I am walking as quickly as I can across a slippery street and then onto a snowy curb, maybe 4 meters from the bus stop sign. The bus is speeding through a green light that I tried wishing red but quickly realized it was too late. But I'm this close, it's this late, it's this cold- surely this bus driver will stop, I did give plenty of warning, the bus certainly can slow down in time. I wave my arm out, still walking toward the stop, now maybe 10 feet away. An empty bus zooms past me, disappearing around a curve, heading toward downtown where perhaps in its journey there and back it will pick up a couple passengers at most. I curse in Spanish, the driver can neither hear me nor would they understand my anger. After all, I wasn't AT the stop. Now I am walking as quickly as I can toward no destination in a cold that feels even more bitter than before. I start to lose feeling and movement in my fingers, despite my snug gloves. I am astounded, and reminded, and I wonder why I come back for things like this. To witness people's internalized habit of favoring efficiency and regulation over humanity.
Today I went to visit Santiago and he called another professor while I was sipping on a sweet little cup of fig coffee. He shouts into the phone, "I hate this country even in the summer!" So, I'm not alone at least.
04 January 2008
02 January 2008
Reality/Realidad
The other side: Snow's about as deep as my boots now, I don't mind walking through it because I never have to go too far. It's good to be able to move around in a city on foot- just being a few days in a house where even to get to a convenience store requires some sort of wheels made me appreciate how I like to stretch my legs and move swiftly down blocks, up stairs, down alleyways, through parks, on and on.
Mexico seems incredibly far away, but I don't like to think of it that way. Instead, I'm focusing on this wintery land around me and moving slowly but efficiently. Kalamazoo certainly doesn't feel the same but perhaps nothing does in the dead of winter. I've also found that my body doesn't want to become accustomed to sleeping in a different place every night, but hopefully it can hold out another week at least.
New Year's Eve was filled with love and grief, balloons and stomping boots, dancing and telling stories, and enough Michigan music to put me to sleep like a baby (after jumping, screaming and falling into the snow after stepping out of the theatre).
I still would be able to see the sun sometime, Michigan is beautiful, that's true, but I do miss the sun.
Mexico seems incredibly far away, but I don't like to think of it that way. Instead, I'm focusing on this wintery land around me and moving slowly but efficiently. Kalamazoo certainly doesn't feel the same but perhaps nothing does in the dead of winter. I've also found that my body doesn't want to become accustomed to sleeping in a different place every night, but hopefully it can hold out another week at least.
New Year's Eve was filled with love and grief, balloons and stomping boots, dancing and telling stories, and enough Michigan music to put me to sleep like a baby (after jumping, screaming and falling into the snow after stepping out of the theatre).
I still would be able to see the sun sometime, Michigan is beautiful, that's true, but I do miss the sun.
25 December 2007
What brings a family together...
My family is not religious, nor am I. Yet, we take this wintery holiday as a good excuse, as many do, to
gather, eat, drink, and remind ourselves that a family is a pretty nice thing to have.
23 December 2007
21 December 2007
time and crows
Flyby: Well, now that Guatemala seems like a misty, distant land/sensory experience, it feels very irrelevant to go into many details.
Guatemala to me, is cohetes and loud, snapping firecrackers at our feet, Jesus savior in all forms, slow choking almost-fall-off-the-cliff (despacio!!) smashed into all people around sleeping on an old woman's shoulder diesel fumes exploding colors and names dusty creeping soaring chicken buses, black beans in a can and dismal vegetables, antigua night dancing and after after after after parties, losing track losing things, armando's stories of war and plane crashes and su abuela and guatemalan food, new words food habits friends discoveries, chocobananas, moving through all altitudes, strain and comfort, matching history and text with now and flesh, endless mountains fallen trees rocky cliffs rivers puentes curvas bluest skies volcanes, tostadas, burning the devil, baked goods, goodbye guitar, roadside watermelons standing up, black and yellow corn drying on aluminum roofs, pigs roosters crazy cats.
Vuelo: Back in Mexico, I felt more at home than ever. We walked across the border, borders are such interesting, dynamic, mixing sharing evolving, loud places. In a few hours we were back in San Cristobal, blessed as we are, with a candle-lit home-cooked meal waiting for us. That night Raul and I went to an invitation-only Oaxacan party. I had no idea what to expect other than after a day of traveling and 2 weeks of wearing the same clothes, I wasn't really up for a fancy dinner party. And wow, we showed up to a hall of around 500 people, most of the women dressed in traditional Oaxacan dress, at least 5 bottles of liquor on each table, food, music, dancing, a celebration of the coming together of Oaxaquenos and Chiapenecos. We left at 11 and the party was only barely getting started.
Landing: Cancun is only a 3 hour flight away from Detroit, how how how. How can space and distance and surroundings be so easily erased, replaced. Well, either way, here I am in snowy Michigan, reminding myself that it's ok to throw toilet paper in the toilet and that people have to drive to stores to buy food. Oh dear.
Guatemala to me, is cohetes and loud, snapping firecrackers at our feet, Jesus savior in all forms, slow choking almost-fall-off-the-cliff (despacio!!) smashed into all people around sleeping on an old woman's shoulder diesel fumes exploding colors and names dusty creeping soaring chicken buses, black beans in a can and dismal vegetables, antigua night dancing and after after after after parties, losing track losing things, armando's stories of war and plane crashes and su abuela and guatemalan food, new words food habits friends discoveries, chocobananas, moving through all altitudes, strain and comfort, matching history and text with now and flesh, endless mountains fallen trees rocky cliffs rivers puentes curvas bluest skies volcanes, tostadas, burning the devil, baked goods, goodbye guitar, roadside watermelons standing up, black and yellow corn drying on aluminum roofs, pigs roosters crazy cats.
Vuelo: Back in Mexico, I felt more at home than ever. We walked across the border, borders are such interesting, dynamic, mixing sharing evolving, loud places. In a few hours we were back in San Cristobal, blessed as we are, with a candle-lit home-cooked meal waiting for us. That night Raul and I went to an invitation-only Oaxacan party. I had no idea what to expect other than after a day of traveling and 2 weeks of wearing the same clothes, I wasn't really up for a fancy dinner party. And wow, we showed up to a hall of around 500 people, most of the women dressed in traditional Oaxacan dress, at least 5 bottles of liquor on each table, food, music, dancing, a celebration of the coming together of Oaxaquenos and Chiapenecos. We left at 11 and the party was only barely getting started.
Landing: Cancun is only a 3 hour flight away from Detroit, how how how. How can space and distance and surroundings be so easily erased, replaced. Well, either way, here I am in snowy Michigan, reminding myself that it's ok to throw toilet paper in the toilet and that people have to drive to stores to buy food. Oh dear.
11 December 2007
Guatemala in small blocks
Flores: Our first stop, Flores is a small town on a small island inside a small lake. The streets are lined with tourist-catering businesses and restaurants, walls are plastered with advertisements for tours to Tikal, shuttle buses to anywhere in Guatemala, and cheap phone calls to the US and Europe. There is nowhere to buy vegetables except for a tiny, dusty store that has some sorry-looking tomatoes and a few bananas in wooden crates. For accomodations, because both cost 25 quetzales, we decide to go for the cheap hotel with a balcony over either of the backpacker hostals, though we do end up swinging by one of those for their 5 quetzal snack happy hour. Tiny 3-wheeled taxis zoom up and down the small main street, a bridge leads to Santa Elena but we never walk across it, our hotel attendant speaks in loud, high-pitched, slow Spanish and asks if we are from Spain or France. Only the ruins of Tikal keep us in this town for 2 nights.
Livingston: Second stop. This town is only reachable by boat, either a half hour by motor boat or and hour and a half by ferry. We take the ferry, grab some yucca as we wait for the boat to load and lurch across the water, and ride down the Rio Dulce just as sun sets. It's beautiful and to be near water again is as sweet as the cool breeze coming off of it. Livingston is a small fishing town composed of 4 different cultures, a tiny museum, a strip of touristy restaurants and hotels, and acres of jungle and communities that lead to the Caribbean Sea. We spent our time avoiding the "backpacker hostal" atmosphere of where we were staying (we just couldn't beat the 15 quetzal hammocks), eating fish and chocobananas, and staying out of the rain on those days when it just wouldn't stop coming down. Everyone is in the streets at night in Livingston, minus the tourists who are in bars or restaurants for most of the dark hours, and in some parts of the town where there isn't electricity, you can actually see the stars. The town is laidback, nothing really in the way of entertainment except for heaping bowls of tapado (fish, shrimp, coconut, banana soup) and the "cultural center," located behind the basketball court, that consists of a couple of crocodiles, a couple alligators and a few turtles in cement enclosures. Though one night we did get to see some Garifuna drumming and dancing while sipping on some Gallos. We spent an extra night here, hoping for the sun to show itself again. It did and we spent the day hiking for a few hours through much of Livingston, across a river, down the beach next to the Caribbean Sea, and through the forest until we reached Los 7 Altares, a series of waterfalls and pools. We climbed over stones and through thick, black mud until we got to a deeper pool where we jumped off the waterfall into green, deep, calm water.
We left Livingston on a hellish boat ride, which was supposed to be a pleasant trip down the Rio Dulce with some stops for walking or swimming. Instead, we had an hour's worth of cold rain whipping us in the face and running down our plastic protection onto our necks and legs.
Livingston: Second stop. This town is only reachable by boat, either a half hour by motor boat or and hour and a half by ferry. We take the ferry, grab some yucca as we wait for the boat to load and lurch across the water, and ride down the Rio Dulce just as sun sets. It's beautiful and to be near water again is as sweet as the cool breeze coming off of it. Livingston is a small fishing town composed of 4 different cultures, a tiny museum, a strip of touristy restaurants and hotels, and acres of jungle and communities that lead to the Caribbean Sea. We spent our time avoiding the "backpacker hostal" atmosphere of where we were staying (we just couldn't beat the 15 quetzal hammocks), eating fish and chocobananas, and staying out of the rain on those days when it just wouldn't stop coming down. Everyone is in the streets at night in Livingston, minus the tourists who are in bars or restaurants for most of the dark hours, and in some parts of the town where there isn't electricity, you can actually see the stars. The town is laidback, nothing really in the way of entertainment except for heaping bowls of tapado (fish, shrimp, coconut, banana soup) and the "cultural center," located behind the basketball court, that consists of a couple of crocodiles, a couple alligators and a few turtles in cement enclosures. Though one night we did get to see some Garifuna drumming and dancing while sipping on some Gallos. We spent an extra night here, hoping for the sun to show itself again. It did and we spent the day hiking for a few hours through much of Livingston, across a river, down the beach next to the Caribbean Sea, and through the forest until we reached Los 7 Altares, a series of waterfalls and pools. We climbed over stones and through thick, black mud until we got to a deeper pool where we jumped off the waterfall into green, deep, calm water.
We left Livingston on a hellish boat ride, which was supposed to be a pleasant trip down the Rio Dulce with some stops for walking or swimming. Instead, we had an hour's worth of cold rain whipping us in the face and running down our plastic protection onto our necks and legs.
01 December 2007
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