided we'd had it… no more today we agreed, and we quickly grabbed a crappy hotel room that
didn't even have sheets on the stained mattresses. I was glad I always carry a slip sheet and Matt slept on the
floor, which he actually prefers to beds. Huehue is not a city I'd recommend spending your honeymoon in, especially
at the Hospedaje El Viajero! Marcelo pushed on even further and the next day we heard the story of how he ended
up sleeping on the floor of someone's house that night, unable to make it the rest of the way.
The following morning we were rewarded with stellar views as our bus gradually ascended to Todos Santos, a two-and-a-half
hour journey that was as enjoyable as the previous day's had been borderline nightmarish. We got a room at the
Casa Familia, the hot spot for travelers in town where we spent four nights. I'd gotten so chilly, wet and tired
I'd picked up a nasty head cold and much of that first day and evening I stayed all bundled up in bed, Matt bringing
me freshly made ginger tea until I broke my fever.
Rule sign in the room: "The rooms are made from wood. For the safety of all we cannot allow that you smoke
or coke in the rooms." Can't smoke or "coke", huh? I guess that means that you should freebase out
on the patio?
Todos Santos was and still is one of my favorite places in Guatemala. First of all, the views are incredible and
just from the deck of where we stayed we could survey a gorgeous sweeping valley. Once the sun clears the opposing
hill it's quite warm. During rainy season clouds and winds build up during the day and swirl ethereally among the
crests that jut upwards, sometimes enshrouding them like a veil. Later when the sun drops below the horizon it
can get quite cold as the elevation is 2450m (over 8,000 ft.) and you'll want some warm clothes unless you hail
from Minnesota, Moscow or some other such frigid climate zone.
As stunning as the nature is there, what I loved most about Todos Santos was the culture, particularly the clothing.
Men, women and children still wear the traditional outfits, the only place in Guatemala where this is true, to
my understanding. And what they do have on is unique among all other Mayan attire, especially the males. Their
pants feature wide red and white stripes. In addition, they have loose-necked shirts that are blue and white patterned
and round straw hats. It's impossible for me to accurately describe them, but trust me, they are spectacular and
like nothing else you'll find anywhere else I know of.
Market day is Saturday and going there is a delight for just the fashion show itself. And if those colors aren't
enough of an indulgence for your eyes, there're all the fruit and vegetable displays, plus everything else available.
Traditional herbal medicine is widely practiced and you'll find locals selling freshly picked or dried plants,
sometimes with lofty claims accompanying them. After the market ebbs, unfortunately some of the men take their
earnings straight to the tiendas and get roaring drunk, with a few passing out on the streets. This is true all
over the country.
If you're there on the first of November… All Saints Day… significant if you translate the name of the town, you'll
be in for a treat since a horse race is held following an all-night drinking spree. It's done bareback and apparently
has some deep religious significance. Part of these festivities is the masked Dance of the Conquest, plus lots
of food. Sounds like a real hoot and I'll definitely try to make it back up there for that.
It's a small town, with no internet available. Rebecca's Café has a very nice veggie curry and a surprisingly
worthy selection of used books to browse through if you're in dire need. There are few options for food or accommodation,
but we were quite happy with Casa Familia, especially after they let us use their kitchen and Matt whipped up some
tasty dishes. On the main street there's a cooperative selling clothing and crafts at good prices. But as much
as I loved those pants the guys wore I couldn't picture myself in them, so I settled for a small change purse to
carry my deck of cards in.
In addition to the purse, I also took away from Todos Santos another souvenir: some little amoebas. I think I generally
use pretty good judgment when it comes to eating and drinking in places such as Guatemala, but my brain clearly
misfired there. I guess after being in East Africa, throughout remote parts of Indonesia and in Mexico, I got a
bit lax and overconfident, thinking my system could handle just about anything. Returning from a super hike on
the mountain facing our casa I wolfed down a couple of tostadas from a lady selling them along the street. They
were cheap and delicious and had some raw beets on them. Whoops… bad move. It took me nearly a month to recover
from the effects of that meal!
Giardia is no fun, especially when you're taking long bus rides and I quickly dropped the weight I'd gained
in Mexico since I ate so little. Many days I ate nothing until I arrived at our destination late in the day, since
eating meant I'd be searching out porcelain or a suitable substitute very soon afterwards! I could have taken an
antibiotic and quickly knocked it out, but I'm strongly opposed to that approach in health matters. Finally while
in Panajachel weeks later, I found an herbal combination that did the trick… naturally. It took a week of gobbling
down capsules, but good riddance to bad parasites. So bear in mind that sanitation standards are pitiful in many
areas here and observe better caution than I did.
Sundays are a good day to be on the road in Guatemala for the simple reason that you're subsequently not in some
town where you'll be subjected to the cacophony that pours out of churches. The hike I just mentioned was on a
Sunday morning and as we made our way up the mountainside, sat on it for an extended period of time, and then later
made our way down… the entire time… we were subjected to a deafening clamor emanating from a distant religious
service.
Following on the heels of the conquistadors was the Catholic Church to work hand in sword to subdue, control and
manipulate the indigenous people of Latin America, and for hundreds of years they had a virtual monopoly on any
religious intrusion into this hemisphere. As I've previously mentioned, the Maya have retained many of their traditional
beliefs and blended them with the dictates of Rome, but the Catholic Church has nonetheless had a massive influence
since the early 16th century. But in the last few decades it's been the conservative Protestants who've been aggressively
cutting into the market share and now are neck and neck in the race for dominance, at least in Guatemala. Matt
aptly commented, "They're mopping up after the conquistadors!"
This has been the Assembly of God, Church of God, Pentecostal Church and other such fundamentalists who've made
their inroads. Heavily funded back in the U.S., large numbers of wide-eyed, eager missionaries have flooded into
the country, particularly in the backcountry where the natives are the most superstitious and desperate for something
to give them hope. Promising eternal salvation at a time when what the people need most are basic human social
services, they are everywhere. The plain but well-built churches are ubiquitous, and on their roofs are loudspeakers
that could better be put to use in Carnegie Hall or Yankee Stadium.
These high decibel sound systems are used to blast out the "Word of God" to all those who can't be roped
into attending their services. Just as in Indonesia where the Muslim prayer calls went out at ear splitting volume
five times a day to remind the slackers where they should be, here the music and sermons are broadcast to be heard
by all - like it not! Why can't these people just go into their houses of worship and do their thing and leave
the rest of us alone to do ours? Why must they insist on trying to impose their belief systems on others? But it's
the same with signs… everywhere. In San Pedro at Lago de Atitlán, for instance, you cannot walk a block
without seeing "God is Love" or some other huge message painted on a wall along the street, in Spanish
of course. It brought to mind driving through the backwoods of South Carolina… hardcore Bible Belt territory. I
sometimes wonder who these messages are really for? Just who needs to be reminded of what?
In general, I take no issue at all with Christians, any more than I do with Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Sikhs or any
other faith, provided they're bringing no harm to others. There are many rivers to the sea and many paths to God
(or wherever else you're headed) and, as I see it, whichever path anyone chooses is their own personal matter.
That's my point…it is and should be a personal matter. Who was it that said, "Don't shout it from the mountaintop,
just let your light shine."?
In so many cities and villages I've heard the zealots - at all hours of the day or night. Either their loudspeakers
are blaring out sermons or music, or they're roaming the markets and town squares, bible in hand, a smirk on their
faces, screaming at the "unsaved" - ranting and raving as if possessed themselves. Matt and I were sitting
on a bus as it was waiting to fill up and some guy leaped on and launched into his tirade: admonishing, pleading,
smiling, wildly gesticulating, patting passengers on the back and no doubt insisting he was there as both their
best friend and as a personal representative of Jesus Himself. Just before the bus was to pull out, he verbally
shifted gears, pulled some bottles of herbal salve out of a duffle bag and sold a few… I guess just to make sure
his effort wasn't a complete waste of time.
Once you've been proselytized and made your initial appearance in church, it's expected that you keep coming back
and if you don't, someone may well show up at your house and ask, "Where were you!" Maybe because it's
expected that 10% of your earnings regularly go to the church? From a reliable source, I'm told that in many cases
they will actually investigate how much a family earns to make sure they're getting their cut… all in the name
of eternal salvation, of course.
It's worth going out of your way to experience Todos Santos, if only for the ride back down the mountain. After
traversing the high country with it strange mix of landscapes that sometimes reminded me of Wales (rocky and rugged,
with hedgerows of stone and sheep grazing) and sometimes brought the high desert of Arizona to mind (cacti, succulents
and other desert-like plant life), we bounced along in our pitiful excuse for a bus on the dreadful excuse for
a road until it became paved, just prior to our descent towards Huehuetenango.
And what a descent (!), as extraordinary as any I've observed anywhere - and that includes Africa, the Himalayas,
Alaska, the Canadian Rockies or the Alps - anywhere! Suddenly a vast, spectacular valley opens up dotted with tiny
villages and isolated houses. In the distance are rolling mountains and the towering peak of Volcán Tajumulco
jutting up at 4220m, the highest volcano in Central America. As the bus continued to negotiate the winding road
downward the vista shifted and changed, constantly serving up new wonders. I'm sure I was embarrassingly slack-jawed.
Two-and-a-half hours after leaving Todos Santos we pulled into Huehue and changed buses for another two hour jaunt
to Quetzaltenango, more commonly known as Xela. We were to spend two nights there, but I'll save my impressions
of Xela for later since that's where I now live. What'll come next is the northern region of Guatemala, including
the marvel of Tikal - the ancient Maya ruins set in the lush jungle region of El Petén.
Hasta luego,
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Peace,