Today I got up early and went off to the San Francisco El Alto market with Carlos the English speaking guide. The San Francisco El Alto market is the biggest Sunday market in Guatemala, and is particularly known for its stock sales–it’s the biggest animal market in Central America.

(Hallelujah!! I have finally found the apostrophe key on the Spanish keyboard! I’ve been looking for it for a week now.)

The market is a tumble of stalls spreading out from the central square through much of the city–long before you reach the market itself, the streets are packed with individual stalls and vendors sitting with their wares spread out on a blanket around them. The market itself is held in the central square, with one big section for cattle sales, and a sea of tented canopies sheltering stalls selling anything from dried fish to luggage to fancy huipils (blouses). In the main square, there’s a giant mound of old clothes, which Carlos explained were secondhand clothes from the U.S., very cheap.

(Where do those secondhand clothes come from? The Salvation Army, mostly, and Goodwill etc. Most of the clothes donated to charities aren´t good enough to sell in American stores, so they cherry-pick the best and sell the rest for about 30 cents a pound to distributors, who ship them down to Central America, South America, or Africa. A little piece of America, right here in Guatemala.)

The market overall wasn’t very interesting (it’s really more for locals than foreigners), but it did have some nice handicrafts. And the animal sales–cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys all herded together in a giant gaggle. I asked how much a cow cost, and Carlos said 600 quetzales for a young one, up to 1000 for a full-grown beast. He and his wife had sold a heifer there just last week. (They have a cow, which produces one calf a year, and turkeys, which they breed and sell at the market.)

After the San Francisco market, we moved on to the glassworks at Cantel. Here they recycle old bottles into beautiful cups, lamps, ornaments, perfume flasks, etc. We walked through the shop at the front, and then were invited into the workshop in back. It was amazing–giant piles of broken glass, sorted roughly by color, and then, through a blast of heat, the glassworks.

Three giant kilns, made of old brick, lined the back half of the room, and a bustle of Mayan craftsmen hurried across the floor, wielding long steel poles tipped with blobs of fiery orange glass. First a tiny lump on the pipe, rolled expertly on a steel forming board, then the pole raised nearly vertical, like a bugler sounding a salute, and a very little breath creating a tiny balloon. Then another rolling, to create a small round cylinder, and back to the kiln. He blew out the glass more, ballooning outward, then quickly dipped it into a mold lined with wet newspaper to create a bottle or flask form. As soon as the glass thickened, the craftsman would yank out the bottle, throw it across an old steel drum, and shape the neck deftly with calipers or a flat metal beater. It was fascinating to watch–they worked so quickly, and so deftly, that I couldn’t get many photos. As soon as I picked up the camera, they were on to another step.

(It was nice being able to wander around on the work floor–in the U.S., of course, you’d never be able to get near the workers for insurance reasons, but here if you get injured, it’s your problem, so you can wander around as you please.)

After the Cantel glassworks, we went on to Zunil, where I had high hopes from the guidebook’s description of a textiles cooperative. The co-op itself was disappointing (low-quality goods, designed for tourist sales), but we went to see the shrine of San Simon, the “bad” saint.

San Simon is (per the guidebook) a mix of several Mayan deities blended with Catholicism, but my guide explained that San Simon had been a man who was very popular with the ladies, because he gave them medicines for all kinds of ailments. Then he did something bad–raped a young girl–and was killed for it. This distressed the women, because he had done so many good things for them, so they created a statue of him and began to bring him offerings.

Whichever story is true, San Simon is certainly an interesting figure–a drinking, smoking saint. One goes to the shrine and makes offerings of cigars, cigarettes, or rum, pouring it over the figure, or putting a lighted cigarette in his mouth; or the more abstemiously-minded can offer candles or flowers, though cigarettes and rum are supposed to be better. The shrine was dark, smoky, and hot (from all the candles), with San Simon himself seated in the shrine. One man came up, placed a cigarette between San Simon´s lips, held his hand, and murmured for a long time–a prayer, perhaps?–for a long time before departing.

I took one photo (they were 10 quetzales each, and I didn´t think I needed more than one) and we were off again.

Finally, we wound up in Xela (Quetzaltenango) again, where Carlos took me by the market so I could buy a traditional Xela huipil (which has quetzals brocaded into the weaving, and flowers down the front seams. Then we were off to another textiles shop, which Carlos said might be what I was looking for.

And there it was!! The Holy Grail. Tramas Textiles, just three blocks from my own hotel. I had lived right next to it for five days without ever knowing it was there. I walked in, and what should greet me but a backstrap loom? I almost did a little happy dance on the spot. The woman there demonstrated the loom for me, and I took lots of photos. Then I spotted a hanging on the wall that still had most of the loom pieces in it, and I asked if it was for sale. Yes, it was, and only 300 quetzales! I handed it over on the spot, and now I have most of a backstrap loom. I felt pretty good about buying it, too, because Tramas is a nonprofit co-op that helps widowed or abandoned women to earn a living, by teaching them to weave and then selling their products. (I’m headed back there tomorrow to see if I can buy a whole loom.)

After all that, I was pretty bushed, so I went home to the hotel.

Tien

Totonicapan: the capital of Totonicapan province. Not a particularly impressive town, but then very few towns in Guatemala are–the biggest city is Guatemala City at 300,000, and the next down is Xela (Quetzaltenango), where I´m staying. Xela has 150,000 people, and doesn´t really “feel” like a city to me. The winding alleys are nubbly with cobblestones, the houses are adobe or cinderblock (with the odd, astonishing Greek temple), and ancient buses, grinding and squealing, belch black smoke into the smoggy air as they creak past the corners.

Totonicapan is just like Xela, only smaller.

Anyway, I almost didn´t make it to Totonicapan, primarily because of my own cleverness. I was so excited at being able to ask ¿Donde es la terminal des autobuses? (“Where is the bus station?”) that it didn´t occur to me to ask *which* bus station. Turns out there are three of them, and I wound up at the wrong one. Sorting all that out was very exciting and featured not one, not two, but THREE sentences in Spanish (all by myself!), but I finally made it there, about half an hour late.

(I am singularly proud of my new fluency. Admittedly, I get lost about three words into anyone´s reply, but I have now advanced to the approximate level of a Guatemalan two-year-old, which (coupled with enthusiastic and innovative sign language, pointing, etc.) enables me to do resoundingly independent things like calling a taxi, negotiating the price, and tell him where to go. Armed with that and a guidebook, my world has suddenly opened.)

Anyway, I arrived in Totonicapan at last, and what should meet me but an English-speaking guide?? I was ecstatic–I had expected a few words at most, but Carlos (the guide) spoke excellent English–he´d lived in the U.S. for nine years. Not only that, he knew all the spinning and weaving terms. O joy, o joy, o joy!

So we set off on our tour of artisan places. The first place we called was closed, but at the second, a weaver showed me his loom (a standard four-harness, four-treadle number) and how he created his patterns. It´s funny, because we think of looms as fine furniture, but they really aren´t–this one had its beams hammered crudely together, there was dust all over, harnesses dangling from old bits of nylon rope. But it worked just fine, and I took a bunch of photos.

Then Carlos took me to his village, which is a traditional Mayan village. We walked past new fields of corn, beans, and squash, planted in the Mayan way–the beans growing up the corn, and the squash tendrils running underneath–and past several concrete and adobe houses. Then, as we were passing another small cinderblock structure, the coughing roar of a generator intrigued me, and I stuck my nose in for a look. An old Mayan man and a young girl were pouring soft, wet, and enormously swollen kernels of white corn into a hopper, while lumps of soft, pasty stuff dropped out the bottom. As I watched, the girl dusted her hands, then plunged them into the doughy mass, kneading it–and then I realized, I was watching tortillas being made! The giant kernels of white corn were regular corn soaked in lime to soften it, and ground in the giant hopper; she would take the pasty mash home, and make tortillas or other stuff out of it.

(Okay, color me dumb. But I always figured you used cornmeal for tortillas, not ground corn–it was way cool to watch the process happening.)

Anyway, I took some photos of the machine–I was hoping to get a photo of the girl, too, but she skipped out of view. Guatemalan people can be sensitive about being photographed, and children are especially likely to say no, probably because of a widespread rumor that Americans kidnap Guatemalan children and cut them up as organ donors. (No, I´m not making this up. Honest.) Anyone photographing children runs the risk of being mistaken for a baby-snatcher, and in fact a Japanese tourist and his guide were lynched in Todos Santos a few years back, after panicked villagers decided he was sussing out the area for babynappers. Another woman had a very near brush a year or so ago–considering the widespread prevalence of the rumor, I´ve been actively avoiding pointing my camera at Guatemalan children. Which is a pity, because they´re so beautiful…especially the young women. But I´ll leave that to the photos…

Then my guide took me back to his house, an old adobe structure that had been standing for over 200 years. (He told me proudly that he was the fifth generation to grow up under that roof.) The roof was blackened and charred with the soot of many cooking fires, the mud crumbling away from the walls and exposing the bricks of sun-dried clay, the fireplace still in the center of the room, where it had once warmed the entire house. A battered old gas stove sat in one corner, but its real purpose wasn´t revealed until he opened the oven: a storage place for fruits, to keep them away from flies.

His wife was there, and showed me her ikat technique. (Ikat is a process whereby either the warp or weft threads are tie-dyed, creating a pattern in the final piece. It requires great skill, both to create and to weave.) She is a specialist–she ties the knots, then gives the yarn to a dyer, who in turn will give it to a weaver. (Yes, it really does take a village to create a fabric. LOL) She showed me some lovely pieces that mixed ikat with handspun brown cotton (!), woven on a backstrap loom (!), and I bought a used one for 350 quetzales, about $50. But I wasn´t floored until my guide offered me an old dishtowel to dry my hands–even the dishtowels are handwoven with beautiful, intricate patterns! I almost offered to buy the dishtowel–then I got my crazy-gringa instincts back under control. I mean, everyone knows Americans are weird, but buying up the dirty dishtowels??? But it was beautiful. I still kind of regret not buying it (or trying to).

Last on the list was a bunch of Guatemalan wooden masks, used in traditional dance…crudely carved of wood and painted in bright colors, they´re used to re-enact stories of the Conquistadores in traditional dances. I didn´t think much of them, until they turned up with a tiger mask. I owe the Traveling Tiger an apology–I told him there weren´t any tigers in Central America! They were selling the masks, and after some haggling I paid 275 quetzales for the tiger. (I am the traveling tigress, after all…must collect tiger memorabilia from every single country!)

Anyway, that was my morning…in the afternoon, I got to go shopping with my Spanish teacher, and that was a hoot. She and the other teacher blazed a path through the market, bargaining in rapid-fire Spanish with shopkeeper after shopkeeper, laughing and giggling, with two rather dazed American students scrambling behind them. It was fun watching the devastation, but I have to admit, I´m still a gringa at heart: I would have been happy to pay the extra ten quetzales and just buy it from the first vendor. Of course, that would have been cheating. LOL

My teacher also looked at my purchases from the morning, asked how much I´d paid, and blithely told me I´d been robbed–the blanket would have been 300 quetzales or less *new*, and only 100 quetzales used, so I´d paid triple the asking price, and the tiger mask was worth maybe 60 quetzales new, let alone used.

Hmm. I´ve even seen that particular tourist scam before…get a tourist out, have them meet the artisans, then sell them goods at inflated prices. Oh well…it wouldn´t be the first time I got cheated, and it certainly won´t be the last. I will think more about it next time, though.

Tomorrow is the San Francisco el Alto market, which is the biggest market in all of Guatemala. I´ve been warned that the pickpockets will steal everything that isn´t nailed down, so I´m leaving my backpack at the hotel (which would normally be a no-no) and going with just an old bag. Looking forward to seeing it…should be way cool!

Tien

P.S. I forgot to mention that I´ve come down with flu–pretty nasty, fever and chills and the lot–but am fortunately not all that congested, and it hasn´t affected my energy much. Still, trying to take it relatively easy the next few days…er, well, maybe.

Found my English-speaking guide today! and got half of the textiles tour I wanted. Going to San Francisco el Alto market tomorrow, it´s the biggest market in Guatemala. Sunday I go back out into the village to talk to more artisans (with a trilingual guide!).

Thrilled with everything, but I´m fighting off flu, and the Internet cafe is closing, so I think I´m going to go back to my hotel and fall over. More later!

Tien

Just a quick note to say that Spanish school is enormous fun and I would LOVE to come back for a full eight-week immersion course…I just finished my first five hours of class and I´m already at the point of being able to carry on a conversation, albeit a highly selective one, in Spanish. I hadn´t expected it to be this enjoyable–most language classes are pretty boring–but because it´s a one-on-one class, it´s more like an extended conversation than a lesson plan. She´ll teach me one or two things, then we´ll talk about some random topic in Spanish (starting with the grammatical example), and she teaches me the missing vocabulary words as I go. This is WAY fun.

The teacher is actually quite flabbergasted by how fast I´m picking it up–“Estas como una machina!”–and I´m quite pleased as well. It helps to have both French and Latin, of course–the verb conjugations and nouns are nearly identical, and the biggest problem I´m having is pronunciation–I keep reverting to French, English, or Latin pronunciations, which is muy mala. The crash course I did on the plane over has also been very helpful–even though I only got through the first two lessons.

Anyway, I feel like the world is opening up for me, and I´m a bit sorry to be bailing on Guatemala and heading off to Belize. I´ve been told that Panajachel and Lago de Atitlan (an hour or so away) are both quite touristy, and I should be able to get an English-speaking guide there. Dang. I wish I´d known.

Tomorrow I´m going to embark on the next adventure, trying to find the bus to Totonicapan, where I will meet the guy for the textiles tour. I think I´m going to spend the rest of the night brushing up on “Where is the bus terminal?” If I´m really, really, REALLY lucky…I might even understand the answer.

LOL

Tien

“¿Donde es la terminal de autobuses?”

One of the nice things about traveling solo is that you can take a day off whenever you feel like it. Sometimes you want a little down time to sit and reflect, or just laze about. If you´re running around on a tour, there isn´t much opportunity for that, but if you´re traveling on your own, you can do whatever you like.

So I have spent most of today quietly, either in the Internet cafe or just walking around town a bit, reading a book, thinking about some things my coach/career counseler said right before I left, and generally relaxing.

People have remarked that solo travel is a lot more effort than organized tours, and this is very true. There are a lot more challenges in solo travel, and you need ingenuity and adaptability to get around. You will probably also see “less” than you would on an organized tour (as in, fewer of the touristy high points)–there´s a lot less efficiency when you have to figure out bus routes, etc. yourself, especially since you can´t know for sure when and how the buses run until you actually get there.

But there´s also the opportunity to meet many people and experience the journey in a way that you never would on an organized tour, where you´re largely insulated from the culture except during certain prepackaged activities. Yes, you can see Angkor Wat in four days on a flying tour, or spend a week in Thailand being shuttled between Bangkok and Chiang Mai. But you wouldn´t get a chance to ride in a tuktuk, make friends with the guy selling freshly barbequed skewers of chicken, pork, and beef on the street corner, live with Tibetan cave yogis, or spend four days with an Akha weaver, learning her art. There´s a special joy in spontaneous travel that I feel is true for life, too–the more you venture off the established track, the more intense the experiences you´ll have.

Not all of them will be good, of course–there´s been a lot I haven´t liked about Guatemala–but there have been a lot of unexpectedly fun things as well. Like life, you can take it either as a series of adventures, or a comfortable tour–or switch between them. I think it´s nice to have a blend, but I get enough normalcy at home. When I travel, I want adventure.

And, speaking of adventure, I´ve just bought round-trip tickets from Guatemala City to Belize. I´ll be leaving Monday, May 2, and returning Friday, May 13, just in time to catch my flight back to the U.S. (And I´m not worrying about the date, either…I´m Wiccan, and 13 is a lucky number for Wiccans. 🙂 )

I´m thrilled to announce that I´ll be in Belize for the annual Cashew Festival, which sounds like fun. See http://www.belizeanjourneys.com/features/cashew/newsletter.html for details. Sort of like the Gilroy Garlic Festival, I imagine, but on a smaller scale. I hope to be on ground for it, though I might already be out diving. (Ooh, hurt me. 🙂 )

I´m definitely going diving in Belize (it is after all one of the best diving sites in the world), and going to some of their abundant wildlife preserves. There are also some Mayan villages in rural Belize, and one or two small Mayan ruins, so who knows–I might get my Mayan experience after all. 🙂

Off to language school,

Tien