In fine Jamie fashion, I am so behind on this blog. I had every intention of keeping up with all the entertaining and colorful aspects of my journey, but I didn't consider how many of those moments were going to occur. Almost too many to pick and choose which ones I want to share. Truth be told, I'd like to share almost all, but again, seeming impossible. The beautiful fact of the matter is I've become so entrenched in my travels that this trip has truly taken on a life force all its own.
So, allow me to fill you in on a couple highlights in this quick stolen moment...
1.) I traveled to Santiago Atitlan today from Tzununa. It was terribly sad to bid farewell to Terri and Maria, but new places and people awaited me. Two boat rides and some of the best conversation with fellow travelers later, I find myself at Posada de Santiago.
Posada De Santiago is a hotel that will require it's own blog entry. Seriously. It's like summer camp. I've never seen anything like this place in...my...life. Again, more later, but I will leave you with this vision: Stone cabins, lots of guitar playing and orchids everywhere.
2.) I am staying in Guatemala through Friday night now, as opposed to Thursday morning. Details on this itineray change at a later entry.
And last, but most important detail, Kelly from my office and home called me today to let me know that My Little (Sam) was at the vet today due to an onset of vertigo. I know. It sounds as ridiculous as that little dog is, but it was apparenly very scary for everyone. It was handled in, from what I can acertain, in the most loving and caring way. I am certain, and assured he is totally ok. But... there is a nagging sense that all I want to do is hold and kiss his little-ness right now. I know you will join me in sending good thoughts to sam and my amazing friends helping him be okay.
I must go to bed- I have a 6 hour horseback adventure starting at 9:00AM tomorrow.
My apologies for the lackluster show. I know I've set high standards for this blog thing.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Hello AnimalSense Clients...
So, I am sitting here at the computer waiting to hear from my Dad who is helping me with a flight change and my sweet and well-intentioned Aunt tells me that she offered my blog for you all to read.
At first I was apalled, as you are clients, customers, or however you want to phrase it. I was tempted to go back and re-word some entries to make it more "you-don´t-know-me-well-enough-to-read-some-of-this" appropriate.
But alas, I guess it is a lesson for me in being open with not only the people I know very well and am close, but also the ones I hope to be close with as well.
So, enjoy my writings (if you dare) and know that I am mostly sane, a little ecsentric and fully competent to be your dog guru!
See you all soon. Love, Jamie
At first I was apalled, as you are clients, customers, or however you want to phrase it. I was tempted to go back and re-word some entries to make it more "you-don´t-know-me-well-enough-to-read-some-of-this" appropriate.
But alas, I guess it is a lesson for me in being open with not only the people I know very well and am close, but also the ones I hope to be close with as well.
So, enjoy my writings (if you dare) and know that I am mostly sane, a little ecsentric and fully competent to be your dog guru!
See you all soon. Love, Jamie
Guatemalan Men Have Purses
Speaking of purses... Jamie has something to put in hers. MONEY! That´s right folks, after 3 full days of begging and pleading with Banco some-thing-or-another, I am no longer broke in the mountains. Ahh. But, don´t think that came easily.
After hitting bank #1, where I was again told to come back manaña, I tried for bank #2 across the street before I was decidely going to just lie down in the lobby in protest until they had no option but to hand over the dinero. Thankfully it didn´t have to come to that. (And don´t think I wasn´t going to do that, by the way)
After receiving the cash I hiked around Pana for the day, met up with Mary (from the taxi ride on my first day, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point), did a little shopping and cappacino sipping.
... And out of fear that I am about to offer a very vanilla description of a very neopolitan day, I am ending this entry. Yes, there is so much more to share about Monday January 22, but I must do so at another time. For now, just know that I am happy and sun tanned, with money, surrounded by general goodness.
After hitting bank #1, where I was again told to come back manaña, I tried for bank #2 across the street before I was decidely going to just lie down in the lobby in protest until they had no option but to hand over the dinero. Thankfully it didn´t have to come to that. (And don´t think I wasn´t going to do that, by the way)
After receiving the cash I hiked around Pana for the day, met up with Mary (from the taxi ride on my first day, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point), did a little shopping and cappacino sipping.
... And out of fear that I am about to offer a very vanilla description of a very neopolitan day, I am ending this entry. Yes, there is so much more to share about Monday January 22, but I must do so at another time. For now, just know that I am happy and sun tanned, with money, surrounded by general goodness.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Be Cool, honey-bunny
It really hit me today. Sunday. Day six of my Guatemalan adventura. Here are the basic facts as I know them to be true:
1. This trip was born from a unanticipated breakup with Eric. (or as some would argue, totally anticipated. But that´s for another time)
2. I had no plans for traveling solo this year.
3. I had no idea that I was to be visiting Central America in the forseeable future.
4. This was TOTALLY last minute planning...
I would be liar if I didn´t outwardly admit to being, well - sad. I know, it seems silly. I mean who in their right mind would or could be sad when surrounded by this picturesque lake, the clouds, the sun, the people, and all these amazing experiences? Me. Becuase I miss Eric. And sometimes, even when I´m engaged in the most brilliant activity with the most outragous cast of characters, I think of him. And other times, when I´m totally alone (which is obviously most of the time) I don´t. Today, however, I started out in a not-so-great mindset. Ah, but hold on... I´m okay. I really am. But alas, let me share with you my Sunday and how I got a bit closer to okay.
I haven´t been sleeping very well since my arrival. In fact, I have yet to sleep through an entire night. I keep waking up and not falling back to sleep for hours at some points. Maybe it´s the idea that I´m sleeping alone in a strange room in Guatemala. Or maybe it´s just that I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the past couple months (or last year and a half to be totally honest) and it´s just catching up with me when I can finally allow it to. Either way, I woke this morning (Sunday) with very little energy and a lackluster show of excitement for my day.
I went to the dining area this morning and sat out on the terrace while having my traditional Guate breakfast of coffee and pan tostada (toast). I decided to finish off book #2 (I can´t remember the last time I read two novels in a week) before heading out to today´s destination: San Marcos. I´ve worked so hard at not thinking about Eric and pushing sad thoughts out of my mind whenever they threaten, that I began to notice a void in my experiences and ability to truly process this trip and all the things which led up to it. It´s like whenever I start feeling those darker things, I do my best to rationalize them away and try to escape them. And God knows I´ve gotten lots of practice at doing those things when it comes to my relationship Eric. But this morning, it wasn´t happening. the thoughts were so present and so vivid that there was no escape. And the next thing I knew, I was crying. That´s right, crying. Crying while overlooking the magnificent beauty of Lake Atitlan and realizing in an instant that if I had to be emotional, there were very few better places on the planet to do so. Plus, it had been just about week since I´ve cried over him, and apparently there was quite the build up, let me tell you.
After a necesary time passed, I wiped away my tears and with much conviction to set out on my day. I needed an energy shift and I needed it badly.
Enter San Marcos.
San Marcos is a few villages away that is refuted to be the spiritual center of the Lake, and according to many, one of the strongest spirtiual centers on earth. After a short trip on the water to San Marcos, I disembarked from the boat and began walking up the little hill, following signs pointing me in the direction of massages, cafes, holistic centers, hostels and the like. San Marcos is unlike anywhere I´d ever been. Between the roving hippies and the true "healers" walking the streets (and I say streets lightly, as they are just cobblestone walkways with zero cars) everyone appeared mellow. Really mellow. San Marcos gives a whole new meaning to passive and quaint Central American village. It was love at first sight.
I sought out a woman I had heard about named Beatrise. Everyone I talked to about wanting a massage pointed me in her direction. Now, keep in mind that essentially every other hotel, cafe or healing center offered massages or some kind of hippy body work to straighten out chakras (which, if you know me, excited me to no end). But Beatrise seemed it for me on this day.
When I found her at her home and practice, she was just sitting out drinking tea in her gardens. She asked what it was I came for - I assumed she wanted to know if I wanted a swedish or relaxation massage - but that apparently really wasn´t at all what she wanted to know. Thankfully our language barrier (she was very, very French) made it so I didn´t have to delve into stuff about Eric or my robbery or anything else painfully annoying. She seemed to already know why I was there and just wanted to me to own up to it. So, I muttered a few comments about last minute travel plans, something about Alaska and having no cash. And with that, I followed her to the back of her property where we entered a peaceful little hut with only a massage table and very stark, yet tasteful, walls. I paid her upfront, as she requested, and let her do what she wanted with me...
**Ok, if any disucssion of chakras, mind-body allignment or most things spiritual freak you out or make you uncomfortable, you may just want to skip this part of my narritve and catch up at the bottom of the page. (And don´t think I don´t know who you are.) For the rest, let me continue.
Beatrice determined that I needed "energy work". (Well no shit. The fucking garbage collector could have told me that. I just got done with Cryfest guatemala 2007 for Christsakes) But alas, she did seem to have an aura of "knowing" about her, and I have a very open mind to this sorta thing, so why not just give in.
She spent the next hour doing who-knows-what to me. All I can say forsure is that I had a few moments during my session where I was a bit disconnected from myself and when it was over, I had a certain airy-ness I can´t assign specific words to, and am not going to attempt to do so. But it was cool. Seriously cool. The cynic in me says that I just WANT to believe she did some energy healing, and therefore I felt something. The practical part of me says that regardless of what she did or did not do, I was laying on a table in a serene village in the heart of Guatemala while a French woman cared deeply for me, and that in and of itself is highly energizing. Regardless of how or what she did, I left there with a different sense of my trip and why I am here.
Afterwards, I spent the next 3 hours just wandering around San Marcos petting dogs, drinking coffee and hanging out with a bunch of travlers in beautiful hostels and gardens. Oh yeah, all that mellow-ness I referred to earlier? Yeah, it´s cuz everyone is stoned. When in rome...
So, upon the completion of the first week of my trip, I am becoming very clear about many things. I now know I can´t always escape sadness and perhaps giving into it is the most cleansing and healthy option of all. And in doing so, I realized that this trip isn´t an escape. In fact, it´s quite the opposite. Being at home in Chicago I was able to surround myself with phone calls to loved ones, lose myself in work and generally just fill the void and sadness I was feeling about Eric or anything else that confused or upset me. Here, in the middle of the mountains of Guatemala all alone, there is no escpae from myself. Perhaps had I known this trip was going to unravel my mind and force me to recreate and examine certain aspects of my self-awareness, I may have chickened out. Thankfully, that never dawned on me.
1. This trip was born from a unanticipated breakup with Eric. (or as some would argue, totally anticipated. But that´s for another time)
2. I had no plans for traveling solo this year.
3. I had no idea that I was to be visiting Central America in the forseeable future.
4. This was TOTALLY last minute planning...
I would be liar if I didn´t outwardly admit to being, well - sad. I know, it seems silly. I mean who in their right mind would or could be sad when surrounded by this picturesque lake, the clouds, the sun, the people, and all these amazing experiences? Me. Becuase I miss Eric. And sometimes, even when I´m engaged in the most brilliant activity with the most outragous cast of characters, I think of him. And other times, when I´m totally alone (which is obviously most of the time) I don´t. Today, however, I started out in a not-so-great mindset. Ah, but hold on... I´m okay. I really am. But alas, let me share with you my Sunday and how I got a bit closer to okay.
I haven´t been sleeping very well since my arrival. In fact, I have yet to sleep through an entire night. I keep waking up and not falling back to sleep for hours at some points. Maybe it´s the idea that I´m sleeping alone in a strange room in Guatemala. Or maybe it´s just that I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the past couple months (or last year and a half to be totally honest) and it´s just catching up with me when I can finally allow it to. Either way, I woke this morning (Sunday) with very little energy and a lackluster show of excitement for my day.
I went to the dining area this morning and sat out on the terrace while having my traditional Guate breakfast of coffee and pan tostada (toast). I decided to finish off book #2 (I can´t remember the last time I read two novels in a week) before heading out to today´s destination: San Marcos. I´ve worked so hard at not thinking about Eric and pushing sad thoughts out of my mind whenever they threaten, that I began to notice a void in my experiences and ability to truly process this trip and all the things which led up to it. It´s like whenever I start feeling those darker things, I do my best to rationalize them away and try to escape them. And God knows I´ve gotten lots of practice at doing those things when it comes to my relationship Eric. But this morning, it wasn´t happening. the thoughts were so present and so vivid that there was no escape. And the next thing I knew, I was crying. That´s right, crying. Crying while overlooking the magnificent beauty of Lake Atitlan and realizing in an instant that if I had to be emotional, there were very few better places on the planet to do so. Plus, it had been just about week since I´ve cried over him, and apparently there was quite the build up, let me tell you.
After a necesary time passed, I wiped away my tears and with much conviction to set out on my day. I needed an energy shift and I needed it badly.
Enter San Marcos.
San Marcos is a few villages away that is refuted to be the spiritual center of the Lake, and according to many, one of the strongest spirtiual centers on earth. After a short trip on the water to San Marcos, I disembarked from the boat and began walking up the little hill, following signs pointing me in the direction of massages, cafes, holistic centers, hostels and the like. San Marcos is unlike anywhere I´d ever been. Between the roving hippies and the true "healers" walking the streets (and I say streets lightly, as they are just cobblestone walkways with zero cars) everyone appeared mellow. Really mellow. San Marcos gives a whole new meaning to passive and quaint Central American village. It was love at first sight.
I sought out a woman I had heard about named Beatrise. Everyone I talked to about wanting a massage pointed me in her direction. Now, keep in mind that essentially every other hotel, cafe or healing center offered massages or some kind of hippy body work to straighten out chakras (which, if you know me, excited me to no end). But Beatrise seemed it for me on this day.
When I found her at her home and practice, she was just sitting out drinking tea in her gardens. She asked what it was I came for - I assumed she wanted to know if I wanted a swedish or relaxation massage - but that apparently really wasn´t at all what she wanted to know. Thankfully our language barrier (she was very, very French) made it so I didn´t have to delve into stuff about Eric or my robbery or anything else painfully annoying. She seemed to already know why I was there and just wanted to me to own up to it. So, I muttered a few comments about last minute travel plans, something about Alaska and having no cash. And with that, I followed her to the back of her property where we entered a peaceful little hut with only a massage table and very stark, yet tasteful, walls. I paid her upfront, as she requested, and let her do what she wanted with me...
**Ok, if any disucssion of chakras, mind-body allignment or most things spiritual freak you out or make you uncomfortable, you may just want to skip this part of my narritve and catch up at the bottom of the page. (And don´t think I don´t know who you are.) For the rest, let me continue.
Beatrice determined that I needed "energy work". (Well no shit. The fucking garbage collector could have told me that. I just got done with Cryfest guatemala 2007 for Christsakes) But alas, she did seem to have an aura of "knowing" about her, and I have a very open mind to this sorta thing, so why not just give in.
She spent the next hour doing who-knows-what to me. All I can say forsure is that I had a few moments during my session where I was a bit disconnected from myself and when it was over, I had a certain airy-ness I can´t assign specific words to, and am not going to attempt to do so. But it was cool. Seriously cool. The cynic in me says that I just WANT to believe she did some energy healing, and therefore I felt something. The practical part of me says that regardless of what she did or did not do, I was laying on a table in a serene village in the heart of Guatemala while a French woman cared deeply for me, and that in and of itself is highly energizing. Regardless of how or what she did, I left there with a different sense of my trip and why I am here.
Afterwards, I spent the next 3 hours just wandering around San Marcos petting dogs, drinking coffee and hanging out with a bunch of travlers in beautiful hostels and gardens. Oh yeah, all that mellow-ness I referred to earlier? Yeah, it´s cuz everyone is stoned. When in rome...
So, upon the completion of the first week of my trip, I am becoming very clear about many things. I now know I can´t always escape sadness and perhaps giving into it is the most cleansing and healthy option of all. And in doing so, I realized that this trip isn´t an escape. In fact, it´s quite the opposite. Being at home in Chicago I was able to surround myself with phone calls to loved ones, lose myself in work and generally just fill the void and sadness I was feeling about Eric or anything else that confused or upset me. Here, in the middle of the mountains of Guatemala all alone, there is no escpae from myself. Perhaps had I known this trip was going to unravel my mind and force me to recreate and examine certain aspects of my self-awareness, I may have chickened out. Thankfully, that never dawned on me.
Money? I don´t need no stinkin´money!
Saturday morning arrives and with great anticipation, I leap out of bed (oh, but not before I do a quick reality check that I am indeed in Central America with no money, staying a place with people who are inclined to trust me and that I just woke to a view of some massive volcanos outside my window)
In perfect sync with the overwhelming generosity of my hosts, they offer me a private boat ride back to Pana so I can get my cashola from western union. Hum, perhaps I need to clarify something else about transportation here at Lake Atitlan - the only quick (and safest) way to travel between villages is via la lancha. The boat. The boats come every 30 to 45 minutes and at most times are brimming with Guatemalans, tourists and giant bags of what I can only imagine are either dead chickens or lima beans. They (the bags, not the Guatemalans) stink like death and if you happen to climb aboard a crowded boat, guess where you´re sitting. Yep, next to the bags of death. So, when Terri offered me a private charter, it took me less than .0003 seconds to accept his kind offer.
So, off to Panajenchel we go...
Scene One
Place: The Bank
Time: 10AM
Players: A young man from the Western Union Booth, me and Terri. (who, by the way, pronounces his name Tear -Ree with a heavy french accent)
Me: HOLA!! I need to pick up a wire transfer, please. (all said in spanish for effect, of course)
Western Union Hombre: Ooohh. (said with a hint of empathy, but also a slight degree of annoyance for probably the 67th gringo walking into his office demanding thier american dollars) We don´t have any money. (again, all spoken in spanish)
*It was at this point that I assumed I MUST have misunderstood his palabras (words) and asked him to repeat, por favor.
Western Union Hombre: I´m sorry, but we have no money. Come back Monday. Perhaps we´ll have money for you then. Goodbye.
*It was at this point that I assumed I MUST have misunderstood his palabras (words) and asked him to repeat, por favor.
Western Union Hombre: I´m sorry, but we have no money. Come back Monday. Perhaps we´ll have money for you then. Goodbye.
and this quaint little exchange went on and on for what seemed like an eternity, until Terri looked at me with that look that only translates to one phrase... You´re Fucked.
My little heartbroken, anti-alaska, Guatemalan trip is, at this point, turning into a lesson of culture AND political economics, where I have learned the following tale of woe:
The Quitzal, Guatemalan currency, is old. The actual currency itself is becomming faded, torn and basically falling apart. So, the Guat government has decided to begin replacing the old with new. Only one problem...they are doing it in one fell swoop.
Meaning, they are taking the bills from the banks and not replacing them right away. It turns out they have not even finished printing new currency, but still keep taking the old. And when did they begin this brilliant "transfer"? Oh, the week before Christmas. So the people of the country became very paranoid and began taking all thier money out of the banks at such a rapid rate that many banks literally, if you can belive this, have NO FUCKING MONEY. That´s right folks, no money. Well, to be honest, that´s a bit of an exaggreation - as the banks have money, but only a small amount. Which means they all have a limit on the amount of currency you can withdraw. And as you can imagine, when a white girl walks into one of these banks and requests thousands of Quitzales, HA!
I will say, however, this whole money shortage thing leads to many an interesting conversation. People everywhere, both natives and tourists, have tales of disbelief when it comes to trying to get money. ATM´s are empty (totally true, I couldn´t access 3 last week) and many vacationers have had to leave the country much sooner than expected.
So, there you have it. And so it remains. I am still in Central America with no money. I do have about 100 bucks at this point from the last hotel loaning it to me, and I refuse, totally refuse to give into this. I am considering this an excersise in patience, character-growth and frugality and creativity. But no matter what, I am NOT leaving until my plane ticket says I´m supposed to.
In perfect sync with the overwhelming generosity of my hosts, they offer me a private boat ride back to Pana so I can get my cashola from western union. Hum, perhaps I need to clarify something else about transportation here at Lake Atitlan - the only quick (and safest) way to travel between villages is via la lancha. The boat. The boats come every 30 to 45 minutes and at most times are brimming with Guatemalans, tourists and giant bags of what I can only imagine are either dead chickens or lima beans. They (the bags, not the Guatemalans) stink like death and if you happen to climb aboard a crowded boat, guess where you´re sitting. Yep, next to the bags of death. So, when Terri offered me a private charter, it took me less than .0003 seconds to accept his kind offer.
So, off to Panajenchel we go...
Scene One
Place: The Bank
Time: 10AM
Players: A young man from the Western Union Booth, me and Terri. (who, by the way, pronounces his name Tear -Ree with a heavy french accent)
Me: HOLA!! I need to pick up a wire transfer, please. (all said in spanish for effect, of course)
Western Union Hombre: Ooohh. (said with a hint of empathy, but also a slight degree of annoyance for probably the 67th gringo walking into his office demanding thier american dollars) We don´t have any money. (again, all spoken in spanish)
*It was at this point that I assumed I MUST have misunderstood his palabras (words) and asked him to repeat, por favor.
Western Union Hombre: I´m sorry, but we have no money. Come back Monday. Perhaps we´ll have money for you then. Goodbye.
*It was at this point that I assumed I MUST have misunderstood his palabras (words) and asked him to repeat, por favor.
Western Union Hombre: I´m sorry, but we have no money. Come back Monday. Perhaps we´ll have money for you then. Goodbye.
and this quaint little exchange went on and on for what seemed like an eternity, until Terri looked at me with that look that only translates to one phrase... You´re Fucked.
My little heartbroken, anti-alaska, Guatemalan trip is, at this point, turning into a lesson of culture AND political economics, where I have learned the following tale of woe:
The Quitzal, Guatemalan currency, is old. The actual currency itself is becomming faded, torn and basically falling apart. So, the Guat government has decided to begin replacing the old with new. Only one problem...they are doing it in one fell swoop.
Meaning, they are taking the bills from the banks and not replacing them right away. It turns out they have not even finished printing new currency, but still keep taking the old. And when did they begin this brilliant "transfer"? Oh, the week before Christmas. So the people of the country became very paranoid and began taking all thier money out of the banks at such a rapid rate that many banks literally, if you can belive this, have NO FUCKING MONEY. That´s right folks, no money. Well, to be honest, that´s a bit of an exaggreation - as the banks have money, but only a small amount. Which means they all have a limit on the amount of currency you can withdraw. And as you can imagine, when a white girl walks into one of these banks and requests thousands of Quitzales, HA!
I will say, however, this whole money shortage thing leads to many an interesting conversation. People everywhere, both natives and tourists, have tales of disbelief when it comes to trying to get money. ATM´s are empty (totally true, I couldn´t access 3 last week) and many vacationers have had to leave the country much sooner than expected.
So, there you have it. And so it remains. I am still in Central America with no money. I do have about 100 bucks at this point from the last hotel loaning it to me, and I refuse, totally refuse to give into this. I am considering this an excersise in patience, character-growth and frugality and creativity. But no matter what, I am NOT leaving until my plane ticket says I´m supposed to.
400 Steps
Lake Atitlan is a lake surrounded by volcanos and mountains. Around the lake, there are several indiginous villages which all have their own character and "claim to fame"with tourists. For example, Panajenchel is the tourist hub, full of shops, hotels, resturants and tourists who have become locals.
Tzununa, where I am living through Tuesday is one of, if not the, smallest villages on the lake. In all honesty, had I realized this prior to booking my rom, I may never have chosen to stay here. Yet another shout out for ignorance, as this place is unreal. Truly unreal and I´m so fortunate to be here.
When my private boat dropped me off at the dock for Lomas de Tzununa, I remembered reading something on their website about having to climb a few stairs upon disemabarking from la lancha (the boat) before reaching the actual hotel. Ok, so, cool. No problema. What's a few stairs between friends, right? Yeah, whatever. Try-four-fucking hundred. 400 DIRECTLY up the side of a mountian with no rail and view to die for (quite literally, possibly). Any fear of heights, which apparently is just another one of my many undiscovered nuerosis, had to be pushed down. Far, far away into the deep receses of my complex little mind. Becuase it seemed as there was no option. It was either the 400 stone stairs built into the side of this mountian, or I was sleeping with the fish. Literally.
Now, keep in mind that all my money and credit cards were stolen only hours before I was due to arrive. How on earth was I going to not only explain my prediciment, but also expect to STAY there? On the way over on the boat I kept playing out this scenario in my mind:
Me: Hola! I have no money. Can I stay for a few days?
Them: Are you on crack?
...well, you get it.
Needless to say, apparently I am starting to visit the other side of the Karmic wheel, because Maria and Terri, the owners and hosts, could not have been ANY nicer. For whatever reason, they trusted my tale, offered me a huge rum and pineapple beverage and showed me to my room, all the while assuring me they would help me to figure things out. Seriously. These two people are sent from the heavens and still, to this moment, 3 days in to my stay here, continue to be amazing. And although the word amazing is, in my opinion, overused - using it here is nothing more than 100% accurate.
So they met 10 years ago while both working for the United Nations. He, Terri, as the head of the Guatemalan peace mission for the UN and she, Maria, as an attorney for the UN. They got married, lived in Guatemala City for years and spent the last 3 plus years building, no shit, the most outragous hotel on the side of a mountain in a small village in Guatemala where they are raising their 4 year old son, Lucas. Because Terri is Belgium and Maria is from Uragray, they are raising Lucas bilingual - French and Spanish. So, this kid gets to grow up living on the most beautiful lake on earth, meeting and visiting with people from all over the globe and in case THAT´S not enough, his parents are civil servants to the highest degree. Wrap your brain around that for a second.
So, getting back to this hotel... So, my room is too much for mere words. They call it a bungalow, but this isn´t like any bungalow I´ve ever been witness to. We´re talking a mini apartment with 2 beds, a walk-in cedar closet, a ginormous bathroom and, oh yeah, floor to ceiling glass doors that lead out to my private deck with a view that is incomprehensible. Ready for the price per night? Are you sitting down? 50 bucks. Oh yes, that includes breakfast. Have I mentioned that Guatemala is c-h-e-a-p?
The only true downside are these stairs I made mention of. I´m really not joking when I say they are the single most trecherous climb one could ever dream of when considering all you´re really trying to accomplish is getting to a fucking hotel. And that´s nothing as compared to the way down. Holy crackers. It´s the kind of decent that I have to actually sit and crawl down on my ass at a couple of sections so as I don´t lose my already challenged balance due to my pack I have to carry along when I venture out. On the bright side, it´s another layer of fitness and health that has crept into the landscape of this trip. Between you and me, there´s gotta be some meniacal side to Terri and Maria... there has to be. And if you ever get to see these stairs, I guarentee you´ll see why I say this.
Another thing I didn´t count on was that where ever you are at sundown is where you stay. Meaning, nightfall here is rumored to be, how shall I say... unsafe. So, as you can imagine, I am getting to be very close with my hosts, as I dine with them each night and spend the remainder of the evening at the hotel with them and the rest of the guests. At first I was appalled. Are you kidding me? I have to eat dinner at the same place, with the same strangers every goddammed night? But, no worries, those warm and fuzzy sensations have taken over, and I must say, it is the thing I look forward to the most in my day.
Terri and Maria both play classical guitar and have taken me as an unofficial student, which means guitar lessons nightly. And these aren´t bullshit guitarists - I´m talking the real classics. I am learning fingerpicking techniques, Bach sonatas and generally feeling like a real musician. I play hours per day and I don´t suck anymore. (ok, so I still generally suck as a guitarist, but now at least I can play more than Leaving on a Jet Plane)
That´s my post for getting you aquinted with the 2nd part of my Guat journey. Trust me, Saturday needs a post all for its own. I´ll get to that momentarily. And hey, don´t forget that I am caught with my spellcheck down...
Tzununa, where I am living through Tuesday is one of, if not the, smallest villages on the lake. In all honesty, had I realized this prior to booking my rom, I may never have chosen to stay here. Yet another shout out for ignorance, as this place is unreal. Truly unreal and I´m so fortunate to be here.
When my private boat dropped me off at the dock for Lomas de Tzununa, I remembered reading something on their website about having to climb a few stairs upon disemabarking from la lancha (the boat) before reaching the actual hotel. Ok, so, cool. No problema. What's a few stairs between friends, right? Yeah, whatever. Try-four-fucking hundred. 400 DIRECTLY up the side of a mountian with no rail and view to die for (quite literally, possibly). Any fear of heights, which apparently is just another one of my many undiscovered nuerosis, had to be pushed down. Far, far away into the deep receses of my complex little mind. Becuase it seemed as there was no option. It was either the 400 stone stairs built into the side of this mountian, or I was sleeping with the fish. Literally.
Now, keep in mind that all my money and credit cards were stolen only hours before I was due to arrive. How on earth was I going to not only explain my prediciment, but also expect to STAY there? On the way over on the boat I kept playing out this scenario in my mind:
Me: Hola! I have no money. Can I stay for a few days?
Them: Are you on crack?
...well, you get it.
Needless to say, apparently I am starting to visit the other side of the Karmic wheel, because Maria and Terri, the owners and hosts, could not have been ANY nicer. For whatever reason, they trusted my tale, offered me a huge rum and pineapple beverage and showed me to my room, all the while assuring me they would help me to figure things out. Seriously. These two people are sent from the heavens and still, to this moment, 3 days in to my stay here, continue to be amazing. And although the word amazing is, in my opinion, overused - using it here is nothing more than 100% accurate.
So they met 10 years ago while both working for the United Nations. He, Terri, as the head of the Guatemalan peace mission for the UN and she, Maria, as an attorney for the UN. They got married, lived in Guatemala City for years and spent the last 3 plus years building, no shit, the most outragous hotel on the side of a mountain in a small village in Guatemala where they are raising their 4 year old son, Lucas. Because Terri is Belgium and Maria is from Uragray, they are raising Lucas bilingual - French and Spanish. So, this kid gets to grow up living on the most beautiful lake on earth, meeting and visiting with people from all over the globe and in case THAT´S not enough, his parents are civil servants to the highest degree. Wrap your brain around that for a second.
So, getting back to this hotel... So, my room is too much for mere words. They call it a bungalow, but this isn´t like any bungalow I´ve ever been witness to. We´re talking a mini apartment with 2 beds, a walk-in cedar closet, a ginormous bathroom and, oh yeah, floor to ceiling glass doors that lead out to my private deck with a view that is incomprehensible. Ready for the price per night? Are you sitting down? 50 bucks. Oh yes, that includes breakfast. Have I mentioned that Guatemala is c-h-e-a-p?
The only true downside are these stairs I made mention of. I´m really not joking when I say they are the single most trecherous climb one could ever dream of when considering all you´re really trying to accomplish is getting to a fucking hotel. And that´s nothing as compared to the way down. Holy crackers. It´s the kind of decent that I have to actually sit and crawl down on my ass at a couple of sections so as I don´t lose my already challenged balance due to my pack I have to carry along when I venture out. On the bright side, it´s another layer of fitness and health that has crept into the landscape of this trip. Between you and me, there´s gotta be some meniacal side to Terri and Maria... there has to be. And if you ever get to see these stairs, I guarentee you´ll see why I say this.
Another thing I didn´t count on was that where ever you are at sundown is where you stay. Meaning, nightfall here is rumored to be, how shall I say... unsafe. So, as you can imagine, I am getting to be very close with my hosts, as I dine with them each night and spend the remainder of the evening at the hotel with them and the rest of the guests. At first I was appalled. Are you kidding me? I have to eat dinner at the same place, with the same strangers every goddammed night? But, no worries, those warm and fuzzy sensations have taken over, and I must say, it is the thing I look forward to the most in my day.
Terri and Maria both play classical guitar and have taken me as an unofficial student, which means guitar lessons nightly. And these aren´t bullshit guitarists - I´m talking the real classics. I am learning fingerpicking techniques, Bach sonatas and generally feeling like a real musician. I play hours per day and I don´t suck anymore. (ok, so I still generally suck as a guitarist, but now at least I can play more than Leaving on a Jet Plane)
That´s my post for getting you aquinted with the 2nd part of my Guat journey. Trust me, Saturday needs a post all for its own. I´ll get to that momentarily. And hey, don´t forget that I am caught with my spellcheck down...
Friday, January 19, 2007
From Dusk til Dawn and Back Again
* Disclaimer: The computer I am using for the next several days is only in spanish. Meaning, spellcheck is yelling at me the whole time I type becuase apparently it refuses to accept engish as a viable and useable dialect. Therefore, any misspellings are not the fault of the author, but the Guatemalan internet system.
There is no possible way. I mean it. No humanly possible way for me to accurately depict the facinations, frustrations and vocalizations of today. Oh, I´ll do my best of course, but this is my caveat. There... is... no.... way.
I´d like to start with revewing and recanting any lost details from ayer, I mean yesterday. Did I mention that I am starting to think in spanish? Wait, I digress. As much as I´d like to lazily scribe anything remotely memorable on the date of January 18, any such facts, stories or exaggerations will - I guarentee it - PALE in comparison to the events, situations and diverstiy of January 19. Today.
I woke today at 6:30AM. Why you ask would a sane or thinking person even consider waking at such a vile hour on her vacation? I have one answer: Macaw. Do you know what a Macaw is? Um, let´s see... oh, I know, think Tahoe and go bigger, louder and a gazillion times more annoying. Yep, that´s a macaw. Right outside my door. Now normally I´d be thrilled with exotic animals hanging out anywhere they rightly see fit, but for some reason, this morning didn´t seem like the best timing on the whole giant parrot thing. ButI made the best by dragging my sunburned body out of bed and into the garden outside my room where I held this Macaw´s very own morning photo shoot. I learned there were two of them. Of course there were.
Move on to breakfast. Breakfast is always a nice event at the Hotel Atitlan. This hotel I´d been staying in since Wednesday morning is by far the nicest (read: most pretentious and overpriced, yet gorgous) on the Lake. The dining room overlooks the pool, which fades directly into the Lake. Not a bad view over eggs and coffee. Today´s breakfast consisted of what has become a normal mealtime routine - I read, I drink coffee, I stare at the lake and mountains while I practice my pathetic version of spanish with my waiter. Today, however, breakfast was slightly hurried, as I had PLANS. Yep, plans! Off to the market in Solola...
Markets, or Mercados are a huge and gloroius event in Guatemala, and each community has specified days for their community. Although I assume markets are similarily celebrated in many latin countries and elsewhere around our globe, today I only cared about the market in my corner of the globe: Solola, Guatemala. Taking place each and every Friday, the market at Solola is fabled to be the BEST and most authentic (meaning no touristas) in Guatemala. Solola is about 20 minutes up the mountain from Panajanchel. Oh Tuc Tuc - to Solola, por favor!
Oh wait, a Tuc Tuc... I must explain. To simplify, it´s a moped that has been cleverly turned into some kind of powered chariot complete with a backseat, hood and a few extra mirrors tossed in for good measure. They´re cheap and abundant. Why not. Sadly for these little vehicles of torture for all who ride, they don´t do very well on steep, curvey mountain passes. Hence, on my way to Solola, my trusty driver had to drop me off about a mile from the market, as his clutch finally gave way. I should have taken it as a sign from god himself...
After a long walk uphill, I spotted the Mercado in the distance. I didn´t know what to expect. I assumed it would be colorful, full of exotic produce, willowy flowers and wierd looking fish. What I didn´t expect was 1000´s, literally 1000´s, of Guatemalan people pressed into each other in what I can only describe as an orgy of dead chickens and freshly plucked plantians. Toss in a few blankets, beads, live chickens and fish I wouldn´t feed to a dying bear, and there you have it. Now, don´t get me wrong. It was glorious. In fact, I didn´t want to leave. The thing went on for - what seemed like - miles and miles. I´m sure it was more like blocks and blocks, but after the 76th dead chicken stand, I was spinning and feared I was going to fall into a bucket of lima beans or a tub of shrimp. (and trust me, there were a lot of both)
Perhaps that was the problem. I should have left. Not taken breaks to sit down in the park in between the market places to smile at children and photograph dogs. No, I should have up and went back to Pana. Pana, where my money and credit cards wouldn´t have been stolen.
Yes, that´s right. I am, right now, in Central America with no money. Go ahead, laugh or
be worried or tell me how estupida I am. It doesn´t matter becuase I´ve already beaten myself into a bloody pulp. Now I´m recovering. And it doesn´t hurt that I am doing so in the most amazing place I´ve ever stayed. But more on my new hotel later. Let´s get back to the drama, but only for a moment, as I am working on getting over this trauma as so I can enjoy the remainder of my week in motherfucking Guatemala. (Now, I don´t really mean that, as I really am falling in love with this place, but I feel a little anger is healthy, considering...)
So, it´s fairly straight forward -- I was in the most crowded market in the country and sandwiched between what seemed like the rudest and most physically ignorant group of people in the universe, and poof! Someone pick-pocketed me. I am pretty sure I can remember exactly when it happened, too. That´s the annoying part. Well, that´s the second most annoying part next to the fact that I put over $200US dollars and my credit cards in my fucking pocket, but again, I digress. I suppose this is a good time to explain why I had so much cash on my person and why why they didn´t take the 20 bucks worth of Quetzals (Guat currency) in my other pocket. Simple, I wasn´t about to leave all that cash in a hotel room and everyone warned me that "they´ll cut the straps to your bag so don ´t keep anything valuable in there." I put my US currency in one pocket with my Credit cards and the Guat money in my other pocket with my switchblade. (yes, I have a knife. Call it what you will, I´m a single chick traveling around Central America...) So, either the knife seemed too scary for a robber or it made me look too cool to steal from . Not that it matters anymore... It´s probably important to mention that I actually planned my outfit on purpose just to avoid this from happening. That´s the mindfuck of it. Cargo pants are officially on my shit list.
Sparing you all the details of the moments that immediately followed my realization of this, you could imagine my hightailing it to the nearest Tuc Tuc and winding my way back to Hotel Atitlan to call my bank and crumple up into a ball of emotional unravel. Acutally, the emotional unraveling never took place. Either I´m a lot stronger than I think, or I´m D-O-N-E. I´m going with the strong theory. You can wage your own bets. Either way, good friends are wiring me money and with any luck I´ll be rich again in the morning.
I think I´ll say buenas noches now and save part II of today´s tale for tomorrow. I will, however, mention that the hotel I am staying in for the next 4 nights may very well be the most absurdly fantasitc place I´ve ever been.
Until manaña.
There is no possible way. I mean it. No humanly possible way for me to accurately depict the facinations, frustrations and vocalizations of today. Oh, I´ll do my best of course, but this is my caveat. There... is... no.... way.
I´d like to start with revewing and recanting any lost details from ayer, I mean yesterday. Did I mention that I am starting to think in spanish? Wait, I digress. As much as I´d like to lazily scribe anything remotely memorable on the date of January 18, any such facts, stories or exaggerations will - I guarentee it - PALE in comparison to the events, situations and diverstiy of January 19. Today.
I woke today at 6:30AM. Why you ask would a sane or thinking person even consider waking at such a vile hour on her vacation? I have one answer: Macaw. Do you know what a Macaw is? Um, let´s see... oh, I know, think Tahoe and go bigger, louder and a gazillion times more annoying. Yep, that´s a macaw. Right outside my door. Now normally I´d be thrilled with exotic animals hanging out anywhere they rightly see fit, but for some reason, this morning didn´t seem like the best timing on the whole giant parrot thing. ButI made the best by dragging my sunburned body out of bed and into the garden outside my room where I held this Macaw´s very own morning photo shoot. I learned there were two of them. Of course there were.
Move on to breakfast. Breakfast is always a nice event at the Hotel Atitlan. This hotel I´d been staying in since Wednesday morning is by far the nicest (read: most pretentious and overpriced, yet gorgous) on the Lake. The dining room overlooks the pool, which fades directly into the Lake. Not a bad view over eggs and coffee. Today´s breakfast consisted of what has become a normal mealtime routine - I read, I drink coffee, I stare at the lake and mountains while I practice my pathetic version of spanish with my waiter. Today, however, breakfast was slightly hurried, as I had PLANS. Yep, plans! Off to the market in Solola...
Markets, or Mercados are a huge and gloroius event in Guatemala, and each community has specified days for their community. Although I assume markets are similarily celebrated in many latin countries and elsewhere around our globe, today I only cared about the market in my corner of the globe: Solola, Guatemala. Taking place each and every Friday, the market at Solola is fabled to be the BEST and most authentic (meaning no touristas) in Guatemala. Solola is about 20 minutes up the mountain from Panajanchel. Oh Tuc Tuc - to Solola, por favor!
Oh wait, a Tuc Tuc... I must explain. To simplify, it´s a moped that has been cleverly turned into some kind of powered chariot complete with a backseat, hood and a few extra mirrors tossed in for good measure. They´re cheap and abundant. Why not. Sadly for these little vehicles of torture for all who ride, they don´t do very well on steep, curvey mountain passes. Hence, on my way to Solola, my trusty driver had to drop me off about a mile from the market, as his clutch finally gave way. I should have taken it as a sign from god himself...
After a long walk uphill, I spotted the Mercado in the distance. I didn´t know what to expect. I assumed it would be colorful, full of exotic produce, willowy flowers and wierd looking fish. What I didn´t expect was 1000´s, literally 1000´s, of Guatemalan people pressed into each other in what I can only describe as an orgy of dead chickens and freshly plucked plantians. Toss in a few blankets, beads, live chickens and fish I wouldn´t feed to a dying bear, and there you have it. Now, don´t get me wrong. It was glorious. In fact, I didn´t want to leave. The thing went on for - what seemed like - miles and miles. I´m sure it was more like blocks and blocks, but after the 76th dead chicken stand, I was spinning and feared I was going to fall into a bucket of lima beans or a tub of shrimp. (and trust me, there were a lot of both)
Perhaps that was the problem. I should have left. Not taken breaks to sit down in the park in between the market places to smile at children and photograph dogs. No, I should have up and went back to Pana. Pana, where my money and credit cards wouldn´t have been stolen.
Yes, that´s right. I am, right now, in Central America with no money. Go ahead, laugh or
be worried or tell me how estupida I am. It doesn´t matter becuase I´ve already beaten myself into a bloody pulp. Now I´m recovering. And it doesn´t hurt that I am doing so in the most amazing place I´ve ever stayed. But more on my new hotel later. Let´s get back to the drama, but only for a moment, as I am working on getting over this trauma as so I can enjoy the remainder of my week in motherfucking Guatemala. (Now, I don´t really mean that, as I really am falling in love with this place, but I feel a little anger is healthy, considering...)
So, it´s fairly straight forward -- I was in the most crowded market in the country and sandwiched between what seemed like the rudest and most physically ignorant group of people in the universe, and poof! Someone pick-pocketed me. I am pretty sure I can remember exactly when it happened, too. That´s the annoying part. Well, that´s the second most annoying part next to the fact that I put over $200US dollars and my credit cards in my fucking pocket, but again, I digress. I suppose this is a good time to explain why I had so much cash on my person and why why they didn´t take the 20 bucks worth of Quetzals (Guat currency) in my other pocket. Simple, I wasn´t about to leave all that cash in a hotel room and everyone warned me that "they´ll cut the straps to your bag so don ´t keep anything valuable in there." I put my US currency in one pocket with my Credit cards and the Guat money in my other pocket with my switchblade. (yes, I have a knife. Call it what you will, I´m a single chick traveling around Central America...) So, either the knife seemed too scary for a robber or it made me look too cool to steal from . Not that it matters anymore... It´s probably important to mention that I actually planned my outfit on purpose just to avoid this from happening. That´s the mindfuck of it. Cargo pants are officially on my shit list.
Sparing you all the details of the moments that immediately followed my realization of this, you could imagine my hightailing it to the nearest Tuc Tuc and winding my way back to Hotel Atitlan to call my bank and crumple up into a ball of emotional unravel. Acutally, the emotional unraveling never took place. Either I´m a lot stronger than I think, or I´m D-O-N-E. I´m going with the strong theory. You can wage your own bets. Either way, good friends are wiring me money and with any luck I´ll be rich again in the morning.
I think I´ll say buenas noches now and save part II of today´s tale for tomorrow. I will, however, mention that the hotel I am staying in for the next 4 nights may very well be the most absurdly fantasitc place I´ve ever been.
Until manaña.
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