an ancient tradition

On Monday I finished weaving a bufanda, a scarf, which I wove on a back strap loom.  I had seen an ad at school for a lesson in weaving, a skill practiced by the indigenous women here.  It seemed like a great way to immerse myself in this aspect of Mayan/Guatemalan culture.  So Bruce and I went looking for the school, wandering around behind the parque central and found the address for Trama Textiles.  The name comes from the tool, the trama, that is used to hold the thread as it is passed back and forth to create the weaving.  I signed up for the approximately 10 hours that it takes to create a scarf.  Materials and tutelage would cost 325 quetzales ($40).

When I arrived for the first session, I was introduced to Oralia and Amparu, the two Mayan women who run the shop and the organization.  It is a cooperative of 100 women from 12 different indigenous communities.  The designs are unique for each pueblo so that a particular pueblo can be identified by looking at the weaving.  Many of the women are widows from the civil war, which was directed at the Mayans primarily, and which lasted for about 36 years, ending in 1996.

My first task was to choose 3 colors for the scarf, a main color and two others.  I forced myself to make a decision fairly quickly.  For those of you who know me, this is not easy.  And, of course, I second guessed myself.  However, the decision was made, and we got on with the next step, which was to make balls from the skeins of cotton thread that I had chosen.

That done, we moved on to putting the thread onto a wooden frame of sorts, in exactly the correct sequence of colors.  All of that took my first 2.5 hour session.

When I arrived the second afternoon, the thread had been strung and stretched out from one set of wooden bars to another set.  The first set was attached to a door frame.   I held the other set in my lap about 3 feet away.  Attached to that end was a belt around my fanny, which was tightened to give tension to the weaving, ie. the ¨¨back strap¨¨ loom.

                                                    My scarf in the making

Amparu, the older woman, took charge of showing me how to do the actual weaving.  There are 2 steps.  You would think that would be pretty easy for a reasonably intelligent person.  Not so, in this case.  Amparu would demonstrate - and I would try to replicate.  I can hear her now, saying ¨processo dos, Leenda!  processo dos!¨ her voice barely concealing her increasing frustration with this dull gringo.  I was trying to stay calm, while feeling very klutzy and sweaty!  Finally Oralia took over, chewing gum and gently explaining and coaching.  Amparu went away to count to 10.  I began to catch on.   The scarf began to take shape.

The third day was easier, though still requiring exteme concentrtion on my part.  A small group of students from one of the many other Spanish language schools in Xela came to the weaving school on a field trip.  They gathered around to watch me for a few minutes.  But I kept plugging away at processo uno and processo dos. When I completed my 2+ hours that day, Amparu estimated that one more day would do it!

By the time of my fourth session, there had been an interlude of several days.  I hoped that I would remember the process.  No problema.  Once the set of bars, etc. had been suspended, and I had  been strapped into the backstrap, I began weaving and finding a sort of zen-like peacefulness.  It´s very repetitive, a bit like knitting in that respect.  There were mistakes, and many of them didn´t get fixed.  But I finally finished, and my two mentors tied off the ends.  And I love the scarf!

We took photos, including Oralia´s five year old daughter, and I hung out for awhile, exchanging English and Spanish words with the five year old and with a 25 year old woman.  It was raining, of course, since it was afternoon, but we sat under the protective overhang surrounding the open patio.  It felt like a moment to savor, bringing two worlds together through an ancient tradition.

A Little Bit of Heaven

This weekend we are on Lake Atitlan, about 3 hours east of Xela, in a highly recommended hotel called Casa del Mundo (House of the World).  Lake Atitlan is reportedly one of the most beautiful places on earth and is the only lake ringed by 3 volcanoes.  As I write this post, I am sitting on a tiny plaza just outside our room - and feeling like I am in Eden!  All around me are lush beautiful plants, some flowering (like hydrangeas, impatiens, and hibiscus) and others are ivys encircling the door frame and hugging the posts, and still others are colorful coleus' and other hot weather plants that I can´t identify.  Yellow and orange butterflies bob here and there.  I can hear the far-away hum of a boat ferrying passengers on the lake below - and the ever-present bark of dogs somewhere.  The air is fresh and clean, something we miss in Xela. Facing us, across the lake, rise three proud volcanic mountains.  An extraordinary scene!

                                          Volcanoes overlooking Lake Atitlan

Our room is one of the most charming I´ve ever seen, a little peaked-roof, cliffside hide-away that seems to hang mid-air far above the lake.  Its wood-framed screenless windows open freely out to the magnificent vista of blue water surrounded by the tall cone-shaped mountains.  Incroyable! (no, wrong language).  Incredible - that´s better!

                                                  Our little aerie overlooking the lake

                    Inside our charming room, filled with beautiful Guate furniture and weavings

What a contrast this idyllic scene is to the challenging trek to get here!  We arrived last evening at about 7pm. - in the dark and the rain on an overloaded ferry that really shouldn´t have taken us.  But we had a reservation for the family-style dinner at Casa Del Mundo - and were already late.  The restaurant was holding a couple of seats for us.  So we squeezed ourselves on.

The boat that brought us to Casa del Mundo, empty in this photo but woefully overcrowded that night.

We had left Xela at about 3pm on a shuttle van with only one other passenger, a young Laotian-Australian man traveling alone.  The shuttle had picked us up at our home and then proceeded on the 3 hour ride from Xela to the lake-side town of Panajachel.  It was raining, at times heavily, as we descended through the mist-shrouded mountains on the Pan-American highway.  Our driver, who had introduced himself as Lucas, seemed like a nice man and a careful driver, but it was clear that he was hurrying,. passing slower-moving trucks and ¨chicken buses¨.  Having no really good map, we weren´t sure where we were but eventually we stopped at a Texaco rest stop.  Lucas hustled us off for ël bano¨.  Bruce and I took the opportunity.  When we emerged, five minutes later, the van was gone - and our luggage with it!  All the warnings of danger and thievery flooded our thoughts.  We waited for 10 minutes, 15 minutes, 20 minutes for Lucas to return.  I was pretty sure that he was a nice guy and not a thief and that the rush of hurried Spanish as I was leaving the van was the clue to his disappearance.  But not knowing for sure and having a bit of a deadline for arriving at Panajachel in time to catch the boat to our hotel (the only access) - all put the pressure on.  Using our new cell phone, Bruce called the owner of the shuttle company and determined that Lucas was, indeed, dropping off the other passenger for a connection and would be back soon.  That delay and another caused by a landslide made for a hurried, stressful ride in the dark on the twisting, narrow, rain-slicked side road to Pana.

                                                      The dock at Panajachel

We were dropped off at the dock and immediately made our way over the cobblestones and down to the boat that was about to leave. The launch was a low, narrow, open affair with just a piece of heavy plastic to protect anyone in the bow from the rain.  That included us!  We had to hunch over to be protected by the plastic.  Our wheeled suitcase seemed very out of place among the workers and students returning home, packed close together - maybe 25 of them.  We learned later that the load maximum is 14.  I loosened my jeans belt in case we ended up in the drink and I had to swim to shore!

The boat plied its way along the coast in the dark.  Every once in awhile I lifted the plastic roof from my head and took a peek.  I could see the twinkling lights of small towns (pueblos) around the lake and climbing the vertical mountainsides.  In between the towns were stretches of darkness.

 As we approached the dock for Casa del Mundo, I saw a flashlight quickly zig-zagging down the side of the mountain.  We got out of the boat and a young man appeared, holding the flashlight.  He easily hoised our heavy suitcase onto his back and led the way up, up, up the beautiful stone staircase built into the mountainside.  Bruce and I were huffing and puffing even without luggage!  As we neared the main office/dining room, we smelled delicious aromas and could hear the sounds of happy conversation coming from a candlelit room.  It was such a magical and comforting welcome after our rather harrowing trip.  We dropped off our suitcase and backpack in our room and hurried to the dining room for a delicious meal, family style, at one long table.  Across from us was a young couple from Vermont, on their honeymoon.  Beside us was a young Spanish-speaking couple.  The rest of the room seemed to be filled with English speakers, mostly young.  I had my first glass of wine in nearly a month.  It felt very decadent!

So we have today and tomorrow to relax and absorb this beauty.

Life in Xela

We are nearing the end of our month in Xela and will be moving to Antigua next week to begin the next leg of our journey.   The past month has been very hectic with lots to see and do - while adjusting to our new surroundings.   The  typical  day starts around 6 to 7 A.M. when we wake up to the barking of dogs or the rumble of beer trucks from the busy brewery across the street.   We eat breakfast that never varies - corn flakes, coffee and bananas (I hope I never see another corn flake - ever)  and then off for our 10 minute walk to school.   Our route to school is always filled with lots of traffic,  dense exhaust funes,  lots of  children in their school uniforms on the way to school, and  usually views of the picturesque volcano - Santa Maria.   We have 4 hours of intense, 1-on-1 Spanish instruction in the morning,  a frantic hour of Internet in the school library at noon,  a big mid-day meal with our host family, and then off to an activity or studying Spanish at our favorite coffee house, Baviera.

We usually make our way home at dusk,  about 6,  and read for a while before a lighter dinner is served around 7:30 pm.  Then it´s back to our small bedroom to study more before bed by 9:30.   All in all - not very exciting and we´ve come to realize that we can´t keep up with our fellow students - all 20-somethings from Denmark, Aruba, and the USA - who have invited us to go salsa dancing til the wee hours.   They do let us hang around with them on various adventures, and we enjoy their company for coffee, drinks, or dinner  - provided these things happen before 10 pm.   We have been warned not to be outside after 10, so we are content to be in our snug room at that point in the day.

Xela is an interesting place - a great stew of indigenous people, wealthy and poor, foreign students and natives, and a dramatic landscape dominated by volcanoes and green hills.  It rains hard every afternoon but the temps stay in the upper 60s to mid 70´s.  The houses have no heat but people dress for the morning and evening chill.  We have some great pics and will post them once we find an Internet cafe that can load pictures onto the computer.

Last weekend, we took a trip to Panajachel on Lake Attitlan and stayed at one of the finest hotels that we´ve ever stayed in - Casa del Mundo.  It is a world class place built on the side of a cliff facing three huge volcanoes that sit behind the lake.  We were so taken by the views, the service, and the food that we want to go back and are recommending it to everyone.  Of course, it´s a long way to go if you're starting in North America, but worth it once you get there.  We spent the whole weekend just drinking in the views and pinching ourselves -  wondering if this was real.  Of course, once you step outside the gates, you are in the real world of rural poverty with truly depressing sights, but we enjoyed it for the weekend.

The contrasts between wealth and poverty here are striking, and we are constantly trying to reconcile our relatively wealthy status with the desperate conditions in which some people are living.   For example,  we have our laundry done by a service just a few doors away from the school.  We ask ourselves if this is fair - feeling a bit guilty that someone else is doing something that we normally do ourselves.  We justify the dilemma by noting that this is a service, like anything else, and that we are helping to support another family.  This justification gets stretched a bit when we are accosted by aggressive Mayan women trying to sell us yet another gorgeous weaving,or by the urchin shoeshine boys wanting to polish our hiking shoes.

All told, a great adventure with lots of challenges but so far so good.

Dia del Independencia continued

So...more on the day of independence.  We left off in the middle of a tagine, I believe.  Bruce finished cooking and we shared dinner with our Guate family.  Our tagine was politely received but I´m not sure that it was totally appreciated (I loved it!).  Their own garnachas were delicious:  little tostadas with finely ground hamburg, finely minced onion, salsa (ie.sauce), and dry grated cheese.  Yum.  While we were cooking, Lilian had asked about American Thanksgiving dinner and turkey.  Perhaps that´s what we should have prepared.  Un otra tiempo.

                                           Chicken mole in the making

The afternoon brought a downpour of rain, as often happens in the afternoon.  By evening, we were definitely tired of our bedroom and decided to go out in search of some of the Independence Day activity.  The streets were fairly deserted and therefore intimidating, but we found our way to the central park.  There, in one area, were a cluster of folks setting off ¨globos¨, small (about 2 feet in diameter) hot air balloons made from colorful paper.  They were fueled by waxy fires suspended beneath them, as well as puffs of human air.  Three or four people would gingerly hold up the globo while someone lit the wax.  Then they´d all blow carefully, trying to set it aloft.  Some globos caught on fire and sent fiery paper cinders into the air.  But some sailed up, up, up into the dark sky.  The faces of the globos flyers held expressions of such joyful expectancy.  Their bright globos seemed to be taking the hopes of the Guatemalan people right up to God.

Dia del Independencia (Independence Day)

Independence from Spain in Guatemala (and most of Central America) took place on September 15, 1821.  For Xela, where the signing of the document happened,  Independence Day is a very important holiday, and celebrations stretch out over the course of two weeks.  People flock here from all over the region, and there is reportedly not a free hotel room to be had in the entire city.  On the days leading up to the actual holiday, various kinds of bands marched around the city, comprised of little children one day, bigger kids another day, etc.  On Wednesday evening, we went to the hub of the city, Parque Central, about 6 pm to watch the action with our student friends -  and thousands of other people.  It was dark by the time that things got going.  We found a spot to watch, and being gringos, we easily towered over most other spectators.  The bands for that evening seemed to be starting their march right in front of us.  Each band was led by a student holding an identifying banner telling the name of their school.  The kids ranged in age and were decked out in fairly elaborate matching satin outfits.  Girls twirling batons and performing dance steps in time to the music were followed by boys - and a few girls - playing trumpets, marimbas, and BIG drums.  Some of the drummers carried 3-4 drums, suspended from straps around their necks.  Each band played for 10-15 minutes before moving on and being followed by another band that played in front of us for 10-15 minutes. 

While this was happening, Dominoes pizza guys were hocking pizza; guys with 50 bags of colorful cotton candy hanging from T-shaped poles paraded back and forth; balloon sellers, and young guys demonstrating bouncing balls with lights inside tried to entice the audience to part with their money.  It was pretty interesting, but after an hour or so, we tired of standing.  Our young friends went off in search of a wine bar.  We headed off for a bite to eat and then back to our house.  The streets were clogged with pedestrians and cars.  Minivans stuffed with people inched along, their door attendants hanging out and yelling ¨feria, feria!¨ to indicate that their destination was the big fair on the outskirts of town.  It´s apparently the biggest fair in Central America but we had decided that we could do without a Latino Fryeburg Fair, a magnet for pickpockets and backpack slashers, we had heard.  Back in our room, the entire night was punctuated with the sounds of nearby concerts and ¨bombas¨ exploding.  Xela was welcoming Independence Day!

The next day, the actual holiday, we had offered to cook dinner for our host family.  We spent the morning gathering a few last minute ingredients for a tagine.  Not exactly American cuisine but one of Bruce´s specialties. We shared the cooking area in the kitchen with Lilian and her sisters who were preparing a chicken mole and some ¨garnachas¨ for a friend who was having family arrive from Guatemala City.  It was fun to be together in this cozy kitchen, creating food, trying to speak Spanish, watching new dishes come together while traditional marimba music played on the radio in the background.

                                                 Isabel and her plate of garnachas

Hot springs

Our Spanish language school, ICA, tries to offer the students something to do in the afternoon, after classes are finished.  The activities usually are intended to acquaint the student with the culture and history of Guatemala.  Last week one of the activities was a trip to Fuentes Georginas, described in our Lonely Planet book as ¨the prettiest, most popular natural spa in Guatemala¨!  For about $10 each, we would be offered transportation and entrance fee.  Sounded like a deal!

We arrived back at school after mid-day dinner and met up with the three other students who had signed up:  Jeff & Jing, young Chinese-American med students from Virginia, and Julie, a 20-year old Danish woman who speaks fluent English.  Knowing virtually none of the details of the trip, we were surprised when Enrique, the director of the school, appeared and indicated that we should get into the back of his shiny Toyota pick-up truck.  There was a large mattress covering the bed of the truck.  We all hesitated, feeling that this was rather dangerous (and something we would NOT want our kids to do) but, like the compliant students that we are, we climbed into the truck, took some photos, got settled, and off we went.

The day was sunny and it was an adventure.  We held on tightly, and tried not to breathe in the clouds of black diesel fumes that spewed forth from every big truck or bus.  We climbed into the hills southwest of the city and soon were in the midst of another city of about 14,000 people, the pueblo of Almolonga, we found out later.  The main road was lined with folks, all Mayan and dressed in traditional clothes.  They seemed to be waiting for something.  Traffic slowed, and we were forced to park along the side while a huge political parade made its way past us.

Bruce was nervous, since we had been warned to steer clear of political demonstrations.  I had forgotten that and felt quite safe in our director´s care.  And besides, the crowd looked friendly.  The fascinating thing was that the parade was touting one party only, the Politico Partido.  We had seen its many bright orange posters sporting a symbolic bold fist and a photo of its rather slick-looking candidate, Perez-Molina, described as an ex-military man and the front runner.

There was a very noisy, festive air as the parade chugged by us.  Participants were outfitted in orange and ran the gamut from lines of serious young men in uniform goose-stepping in Hitler fashion to clowns, bands, a fellow on a frisky decked-out horse, young children, and dancers.  Some young men, emboldened with a few beers, asked where we were from and what our names were.  We took as many photos as was polite.

We were there for a half hour or so and it began to rain, lightly at first, and then quite steadily.  Enrique encouraged us to get into the cab of the truck.  I finally accepted, but the others stuck together in the elements.  I found out from Enrique - all in Spanish, by the way - that Almolonga is a prosperous indigenous farming town and, unlike everywhere else, few of its inhabitants try go to the USA.  It´s in their interest to have things remain stable, politically, and they feel that a strong president will accomplish that.

Eventually the parade petered out and we were able to get on our way.  We turned onto a narrow road that began winding up and up through the hills.  We passed a few Mayans caring for a solitary cow or harvesting a crop of potatoes or corn.  It was still pouring rain.  The road was littered in places with big rocks that had slipped down.  In some places the road was partially washed out.  Visibility inside the truck was not good, and, since the road dropped off steeply on one side, the ride was unnerving.

Finally we reached our destination.  We all scooted out of the truck, clutching towels and swimsuits. The air was a chilly 60 degrees.  We changed into our suits in a surprisingly modern cement structure and quickly slid into one of three steamy pools.  Ah, it was heavenly,  the warmest water that any of us had encountered - inside or out - since our arrival in Guate!  The pools were empty except for us silly gringos.  We were surrounded by lush vegetation hanging down from the steep hill that enveloped us.  It was magic (as Kiwis like to say).   We frolicked, chatted, swapped stories, stood under a rush of the superhot water gushing from another pool. for an hour.  At the end of our allotted hour, we were warm and relaxed. Sitting in a one-on- one tutorial, listening intently to a foreign language, can tighten up those back and neck muscles.  This was a perfect antidote!

Despite less than ideal conditions for the return trip, the mellowness stayed with us throughout the evening.

Now, we have come through the elections - Perez-Molina won but without a majority, which means there will be a run-off election in November.  Tomorrow is Independence Day in Guatemala.  Since Xela is the city where the treaty for all of Central America was signed with Spain, it is a very big deal here.  More on that later.

Asta luegas, mis amigos (all endings agreeing here?)

Hola - again!

Well, that last entry ended a bit abruptly when the blogspot decided that I´d said enough!  Maybe that´s a good thing.

 Back on the road, we arrived in Xela by 11 am, checked in at the school, signed up for our first 4-hour class that afternoon and were taken to our host family who live a 5 minute walk from the school.  The family consists of 4 sisters in their 50´s and the studious 17-year old son of one of them.  They are a sweet and industrious family and have been hosting students for 25 years.  Our weekly fee ($150 pp) includes our room and 3 meals a day with our host family, plus 4 hours of private English lessons each day at school.  The meals have been delicious, and we broke our rule on the very first one and ate the fresh vegetables that were offered.  We have each had an intestinal upset since then, but never from the food at the home.

                                          the home of our host family in Xela, Guatemala

                                             our host family:  Elvira, Lilian, & Isabel


The days that followed have been filled with a barrage of Spanish language, of course, and all sorts of new sights and sounds.  The city is pretty old and worn and in need of lots of infrastructure.  The people seem gentle and kind.  We have heard and read enough of the history of the country and the fairly recent genocide of 250,000 of its indigenous people to know that this is a country of profound sorrows, too.  Natural disasters, such as hurricanes, mud-slides, flooding, earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions have also plagued them.  Poverty is all around us, and more than 50,000 people try to flee to the US. each year.   But life goes on, as always, and people make the best of their lives and try to enjoy the simple comforts of family and friends and fiestas.

                                            the interior patio of our school, ICA, in Xela

Most of our fellow students.  Left to right: Gato, a teacher; a med student from Australia; Julie, from Denmark; Jing & Jeff, med students from USA; Bruce & Linda

And speaking of holidays, stay tuned for the biggest holiday in Central America next week, happening right here in Xela, where independence from Spain for all of Nicaragua, Honduras, Costa Rica, El Salvador, and Panama was signed.  The festivities take place all week and most schools (not ours) will be closed for the whole week.  National elections take place this Sunday, and that, too, promises to be quite an interesting happening to observe.  So far, the city seems fairly safe, if you keep your wits about you.  Having said that, many small businesses employ guys with big rifles to stand guard outside, and everything at our house gets locked up tighter than a bank each night.

Asta luega!

Hola!

Hola from Quezeltenango, Guatemala!  This is our 7th day in the city, better known by its Mayan name, Xela, prounced Shay-la.

   On Wednesday, August 31, 2011, we arrived in Guatemala City, where we were met at the airport by Gilda, a hard-working Guate businesswoman who had lived in Massachusetts for 3 years and now runs a successful B + B and transport service.  )Excuse some strange markings.  Not all of the notations on the keyboard here match what comes out in type, including the parentheses signs.)  Back to the story.  Despite the crowd waiting at the exit gate at the airport, Gilda was easy to spot, standing front and center, holding a sign with our name.  In her car, she whisked us off through a city clogged with traffic, beeping horns, diesel-belching trucks, rickety buses jammed with passengers, motorcyclists, and surprisingly upscale cars - to her nice, multi-gated home in the hilly suburbs.
    The next morning we were up at 4:45 am for our trip to Xela, the location of our Spanish language school.  Instead of the 5 hour bus trip that we had planned, we were delighted to accept Gilda´s offer of a ride in her car.  She had to pick up a guest in Xela, so we paid the bus fare to her, instead.  Good deal all around.  The early hour allowed Gilda to beat the traffic and hopefully avoid strikes which can disrupt travel.

The Pan American Highway twists and turns as it climbs into the lush hills.  Parts of the road were under construction, parts were limited to two lanes instead of the usual four, because of mud slides.  Many Mayans, easily recognized by their colorful traditional clothing, waited along the road for rides on the 'chicken buses'.  We passed through shabby little villages, bustling with activity, and steep, fertile fields overflowing with corn, cabbage, and potatoes.  A plethora of glossy billboards touting the 26! presidential candidates vied for our attention.  Blue volcanic mountains provided a magical backdrop.

                                          Misty mountains and blue cabbages

 Breakfast took place at one of Gilda´s favorite spots along the way, an unusual building with a thatched roof and a large, cozy wood-burning stove and small open fires on metal stools to warm the customers.  We were met by a bevy of nattily dressed young men in white shirts and bright red ties - a bit incongruous, given the surroundings.  We all ordered the traditional breakfast, which included milky oatmeal, eggs with tomato sauce, black beans, and small corn tortillas.  Wonderful!