Hot Springs and a Cemetery

Dear Readers,

Finally, we are almost at the end of my experiences in Xela. Christmas Day was business as usual, except I didn't have to go to school, apart from that there was nothing special going on. To make the most of my day I decided to take a stroll down to the Xela Cemetery. The Xela Cemetery is not on the usual list of tourist destinations in Guatemala, but I decided to check it out after my Spanish teacher, Martha, told me a sort of ghost story.

Once upon a time, there lived a gypsy in the town of Xela. No one knows what a gypsy was doing in Guatemala or how she got there, but she was there none the less. Sadly, whatever fate had brought her to Xela also doomed her to the life of a star crossed lover. The gypsy fell in love with a man far above her station in life. Of course, his family disapproved and sent him packing for Europe. She faithfully waited for him, but the years passed by with no word from her lover. One day the man returned to Xela, with a wife in hand. The gypsy couldn't believe the cruelty of the world and died of a broken heart. She was buried in the Xela cemetery, and everyday since her entombment a single red rose appears on her grave. No one knows who places it there, but long after the death of both the gypsy and her sweetheart, a rose continues to appear.

So...I went to the Xela cemetery to see if I could find this haunted tomb. Martha told me the general area in which the grave was located, but I never found it. This was a bit of a disappointment, but the elaborate tombstones and mausoleums were worth the trip.

Later that day I started to fell sick. At first I thought maybe I had become possessed by an evil spirit when I was in the graveyard, then I realized it was my old friend the stomach bug ( I didn't know it was a parasite yet), come back to haunt me.

Being sick caused me to miss my last day of school and the very important lesson on the correct use of the subjunctive. It also shifted my plans for leaving Xela back a day. My original plan was to spend Saturday tying up loose ends and getting my act together and then to leave for Antigua on Sunday. Instead, because I was still feeling weak, I decided to go with my friend Danny and some of his classmates to the restorative hot springs at Fuente Georgina.

To get there we had to first take a bus to Zunil. In Zunil we hired a truck to drive us to the hot springs. Alternatively, we could have walked but that is and eight km trek uphill. With the four of us splitting the cost of the truck it wasn't too expensive. 

The ride up to the springs was very beautiful as we passed campesinos working in the lush green fields, and at times hair raising; literally, because it was windy and, figuratively, because we were sitting in the back of the truck driving on narrow mountain roads as the fog started to roll in. 

Along the way we picked up some Mayan women who were either enjoying the ride, or laughing at us gringos holding on for our dear lives.

We arrived at the springs feeling cold and wind battered, which was perfect for wanting to get into the hot water. Boy was it hot! At Fuentes Georgina the hot spring is diverted into three man made pools each one increasing in size and water temperature. We quickly changed into our swimsuits and made our way to the second pool, which could be described as hot tub hot. Hanging out in this pool was relaxing but too crowded. Once we got used to the heat we moved over to the big pool, which I would describe as being ridiculously, melt your skin off, hot. 

I found this third pool to be unbearable and had to sit on a rock with just my legs dipped in. Eventually even that got to be too much for me. You really have to be careful in these hot springs. People faint all the time.

Our taxi would only wait for an hour and a half so we soon found ourselves bundling up once again for the windy ride back. By this time the fog had really thickened, and I really thought perhaps we shouldn't be driving so fast around those curvy mountain roads. 

You can sigh in relief though, because I wouldn't be writing this if we hadn't made it.

Back in Zunil, as we waited for the Xela bus to fill up we walked down to the river to see the local women wash their laundry. There were large concrete basins set up by the river with hot spring water flowing directly into them. 

Unfortunately all of that soapy water flows straight into the river, which can be described as a hot dirty mess.  

That about wraps up my week in Xela.

Next Time: Antigua, the tourism capital of Guatemala.

xx,

gwen

The Children of the Sun

Dear Readers,

One of the perks of going to Spanish school is that they have afternoon activities or excursions. I decided to go on one of these to the neighboring town of Zunil. There weren't very many students at my school at the time, so I was the only one going on the trip. Marvin, the school manager, drove me in his car to the town which was about fifteen minutes away. Zunil is a small somewhat charming town, inhabited mostly by farmers who work in the nearby fields. The town is not that exciting but it did have some interesting tidbits.

First, we walked up a very steep lane to Zunil's cemetary which was set a top the hill the town is built on. Unlike US cemetaries the ones in Guatemala are colorfully painted and decorated.













From the cemetary we went in search of San Simon, whom you might remember from an earlier entry. San Simon is an effigy that people pay respect to in order to receive love and fortune. He wasn't in the spot where Marvin last remembered. They had recently held the celebration of San Simon, so now he was in his new home somewhere else.

We then walked into the town plaza where a handsome church stood.














I think the people outside where selling some sort of moss like material for use in Nativity scenes.

From the church we walked into the market where all the local produce is sold. Zunil is in the heart of a very rich agricultural area so the veggies looked excellent. Besides the produce, I also saw two albino Guatemalans. To some this may not seem very interesting at all, but earlier that day my Spanish teacher, Martha, told me that Zunil is known as the villiage of hijos del sol, the children of the sun. In Mayan culture it is highly auspicious and celebrated to have an albino child, because their pale features are a sign that they are direct decendants of the Sun. For whatever reason, Zunil seems to be genetically blessed with albinos, therefore receiving this title. Martha had built up the specialness of these people so much, that I was surprised to see them working away like normal people.

From the market we went to the new home of San Simon. Unlike Maximon, this San Simon had a much more human appearance. He was more mannequin like and, that day, was dressed in an outfit that I felt was part Texas Ranger, part Military Man. (The clothing are gifts from patrons.) Another neat thing about this San Simon is that he had the ability to drink. If you gifted him with some booze, you could tip his head back and pour it straight down his throat. While you wet San Simon's whistle you can ask him for all of those special favors in your life like a good man, or some money. Out of respect for the two women watering the saint, and as Marvin liked to point out, "asking for a husband," I decided against taking any pictures. I did, however, take a picture of this dog, with something disturbing looking in his mouth.



Next Time: Noche Buena!

xx,
gwen

Chichi-cas-te-nan-go!

Dear Readers,

Today I take you to the small town of Chichicastenango, Guatemala. While in Xela, I found a Spanish school that was organizing a trip to Chichi, so I payed them a little money to take me with them. Truth be told, I could have probably figured it out myself, but as I wasn't that comfortable with the chicken bus system, I decided it was best to follow a guide. Truth also be told, afterwards I decided the guide wasn't much of a guide, but I was still glad I went with a group merely for the company.

Chichicastenango is a small village in the western highlands of Guatemala. It is famous for it's large market on Sundays (and maybe Wednesdays?). On market days not only is a ton of stuff being sold, but the townspeople also perform some Mayan religious ceremonies, which I think may be mostly for the benefit of the tourists. The Sunday that I went happened to be a legitimate holiday in Chichi to celebrate Saint Juan, so the place was packed. As I mentioned in a previous post, Mayans adopted the Catholic religion but used varying saints to hide their worship to their real gods. I have no idea who Saint Juan is supposed to represent, but it sure produces some interesting celebrations.

It took about 3 hours to get to Chichi from Xela on the chicken buses. When we finally arrived it was already about 11 am, so we had missed some of the activities. Unfortunately, I missed the one where a couple of men attach themselves by their feet to ropes hanging from a very tall pole, and then swing around it. After getting off the bus we made our way to the main square, which was nestled between the town's two churches. Various stages were set up along one side, and a salsa band played music to the crowd. The only people dancing were a group in the middle of the crowd dressed up in giant feather headresses, masks, and sparkly costumes. Nobody else was dancing because they were all packed into the square like sardines. Our guide, who was not so much a guide as he was a warm body, had no information as to what was going on or the significance of the ceremony. Here are a couple of videos and some pictures.








After watching the mayhem, we wandered around the market for a bit, before deciding that we were hungry and that we wanted to eat lunch. Lunch went on far too long, so that by the time we were finished we didn't have much time to see many other parts of the market, including the ceramics and silver. Our guide led us aimlessly through the market and eventually we popped back out onto the main square. By this time the crowd had thinned out, which is a shame because that's when the really interesting dancing was going on. A group of people in furry animal costumes were dancing about like possessed stuffed animals. Creepy and cuddly at the same time.





Soon after, we had to leave Chichi so that we could get back into Xela at a reasonable time. I would definitely recommend the market to anyone going to Guatemala, but I would say to get an early start to give yourself plenty of time to look around.

Next Time: Zunil. The city of the children of the sun.

xx,
gwen

Utatlan Spanish School

Dear Readers,

Some of you may already know that when I was in high school I went to Spain for a year as an exchange student and consequently learned how to speak Spanish. Being able to speak Spanish has been a great asset on this trip. (Although, I do have to say that a lot of travelers seem to be getting by with little to no Spanish.) Even though I had some Spanish skills prior to my trip, in the many years since high school my Spanish has become like a prom dress; worn once and then stashed in the back of the closet. What I´m trying to say is that my Spanish was a little bit rusty, which is why I decided to go to Spanish school and polish it up a little.

I chose Utatlan because someone recommended it to me back in Antigua. Also, it happens to be one of the least expensive schools. Some people argue that cheap schools don´t pay their teachers very well. I don´t know if this is true or not. It´s a possibility. I do know that a more expensive school doesn´t necessarily pay the host families any better for housing students.

My private tutor at Utatlan was a very friendly and kind woman named Martha. Because we didn´t have to start with the basics, most of my tutoring time was spent practicing my conversational and comprehension skills. Every once in a while we would review a verb tense. The best part about Spanish school was that Martha would tell me all of these interesting tidbits about Xela, Guatemala, past students, etc.

I also liked the family I stayed with, but I felt that the living situation was not well suited to someone who really wanted to immerse themselves in to the language and culture. My room was located in an apartment above the families', so, apart from mealtimes, I didn´t have that much interaction with them. Also, though it wasn´t the case at the time I was there, this family´s livelihood depended on hosting students, and so at times they would house up to 10 students, which is not ideal if you want to be forced to speak Spanish.

The best part about my home stay was that their mealtimes were heavy on the vegetables, which was a nice healthy respite from my usual diet of chicken, rice, beans, and tortillas. Some other students I talked to were not as lucky, and were being fed diets that were heavy on hot dogs, or light on food (for two little Japanese girls to say they didn´t get enough food, you know it must have been extreme).

I can´t say that my Spanish is perfect now, but it was definitely helpful to be refreshed on conjugation and verb tenses. I would definitely recommend a little Spanish school for any long term traveler in Latin America who isn´t already fluent. It´s a good way to get to know the people of that country on a more personal level, especially if you opt to do a home stay with a local family.

Next Time: Chichicastenango

xx,

gwen

(My host family´s homemade see-saw.)

Quetzaltenango was too hard to say so we shortened it to Xela

Howdy!

The fun part about traveling on the local buses is that you’re almost never quite sure where you´ll get dropped off. I don´t mean that it´s likely to be kicked off the bus; left to defend yourself on some desolate country road. I mean that sometimes the bus stations are unclear. Sure, sometimes the guide books will give you a little map with symbols on it that indicate bus stations, but good luck if you can figure out which one you’re actually at. In some cities it’s easy, and all of the buses come and go from the same spot. In some of the larger cities things get much more confusing and buses for different destinations leave from different spots.






I arrived in Quetzaltenango (a.k.a.Xela--pronounced Shay-la) on the chicken bus and realized I had no idea where I was. Of course, I was immediately accosted by several taxi drivers who wanted to help me figure out where I was and to offer their services in to town. It turns out that I was at the Terminal Minerva, which is also a large market on the edge of town. Even though I turned down the offers to be taken to my hostel for the “low price of $7,” the cab drivers were still nice enough to tell me that the buses into town were just on the other side of the market. I looked out at the chaotic market, with its single narrow lane, and thought how hard can it be? I was so wrong. Trying to roll my backpack through the market while people squeezed past me in both directions, while also circumnavigating the large push carts loaded down with goods, was more than I bargained for. (BTW, you read correctly; I roll my backpack. I used to be one of those poor suckers with sore shoulders, lugging around a giant backpack on my back. Not anymore. For this trip I bought a backpack with wheels. So far, there have only been one or two instances where I actually needed to wear it like a backpack, the rest of the time I’ve been able to roll it. Maybe having a rolling backpack is a sell-out move, but it’s allowed me to bring a nicer camera backpack, and to avoid the dreaded pregnant turtle look [wearing the big pack on the back, and a little daypack in front].)

I thought I would never see the light of day, but eventually the market spat me out into the bright sunshine, just as lost as ever. I didn’t see any buses and I had no idea which direction I should go in. Once again my lost tourist look betrayed me, and I was approached by taxi drivers. The price they were offering was a little bit lower, about $5. Internally I was debating whether or not I should just take the taxi. On one hand, I was tired and confused. On the other hand, I had just paid less than half that price to travel a much greater distance. I just hate feeling like I’m getting ripped off. I took the taxi.

My impression of Xela as a city is a good one. It had the big city feeling that I’ve been craving, without the constant feeling of immediate danger that you get in many major cities. It was the first time in a while where I felt like I was witnessing the real lives of the people of Guatemala, and not just some touristy version of it. What I saw was normality. The lives of most Xelans do not revolve around getting a piece of the tourism pie. Of course, Xela is not without some tourist trappings. In Xela, there seem to be a fair number of restaurants either owned by expats or catering to tourists, but the lack of hostels appears to be a real indication that this is not just another stop on the Gringo Trail. For most backpackers Xela´s main draw is its bounty of affordable Spanish schools. My week long homestay with a Guatemalan family, which included three meals a day and my own bedroom, plus five four-hour one-on-one sessions with a Spanish tutor was only $120.

In general, Xela appears to be a much more affordable city in comparison to many places I had been in Guatemala. On my first day there I had a huge bowl of chunky delicious chicken soup, complete with rice, tortillas, and a drink for about $2.50. The internet was about $.50 an hour, or less. Beer was a tad bit cheaper than in other cities. (BTW, Xela is where they brew Cabra beer, which is, according to many backpackers, Guatemala´s best beer.) Xela is also home to Bab´s Bakery, which is owned by a Canadian woman, who makes some of the best chocolate chip cookies I´ve had in a while. Some of her other confections are a miss, but the chocolate chip cookies are a must try. She has a version which is labelled ¨Canadian Chocolate Chip Cookie,¨ which is basically like the normal version except almond extract has been used instead of vanilla extract. I don´t know if Canadians really make cookies like that, but it´s surprisingly tasty. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. All that talk about cookies, makes me want to go find some.


Next Time: More Xela!

xx,
gwen

Xela is cold, but apparently not cold enough.

Kentucky Fried Chicken Bus

Dear Readers,

Today I´d like to write about my first true Guatemalan Chicken Bus ride, and I’m sorry to say it was completely boring. I’m both relieved and a little bit disappointed that there were absolutely no chickens to be found on the bus. The bus ride itself wasn’t even that uncomfortable. The roads were in decent shape, and the bus was never full. In fact, for most of the trip I had a seat to myself.


For those of you wondering what a chicken bus is, let me explain. A chicken bus is the backpackers’ nickname for the local bus system in many Central American countries. Much like the buses I took in Belize, in Guatemala they use old American school buses that have been made over with a bright and exciting paint job and the loudest horns on the planet.

(My chicken bus today was decorated with Winnie the Pooh stickers and religious inscriptions.) Unlike Belize buses, they are sometimes filled beyond capacity with both human and livestock passengers, and feature a man leaning out the door shouting the buses´ destination for anyone within ear shot. ¨Guate! Guate! Guate!...Guate! Guate!¨


At the end of the day, I’m mostly happy that I didn’t have a crazy horrible experience, but a little part of me is sad that I won’t be able to add a crazy chicken bus experience to my list of travel horror stories. Although, I still have so many countries to go that the future is filled with possibilities.


xx,
gwen


p.s. I leave you with a couple more chicken bus photos from Antigua.

Check out the sweet hood ornament.

These buses can eat you for breakfast.

Lots of buses. I bet they are all going to Guate.

what rhymes with Santiago?

Howdy!

On my last day at Lake Atitlan I decided that I should go check out the nearby town of Santiago, which is easily reached by ferry. I didn’t know much about Santiago except that it had a market and Maximon. Maximon is Santiago’s version of San Simon. In Guatemala, San Simon is thought of as a saint (though, not officially recognized by the church), but he is really a mixture between some Mayan gods and what may have been a person in real life. Supposedly, Don Simon was a rich drunk, who did good things for others, so now when you bring him gifts of alcohol or cigarettes he will bless you with love or prosperity, depending on what you ask for. Somehow this person, if he existed, got combined with the practice, amongst Mayans, of preserving their religion by concealing the worship of their deities by disguising it as worship for Catholic saints.

I’m not sure that I, or even most Guatemalans, completely understand the real history behind San Simon. What I do know is that many people here really have faith in him. Many towns in the Western Highlands have San Simon effigies that reside in someone’s house for one year. During the festival of San Simon there is a huge party where the effigy moves to a new person’s house for another year. Unfortunately, I wasn’t around during one of these fiestas. I hear they get pretty crazy.

I arrive in Santiago, and I immediately become weary of all the street kids who come up to me asking for money to take me to see Maximon. I probably should have let one of them take me there, but I wanted to discover the city and find Maxi for myself. What I discovered was a city that I didn’t really like. I don’t know what it was about the place that made me so tense, but I felt it lacked charm and beauty. I bought a couple of souvenirs in the market.

This is the woman I bought the souvenirs from. (See what I mean about lacking charm?)

Then I went in search of Maximon. It took me a while, but I finally found him by following some other tourists. I pay the steep $2 entry fee to see him, thinking, “This better be a really interesting idol or that perhaps just paying him a fee was like an offering and I should be immediately blessed.” I step inside the dark room and I take out my camera. Hold it! There is a picture taking fee, which I pay. Maybe it was all the fees, maybe it was my sour perception of the town, but I was not impressed by Maximon. The effigy of Maxi consists of a scary mask with a hat on, and a bunch of scarves for a body. Creepy.

After visiting Maximon, I was happy to get back to the tranquility of San Pedro, where I would rest up for my early morning bus ride to Quetzaltenango.

Next Time: Chicken Buses

xx,
gwen

Can Can you Lake Atitlan?

Welcome back,

I´m glad that you´re still reading this despite the fact that I´m a very slow blogger, and it might take me 4 more months after my trip to finish my travel tales. Those who stick with it will get a prize for braving the months of bad punctuation and text wrapping. A bottle of hot sauce, perhaps? (Yes that says Mayan Viagra)












In my last blog I was on my way to Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. I had booked another shuttle (I love to tempt fate) to Panajachel, which is a popular tourist destination on the lake´s edge. This shuttle ride went extremely smoothly. I had the luxury of sitting in the front seat and enjoying the supremely beautiful view. The sky was a bright blue sprinkled with puffy bits of cloud. It was the perfect backdrop a we wound our way up along the mountains (or volcanoes?), through harvested corn fields, and endless numbers of flowering bushes. I´ve never seen mountains with so many flowers on them.



When I arrived in Pana I made my way down to the dock, where I would take a water taxi to San Pedro on the other side of the lake. There was no specific reason for staying in San Pedro, other than that I had heard, from other backpackers, that it was a nice place to stay. I waited for more than half an hour for the water taxi to fill up with enough passengers to make the trip profitable. I think it´s possible to go directly from Antigua to San Pedro, but I really liked the boat ride. It was a nice introduction to the lake. The water was a glassy cerulean blue perfectly framed by the surrounding volcanoes. I could immediately see why people come here to relax.

Upon my arrival in San Pedro I was immediately accosted by a ¨guide¨ who wanted to show me places to stay. When I found out that my first choice was booked up, I reluctantly let him lead me to another cheap place to stay. Some of you might be thinking, “Oh Gwen! Please don’t tell me you fell for the scam where they tell you the place you want to go to is full, and then they take you somewhere else where they get a commission.” Don’t worry. The Lonely Planet (a.k.a. Backpacker’s Bible) warned me about these schemes. I actually checked out my first choice and found out first hand that they were full. The guide led me to a very cheap hotel. This place was a little sketchy looking. The room consisted of four cinderblock walls with a double bed in the middle. The bed was not against any of the walls, and I had a feeling the sheets hadn’t been changed. I was still feeling weak from my sickness, so I decided to just go with it for one night. After throwing my stuff in the room, I took the money I saved on housing and spent it at an overpriced restaurant with bad service. Then it was back to the room for a nap.

After a somewhat restful nap, which was achieved during those moments when I wasn't thinking about how gross the room was, I decided I couldn’t stay more than one night in that musty hole. I spent the evening walking around checking out other places to stay. I found an awesome deal at Casa Lola. A private room with a bathroom, hot water, tv, and free drinking water for only $7.50. Sure, it was double what I was paying at the other place, but it was so worth it. Casa Lola was immaculately clean and bright. The hallways continuously smelled like fresh laundry. Did I mention the hammocks? Ahhhh...

That night I went to sleep content with the knowledge that I would not have to be in that room for another night. I woke up early the next morning (already fully dressed because I wanted minimal skin contact with the sheets), and went straight to my new hotel. The next couple of days were spent mostly gaining my strength back, watching made for tv christmas movies from the 90's, catching up on internet, and sleeping. Not very interesting, but very relaxing. I did manage to walk around the town a bit, so I'll leave you with a few pictures.







Statue used to scare the local children. "Come here my pretty."

I also discovered the sweetness that is Squiz.

Do you see the nose (and face) of the Indian? (I'm not being racist, that's what they actually call it.)

Next Time: Santiago and Maximon.

xx,
gwen