A Safe Passage

A Safe Passage                   February 25, 2015

                            tiles in the Safe Passage garden

We are safely back in Antigua, having arrived last Saturday from Panajachel, where we had spent the past 5 weeks doing our darndest to learn Spanish.  Even though those around me may disagree, it feels to me like I have learned a lot!  I still speak only in the present tense or in the easy type of future tense.  No past tense.  That would have required a whole extra month of intense study.  Maybe it's a sign that I should stay in the "here and now" or the future - look ahead instead of back :).

Our reason for returning to Antigua was to volunteer at Safe Passage, where we had worked for 2 months in 2011.  Because of our previous experience and on-going support, the organization is humoring us by allowing us to work for only 4 days, rather than the usual minimum of 5 weeks that is required of most volunteers. Being a volunteer is different from coming to the project with a team for just one week. As a volunteer, we travel from Antigua to Guatemala City each day on a special bus that the project owns and engage in something meaningful, albeit brief, at the project.  

Since riding on public buses in the capital is dangerous, Safe Passage transports their volunteers on their private bus. Each morning, we leave our AirBnB to walk the 5 blocks to catch the bus at 7:30 am.  Antigua is just coming awake at that hour. Birds are singing up a storm in a multitude of tones, the sun is always shining at this time of year, buses and cars are rumbling over the ancient cobblestones, and hordes of kids in a variety of spiffy uniforms are rushing off to classes. 

      Safe Passage voluntarios waiting for the bus in Antigua

Our ride to school takes an hour.  Most of the volunteers are young and most are American, plugged into devices or dozing.  The only chatting seems to take place between the one or two older folks. As we approach the city, the highway is noticeably more jammed with traffic than just three years ago.  We stop and start.  This gives me a great chance to try to read the plethora of billboards and signs painted onto the sides of buildings.  I jot down Spanish words that I want to look up later.   

In the city, we turn off the clogged Pan-American highway at a side street that is flanked by first-world, glitzy, car showrooms.  Although we still have a distance to go to our destination, I am aware of the ironic contrast between this shiny corner and the shabby, dangerous Safe Passage neighborhood.   

                            A basketful of chopped guisquil

Our short term at the project means that our work will be something that doesn't require a long commitment.  The kitchen is perfect, and we have worked there for two mornings this week, so far.  Since we like cooking and learning about food processes and since fluency in Spanish isn't necessary, it's a good location for us. The kitchen staff seems to appreciate assistance in preparing meals for over 500 students every day - and they are patient with our attempts to communicate in Spanish. Yesterday we peeled and chopped onions and Guatemalan squash, called guisquil ("wees-keel"), squeezed 50 bags of semi-solid cream out of plastic bags for a yummy cream sauce, and pored over black beans before they went into the pot. A couple of neighborhood women sell the school the tortillas that accompany every meal. Turning out 800 freshly made tortillas each day is just too much for the staff. On both days, Bruce and I have consumed a plateful of the results of our labors - and they have been delicious! 

         Aren't we stunning in our hairnets, armed with big knives?

             Marlon stirs a massive pot of stew on the gas stove. 

In the afternoons, we have taken turns being in Charly's and Jordie's classes.  (They are the two boys whom we are helping to sponsor.) I sat in on a fabulous English lesson yesterday, one of the best that I've ever seen!  A young British volunteer, without a background in education, I'm told, deftly wove his way through the concept of "I like to..." .  It moved along at a good pace, with careful prior preparation of materials to keep this group of kids engaged.  Brilliant!  I learned some techniques to take back to my own teaching of English as a Second Language.  

Bruce takes a break in the pretty interior garden at the school.

The was also the week when a healthcare team from Texas was in town for one of their twice yearly visits to do health screenings for the Safe Passage kids.  I watched as both Charly's and Jordie's groups participated in being weighed, measured, tested for vision, and having their teeth painted with flouride - maybe more. The whole operation moved along like clockwork.  These folks had obviously done this before! 

                             Jordie and his teacher, Ingrid

            Charly and a friend help to clean the lunchroom


Other enjoyable moments for us have included serendipitous meetings with Todd Amani, the new director, whom we encountered in the lunchroom, as well as Sandra Gonzales, the chair of the board.  Todd is friendly, thoughtful, and eminently qualified for this position, having served with US AID in several Central American countries, including in Guatemala for a number of years. Sandra is a Guatamalteca and was a personal friend of Hanley Denning, the founder of Safe Passage. She is gracious, fluent in English, and very committed to her work on the board.  

It has also been a treat to meet and chat with Susanna Place, an American woman who has not only given many years of work to the board and to a data collection project for the school, but has also written a gorgeous guide book to the little-visited western highlands of Guatemala.  It's called Guatemalan Journey Among the Ixil Maya.  Susanna's book is available through Amazon.  

Once our school day has wound down, we have been helping Sam, the young voluntario librarian, to inventory the books.  He is passionate about his job and is eager to make the books available for lending, once they have been logged onto a master list on his computer.  Being in the quiet library and accomplishing tangible results is a soothing way to end our day. And, since I love kids' books, it's great fun for me to pore over the collection.  Bruce doesn't mind the relative calm, either!  We finish up our day around 4:45 pm and sit our tired bodies down on the bus for the ride back to Antigua, arriving around 6 pm.  Although we haven't worked really hard, it is a pretty long day for two "ancianos".  That's why we chose to take Wednesday off, to give ourselves a break in the middle of the week.  

Without Ana and Eloin to cook our meals, as they have done for the past 5 weeks in Panajachel, we are forced to eat our evening meals in some of Antigua's many restaurants :).  Last evening, we returned to Cafe Porque No?  (Cafe Why Not?), a little corner spot begun by Carlos and Carolina three years ago, just at the time that we were in Guatemala for the first time. They had welcomed us with an open spirit then, and it was no different now. These two people are the warmest, most grounded folks, and their cafe is sooo atmospheric! Most of the tables (seating for only about 14) are located in a loft, accessed by a steep ladder-like affair with a rope railing. Customers are invited to write on the walls, which makes good reading. We were so pleased to find that their tiny, tiny haven has climbed to 4th best resto in Antigua - and certainly the coolest!  

   In the cozy loft area of Cafe Porque No? Writing all over the walls and, in a glass box behind me, is Maximon, a smokin', drinkin' deity revered in the Guate highlands.

The young hosts of our AirBnB also run a resto, Origami, where they serve Japanese fare. Their food is delicious, too, especially the light soups and the tasty, homemade ginger beer. The atmosphere is blissfully peaceful. We may eat there tomorrow. 

Delicate & delicious soup in beautiful setting at Origami 

So, if you are ever in Antigua, there are two recommendations for really great eateries. Like Portland, Antigua is very much a foodie town.  

Tomorrow we return to Safe Passage for two more days.  It is inspirational for us to rub elbows with the enthusiastic volunteers and staff who are so committed to carrying on Hanley Denning's work, offering kids like Charly and Jordie a "safe passage" out of the dump.  For more info and a great video, go to the Safe Passage/Camino Seguro website:  www.safepassage.org.  

procesion

Procession                    February 21, 2015

BOOM-step-BOOM-step-BOOM, the large "float" swayed to the beat of the music as the cadre of healthy men shouldered it down the center aisle of St. Francis of Assisi Catholic church in Panajachel last evening. Adding a bit of melody were a small band of trumpeters and clarinetists who accompanied the drummer.  A few indigenous women carried large candles.  Clouds of white smoke, wafting from pots being swung by two young men, filled the air in front of the float, obscuring our view.  The object of this solemn pageantry was a lifelike Jesus mannequin, dressed in an ornate red velvet robe, bent under his own burden of a heavy cross and riding atop the float.   All around the church, lavish amounts of purple satin, edged in gold, hung in gentle folds.  

A priest had started things off with a short homily from the pulpit. Looking down on the massive float in front of him, he led the small congregation in prayer. While he spoke, short-sleeved church members got on with the practical matters of getting a generator fired up to keep the electric lights lit around Jesus. One of them would have to push the generator, tethered to the float by a cord.  

Ana had led us to the front of the church so that we newbies - Bruce and I and our young Japanese housemate, Natsumi - could have a good look at it all.  When things got moving, we followed along on the outside aisle.  I was emboldened to take pictures since natives were doing the same.

 Visibility lessened as the smokey incense created a mystical atmosphere.

A low part of the church ceiling required a choreographed response by the float bearors.  In unison, they lowered the load off their shoulders just long enough to get by the barrier and then hoisted it again.  

Outside in the night air, the men melted into the darkness, giving the impression that Jesus was indeed floating across the wide plaza. A murmuring crowd of onlookers followed along. Glancing back, the church was lit up like a starship.  

           Bruce in front of  St. Francis of Assisi church in Pana

This was the first Friday of Lent. In Latin America, Roman Catholic tradition calls for a series of "procesiones" (religious parades)  throughout Lent, ending with an all-out, over-the-top 
extravaganza of procesiones during Semana Santa (Holy Week).  Antigua, Guatemala, has become the world's most popular destination for Semana Santa, topping even Seville, Spain, which originated the tradition.  Hotels in Antigua are booked for a year in advance for that week. We knew most of this, but we didn't know that processions would take place this far in advance of Easter.  

As we turned to go back to Ana's home, the streets were lined with people waiting in the warm evening to see the parade.  An altar had been set up on the sidewalk in the front of one business. The family bustled around, arranging flowers, candles, and a framed picture of Jesus.  

                             a sidewalk altar gets organized

The Catholic church in Latin America may have lost many of its members with the proliferation of evangelical churches.  But the tradition of Lenten processions seems to hold on strongly.  

Wilder Update

Wilder Update                February 18, 2015

Hola, readers!  This is an update on Wilder, the young shoe shine boy that I wrote about in the last blog post.  

Ok, so a whole week has passed since we first met Wilder and his older brother, Henry.  This Sunday, Bruce and I decided to try a new place for breakfast.  It turned out to be a French waffle/crepe place, begun by a French guy.  The resto's Breton name and the history of the waffle tradition are described in the menu.  Very interesting.  

This resto was a small one, with just 4-5 tables and the whole front side was open to the street.  We were the only customers. As usual, Calle (street) Santander was busy with vendors on foot, other vendors setting up their stalls, tourists young and old strolling on foot, tuk-tuks zipping by, motorcyles revving their engines.  We could easily spend the morning just watching life go by. 

Bruce and I had just finished our delicious ham and cheese waffles and were winding up our internet time, when I noticed someone standing quietly just at the entrance to the resto.  He was careful, it seemed, not to step inside.  Sure enough, it was Wilder.  I was actually pleased to see him and called out, "Hola, Wilder.  Como estas tu?"  He pointed to his mouth, indicating that he wanted breakfast.  I knew, without even discussing it with Bruce, that we were not going to invite him in for a big breakfast.  But I was hoping that there was something that we could do for him, beside sending him away.  I averted my eyes while I bought a moment to think.  Bruce was ignoring the whole situation, while he finished typing.  However, we made moves to pay the bill and gather our things.  Wilder waited, and soon we were out on the street with him.  

Once outside, I suggested, in faltering Spanish, that we buy him some fruit from one of the many vendors at the end of the street.  He whined that it was too far away - and he was right.  The day was getting hot. It was a long walk to the fruit folks for an 8 year old or his two "anciano" companions.  Luckily, Bruce is quicker thinking than I.  He took the situation in hand, leading the way to a nearby tienda (tiny shop with lots of junk food).  

The first tienda that we entered had nothing of any nutritional value.  The one beside it included a case with baked goods.  An older woman sat at a table to one side, holding an infant wrapped completely in a beautiful Mayan woven cloth, as is typical.  The only way that I knew it was a baby was by its shape on her lap.  A younger woman, the one in charge, sized up the situation and came out from behind the counter.  As Bruce tried to help Wilder make a good decision for his breakfast, she and her mother took over, advising Wilder in firm, parental tones.  

The whole exchange was completed in a matter of moments. Wilder ended up with two muffins and a bottle of orange juice.  The Mayan women advised him to thank us, I think, but he didn't pay much attention to their advice.  His big smile was thanks enough.  He ran off, his booty in one hand and his shoe shine box in the other.  

The next day, Bruce had an extensive discussion of the whole affair with his Spanish instructor, a native of Pana and a savvy guy.  Jose explained the complexities of the shoeshine boy business.  Wilder and Henry might be trying to simply help their family.  On the other hand, they might be pawns, part of an organized crime group. Sometimes, impoverished families from the highlands send their children away because they can't afford to feed them, and they end up in the clutches of groups like this.  I don't think this is the case with Wilder and Henry because they had told us that they attend school - and I choose to believe them.  

Bruce and I don't spend a lot of time on Calle Santander but enough to have become acquainted with Juan, the guy from Santiago who sells jewelry that his wife makes, or Jesus, the spit-shined teen with the big smile who sells small cards his mother makes from weavings. We've also seen very old women, bent over from age and exquisitely wrinkled, selling fruit or vegetables from a tiny basket, trying to gather a little income. There are the blind and amputees, too, sitting on the curb, holding cups for donations.  Eloin, our young hostess, has reminded us that there is no old age insurance or social security in Guatemala.  People here don't have the luxury of retirement. And there's certainly no disability payment system. It's a tough part of the world to survive in. It takes persistence and a certain bravado and ability to connect with the customer. Wilder is well on his way to figuring out how to make it. 

 This vendor is trying hard to sell some jewelry.  The other women are trying to ignore her.  

          These women are carrying their products on their heads.  

An industrious young vendor spends a lot of time sorting and arranging his products.  

The tangle of outdoor food vendors, as well as sellers of other products, near the lakeside.  



   

Shoe Shine?

Shoe Shine?            February 14, 2015

Like so many places in the world where making a living is difficult (and where the climate allows), Guatemala has a culture of people who try to make ends meet by working on the street.  

Being a shoe shine boy is a way of life here for many impoverished boys. They roam up and down the street, their tools of the trade in hand. A small wooden box contains the polish and cloths and is useful, too, for propping up the customer’s foot. These guys are pretty shabby, and, of necessity, independent and plucky.  They range in age from 8 to 14, mas o menos (more or less).  The police and older men still wear leather shoes and avail themselves of this service. However, with most people wearing sandals and sneakers, the customer base is quickly shrinking.  This does not stop them from asking to polish your shoes.  I wonder if they hope to be given a small donation by the gringos whom they approach. Usually, we just say “No, gracias” and they move along.

On Sundays, home stays affiliated with Spanish schools take a break from serving 3 meals a day to their guests.  This past Sunday, Bruce and I were ensconced at the back of our favorite Sunday breakfast spot, glad for the chance to use the internet, since it’s not available at our home stay.  We had finished our eggs and tortillas and were typing away, each on our own laptop.  There was a side door next to us, and when we looked up,  a young boy was at our table, asking to polish our shoes.  We had thought that we were far enough away from the street to avoid being the targets of entrepreneurship.  It’s uncommon to be approached inside a restaurant.  But here he was, looking pretty hang dog and rubbing his tummy.  Bruce hesitated a moment and asked if he wanted something to eat.  Of course, the answer was yes.  That’s when his younger brother shyly appeared behind him.  Bruce handed them a menu and indicated that they should choose something to eat.  They started for an empty table but Bruce said, “No, aqui” (here), pointing to chairs at our table.  I wondered if they knew how to read, but they did.  The colorful menu photos probably helped, too.  They were certainly helpful to us!  

With our burgeoning Spanish language skills, we were able to communicate - somewhat - with the boys.  Henry, 11 years old, was the spokesperson, being the elder and fluent in both Spanish and Kakchiquel, the local Mayan language spoken in many homes.  Wilder, 8 years old, was not as comfortable in Spanish.  They proceeded to order the most expensive menu option, fruit-filled crepes, along with smoothie drinks.  I was happy to see that they ran off to the bathroom to wash their hands.  Either parents or school folks are doing a good job of teaching the importance of this ritual.

Their breakfast arrived, and the boys proceeded to eat while we chatted with them.  We learned that they attend the local school, Henry in 4th grade and Wilder in 3rd. They seemed to

either to not understand or to not have given thought to the question of what they want to “be” when they grow up.  I gave them a few options, and Wilder quickly said, “teacher”.  Henry followed suit but elaborated with “gym teacher”.  As we talked, it turned out that their real desire was having backpacks (mochilas).  They made the ask and we deflected for the time being.  At that point, Bruce was a little unsure of whether he had sufficient cash to pay for all four meals.  Our credit card was a back-up, but one which we use sparingly.  Beyond that, we also didn’t want to be easy push-overs (more than we were already), especially since we didn’t know these kids or their circumstances.   In the end, we did not agree to give them money for backpacks, though Henry asked quite a few times.  They were not able to finish their meals, so the crepes got packed up in containers to take home, and the boys returned to the street, with handshakes and thanks all around.  

As we reflected on the experience, we had conflicting feelings, probably not too different from encounters with street folks at home.  If we were honest with ourselves, the experience of talking with these youngsters was one that we enjoyed - and, in essence, we were willing to pay for the privilege.  By doing so, were we encouraging a mentality that begging is an acceptable way of life?  On the other hand, were we helping to fill a need on the spot, to share our food and resources with two hungry little boys?  Should we have bought Henry and Wilder backpacks in order to encourage education, which is their best way to a better life?  Should we say no to all of the street vendors and, instead, put our resources into programs that we know are reliable and effective, like those run by Candelaria and Gregorio through their school?  Like so many things in Guatemala, it’s complicated.  

I didn’t feel comfortable taking photos of Henry and Wilder, so you will have to imagine two dark-haired, dark-eyed, attractive kids, a bit small for their ages, with sooty-looking hands and t-shirts - and full tummies.  

Here are some other photos of mostly unrelated things:

Bruce is studying in our corner of the resto.

Hats for sale along Calle Santander, the main shopping street in Pana.

An indoor plaza with several businesses, including the Asian resto, run by a Malaysian woman, where we had a bite to eat on Sunday evening.

A small tienda, like many, many others along Calle Santander, selling items made by Mayan weavers.

The mayor of Pana has organized having light posts painted with words symbolizing various character qualities (like respect).

Well, that's all for right now. Bruce has been sick with a reaction to something he ate, we think. He's back on his wobbly feet today. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone, and Happy Birthday, to our oldest son, Matthew (Mateo, en espanol :)!

Feliz Cumpleanos in Santa Cruz

Feliz Cumpleanos in Santa Cruz    February 6, 2015

Bruce has had the good fortune, thanks to his excellent planning, to celebrate his February 6th birthday in a variety of fascinating locales.  This one is no different.  Not long after we had arrived in Pana last month, he was on the net, booking 3 nights in a lovely AirBnB that we had learned about from a passing acquaintance in Antigua.  After mid-day lunch on Wednesday at Ana's house,  we caught a launch, headed for the tiny pueblo of Santa Cruz La Laguna, only 20 minutes from Pana.  Our destination was the amazing home of an American woman by the name of Jeanne.  

The town of Santa Cruz, nestled up on the mountain, seen from our boat.

This little boy sitting on the board, being pushed by his sister on the street of Santa Cruz, is doing what kids without snow do :)!

Lake Atitlan has long been a place of spirituality and pilgrimage for the Mayan people.  At a crossroads in Jeanne's life, the serenity and beauty of the lake called to her.  She left the USA, built an incredible home here, and now rents out the spare bedroom through AirBnB.   The unusual round design of the house, as well as the lush gardens surrounding it, are its most striking features at first glance.   Once inside, however, the bold architectural concept continues to amaze the visitor.  A tiny interior garden, open to the sky, onto which all the rooms open; the bath that allows the bather to look up at the stars; the lovely tiled, outdoor shower just outside the bathroom;  the cozy little sitting area with a small oval fireplace - it is gorgeous!  In the morning, we sip coffee on the wide veranda with Jeanne's two friendly dogs, looking out over Lake Atitlan with its palette of blues:  the blue, blue water rippling in the wind, the dark blue volcanic mountains in the distance,  and the sky-blue sky with fluffy white clouds scooting across it. 

             Lush gardens provide Jeanne's home with privacy. 

    Our private little porch with hammocks at the back of the house.

The tub beside a large open space, looking out at the stars and the outdoor shower.

The enchanting interior garden of Jeanne's home, open to the air above.  One of the doors opens to our bedroom.

Yesterday we walked up the steep hill to the settlement of Santa Cruz.  Jeanne had suggested that we might enjoy visiting an NGO (non-governmental organization) called Amigos de Santa Cruz (please google it to see the incredibly good work that it is doing).  One of their projects is a culinary arts school to train young folks to cook in restaurants.   Cafe Sabor Cruceno offers hard-working teenagers an opportunity to find a passion and a career in the creation of healthy, beautifully presented food.  They reportedly serve some of the best Guatemalan food on the lake. We couldn't agree more (not that we've sampled a lot :).  The taco that I ordered, topped with a fresh salad, was creative and delicious and very reasonably priced! 

The steep road rising from the lake to the pueblo of Santa Cruz.

A woman who is not young, walking up the steep road, carrying a load of firewood on her head, and a load of something else on her back.  

Juan Carlos and Santiago, the aspiring young chefs at the Amigos de Santa Cruz cooking school cafe. 

On our walk back down the road, we were serenaded by the sounds of roosters calling, modern music pumping out of a radio, a hammer chipping away at rocks, and tuk-tuks chugging up and down the mountain.  

For the past two evenings, we have eaten dinner at The Iguana Perdida (the Lost Iguana), a lakeside hostal, resto, and dive school.  The owners, a Brit and an American, serve evening buffet meals family style, which gives diners a chance to meet and chat with other travelers.  Most of the travelers are bright young wanderers with great travel stories.  Last evening, after the meal, a very special movie was screened.  It's a documentary, called Mayan Blue, and it tells the story of a recent underwater archaelogical exploration to discover the ancient Mayan religious site, called Samabaj, which is located 102 feet under the waters of Lake Atitlan!  The producer, Dawson Barnes, was on hand to thank the owners of La Iguana Perdida for originally telling him about local rumors of the existence of this magical place.  

Under these blue waters lies an ancient Maya city and pilgrimage site, dating back to the years 200 BC - 200 AD.  

Today we took a walk along the lake.  The walkway consists of a patchwork system of rock walls, dusty paths going up and down the shoreline, sandy bits of beachfront, and wooden planks suspended about 2 feet above the water (which is rising dramatically every year, inundating trees and docks).  We passed swanky water-front homes owned by rich gringos or city folks from Guatemala City, as well as a couple of nice-looking resorts.  We stopped at one, a retreat center called Villa Sumayan, for a smoothie.  

Part of the walking path along the edge of the lake in Santa Cruz. 

Cayucos, the traditional canoes used for fishing on Lake Atitlan.  

                         Bruce and his birthday smoothie!

Our birthday vacation will end tomorrow, when we head back to Panajachel and Ana's home.  Before we leave, Jeanne has one last treat for us.  She has invited us to go with her to another lakeside pueblo, San Juan, where she teaches English to a group of young adults.  We can't wait!  Nestled in the oasis of tranquility that Jeanne has created here, we have come under Lake Atitlan's charm. Meanwhile, we'll have a special celebratory dinner this evening - of course.  Our foodie nature hasn't changed!   
  

Field Trip to the Market

Field Trip to the Marker        February 1, 2015

Our Spanish school tries to have an activity every afternoon for its students to participate in when they're not in class.  It gives us a closer look at the culture and offers the opportunity to practice Spanish.  These activities consist of a movie on one day, a cooking class on another day, and field trips to all sorts of places on other days.  

Last Friday, Bruce and I joined three other students and a staff member, Maria, to visit the market in Solola (So-lo-LA), a larger city (pop. 43,000) located about 10 very steep upward miles from Panajachel.  We took a chicken bus, which is an experience it itself. These are reconditioned American school buses, fixed up to hold lots of baggage, with a door in the back, as well as the side.  At 2 pm we set out walking from school, heading down to the busy main drag, Calle Principal, where we boarded a bus.  The bus was already somewhat crowded but became much more so by the time that we left town, with most seats holding 3 adults, perhaps with a baby on a lap, and a few people forced to stand.  Virtually everyone was Mayan, easily identifiable by their "ropa tipica" (traditional clothing).   While it is very common, practically required, for the locals to travel on a chicken bus, it is a practice that Bruce and I are a little nervous to undertake, given what we've heard about the maintenance records and what we could see in terms of overcrowding.  But, off we went, hoping for the best.  The bus struggled to climb the steep incline, rounding sharp turns, hugging the side of the mountain while giving short beeps to warn on-coming traffic.  The views of the lake and surrounding mountains on the other side were fantastico.  

Our chicken bus - with a classmate and Bruce about to board.

Solola is the municipal center for the towns surrounding Lake Atitlan.  It's a bustling place - but then, it seems that all of the towns that we've seen so far are the same.  The weather promotes a life lived outdoors, and there is an energy and a communal sense that is so different from a northern clime like Maine, where the majority of our lives are spent closed up and private.  

The market is a huge place, open to the weather but covered by a roof.   You can buy just about anything there, including vegetables and fruits, meat, clothing - both tipico and contemporary, household items, CD's, shoes.  We six wandered around, trying to get a sense of the place and trying to stay together.  With no telephone, it did occur to me that I would be in trouble if I got separated from the group.  At least I now have my feeble Spanish skills!  

                                         Market scenes

The market went on and on.   Some vendors had stalls and shelves; others were splayed out on the floor.  Some had young children with them while they worked.  Some tried to entice us to their stalls by calling out to us.  Others couldn't be bothered.  

My maestra had told me that the prices in the Solola market are better than those in Pana, because there are fewer tourists.   I was primed to buy a tablecloth, and fell victim to one of the first vendors we encountered.  I always feel torn between engaging in the bargaining  process, which is apparently expected, and wanting the craftspeople to receive a fair price.  Maria stepped in and helped me to find a fair price, and I now have a lovely handwoven tablecloth in the tipico style.  

                                       mucha fabrica!

From the market we walked down to the big Catholic church overlooking the central park.  It's always fun for us to see "real life".  Along the way to the church, we passed an agricultural business selling baby chicks, another selling seeds for corn, a van selling cell phones while pumping out loud music, tiendas (small stores selling all manner of stuff), mobile carts selling ice cream or fried chicken or mobile phones: a panoply of entrepreneurship!  

                         Selling mobile phones on the street

                       Little salespersons and their chicks

The church was a bit unusual with its rounded roof.  Inside, it was very similar to others that we had visited in Europe.  

  
We walked in respectfully, dropping a few quetzales in the cup of the woman begging at the entrance, and then found a seat inside where we could say a quiet prayer for the well-being of the Guatalmatecas - and ourselves and others. Often we are alone in a church, especially in Spain.  In Solola, others had found their way to church to pray.  I wonder if their need is greater here - or their faith.  

Back on the street, we headed downhill to the cementario.  It was a very interesting place, bisected by a wide sidewalk.  Maria told us that, in past times, it was segregated, with Mayans on one side and wealthier ladinos, with bigger tombs, on the other.  The tombs are very colorful.  From afar, they look like a small village, perched on the edge of the city with a view of the mountains and the lake. 

                                     Cementario in Solola

As we left the cemetary, we encountered a funeral procession slowly making its way down the street toward us, a sea of somber black.  We stepped off to one side.  Two caskets were held aloft, swaying gently as they processed.  Strangely, we thought, happy, hum-able, music could be heard.  Carmelina told me later that the music is for the deceased, not for the living, and a band is often hired for funerals.  

Our return ride was not as crowded.  This bus had a younger driver and we zipped along, braking at turns in the road.  We could smell hot rubber when we arrived safely down at Pana.  As always, we had seen a big slice of life that was so different from our own.