South of Border – Beyond Mexico Way

August was a hot month in Vancouver. Too hot for my liking, but thankfully I had to rendezvous with Claudia in the cool tropical jungles of Guatemala as she returned from ‘work’ in Costa Rica. Yes, I typed that correct – cool tropical jungles. Praise be to altitude. The most densely populated country in Latin America, Guatemala has had a once great past and a troublesome present. Although the gangs and violence may not be as bad as neighbor Honduras or the lack of civil war makes it no El Salvador – Guatemala is a mestizo of its Central American neighbors – Mexico included.

Light of Antiquity

Antiqua is not just an island for money launders; it is also a high altitude tourist city in the highlands of Guatemala. A former capital that baths itself in beautiful sunlight, the shade of volcanoes, conquistador-era ruins, indigenous myth and the modern one of prosperity – measured here in an abundance of German cars, wine bars, decent scotch, art and selvage denim. We stayed at a the Monastery Di Santo Domingo, which has evolved into a 5 star hotel that serves traditional Mayan food (primarily corn, chocolate, and spices), gorgeous coffee (best to just drink it black) and thankfully warns against sex tourism – partially a politically correct PR campaign in English, and sadly a reality in this lesser world too.

West Indies

As the rolling stone gathers no moss, we decided to make our way to Lake Antillean. After a microbus through some mountains, valleys, and indigenous villages; we taxied our way on boat across a lake to the villages for gringos looking to learn Spanish, smoke bad weed, and have an alternative India experience with saddle wood, rickshaws, curry, incense, body order, hippy travellers, and cheap cafes that serve food people rave about, but most of it is not worth eating twice. We lasted about 48 hours – sadly my greying hair may parallel the hardening of my heart and/or I no longer find the atmospheric stench of hostels, hippies, and venereal diseases that charming.

Box of Crayons

Chichicastonago .The name is a mouthful, and this town is an eyeful. The textile hub of Central America is a giant bazaar of middle-eastern proportions – which may have to do with the Syrian Orthodox who settled this area. 17 different languages are spoken in the region and vary widely between the valleys. Tourists are targets for pickpockets and armed robbers – to balance this out, the hotels all have heavily armed security. As you walk down the hill from the arms race, there is a giant cemetery that resembled a playground colored with Crayola. So much like a playground this necropolis is, it even has kids playing and teenagers making out. ‘Le petit mort’.

Chicken Bus

Pimp my ride or public transport. All over Latin America, private bus companies have existed and in Guatemala – they still do. The drivers purchase old school buses, rebuild the chassis and suspension out of probable tank parts, and paint away to their imaginations content. They then drive town-to-town with Cirque du Soleil caliber assistants juggling passengers, luggage, and cash from the bus, it’s roof, and stop-to-stop.

Night of the Living Dead

Xela is a commercial town with a little of everything. High on the Altiplano, Xela is an agricultural trading hub and due to its proximity to Mexico, the most Mexican of Guatemalan cities. Chocolate making, old coffee shops, wild dogs, and faded Spanish colonialism paint the dusty town. Visiting a Mayan Textile Museum proved to be worth the visit in itself. The guide was a young indigenous woman who explained the techniques, products and myths that seem to involve jaguars, jade, and the jaded. However, the best stories were from an athletic little mountain guide and cobbler who led us up to a very active volcano. This fellow was a former champion boxer who fell from title when his crazy ex-girlfriend (are there any other kind?) cursed him to drunkenness. Apparently, she placed a voodoo doll in a bottle of liquor and buried the damned combination in a graveyard. His sporting career ended and alcoholism took hold for many years. One day, the bottle was unearthed and broken as the graveyard was exhumed and relocated. Thankfully the dead never rest.

His next story was not only mythic and allegorical, but reflects just how superstitious and often sad the culture and reality of Guatemala is. He pointed out a cave in the distance where local folklore claims that parents bring their children as sacrifice to a mountain god. They then return wealthy. The myth is a sad euphuism to the reality; people are poor, life is cheap, and people profit from pedophilia and slavery. Just another day in paradise.

Apocalypto

I suppose good things never last, including cool summer weather. We traveled by night bus (12 hours, 300KM) to the sea-level jungle island town of Flores and it’s famous neighbor, the ruins of Tikal. Flores is a charming little tourist town where you can find most holiday goods, except Havaianas! You can buy those Brazilian sandals everywhere in the world that is hot, humid, and resorty, but not here. Anyway, after searching and inquiring I came back to peace (at least one is allowed to drink beer in the street). Once then, we were able to enjoy ourselves with street food, boating, monsoon rains, and simple vacation non-meditational relaxation techniques.

Tikal was nothing short of amazing. A jungle national park containing some the biggest, best, and restored Mayan ruins. Unfortunately there was no eclipse or human sacrifice to observe this day, but there was a Déjà vu quality that one has been there before like as if this place was a location in a little movie called Star Wars Episode IV. It was also used in Apocalypto, but you already read my mild rant on not being able to purchase Havaianas.

That New Plane Smell

Time was running out and we had to return to Antigua to retrieve Claudia’s excess baggage from her summer in Costa Rica. We elected to fly and were a little worried when the plane was late to show, and then take off. However, when we landed to a shower of water cannons on the runway, we learned it was the turboprop Canadair’s virgin passenger flight.

Volver

Tracks like LeMans, Monza, Hockenheimring do not prove drivers – renting a car in the developing world proves drivers. We drove from Guatemala City to the pacific coast navigating good roads, bad roads, ferries, and several loco drivers. Highlights included a safari park were we could drive alongside Serengeti wildlife. Such creatures included the noble lion, a creature I have long admired as the male sleeps all day and lets the lioness do all of the work. We also saw the fabled gay giraffe; there were 3, two males and a female. The males kept close to each other, while the female watched at distance in confused jealous heat.

After the car safari, we drove and floated to the coast. Our intention was to stay at a resort town, but this was a town not worth remembering. Not only did they not have Havaianas, the hotel we intended to stay at served bad pizza. And, when our room became available, it was more of a bamboo and banana leave tiki yurt with insects, rats, snakes, and other guests. After fighting to get a portion of our $100 back – we hightailed it back to the cooler familiar pastures of Antigua. Our last day here was as pleasant as the first as we hiked and purchased souvenirs; coffee and Mayan chocolate to share with those back home. No apologizes if the chocolate was never really shared.

PS – Fountain of Youth

Travel for the sake of it is a privilege and the lottery of life really comes down to being thankful for where you are born, or end up. In the summer of 2014 much press was dedicated to the plight and travels of teenage children entering the USA via Mexico. Many of these immigrants were Guatemalan, escaping the plagues brought on by overpopulation, poverty, sex tourism, slavery and others limits of their once banana republic. The USA wanted to bolster border security and called for humanitarian aid partially as a containment strategy. The irony is these displaced migrants are partially the products of the colonialist strategy of the US government via the CIA propping up the United Food Company, known today as the equally sardonic, more familiar brand ‘Chiquita’, which means young girl. Irony always continues.