The really boring and awkward second part of the trilogy when nothing much happens

Wee wa wowza, it`s already been a month-plus since I last updated you of my goings-on, but that is a result of my pure lazyness. The truth is, I keep waiting for a time when I`m really in the mood to write, and I want to write a lot, and keep it interesting as well, and the moment when i feel that way seldom happens. Anyway, here is the Two Towers of my amazing trilogy, completely free of admission charges and bathroom breaks.

Factlets:

Guatemala (country and capital)
Pollo Camperos (like KFC) seen in Guatemala City: 562
Exchange rate of Quetzal-dollar: about 7.5Q in 1$
Near-death experiences in Guatemala: 2
Fat hookers: 7
Buses taken: 3
Cost of Bus: 15Q (Mesilla -border, to Huehuetenango), 70Q (Huehuetenango-Guate City), 200Q (Guate City - San Salvador, El Salvador)
Taxis: 1
Cost of Taxi: 50Q
Cost of hotel in G. City: 50Q
Burger Kings eaten in: 1
Words misunderstood: 1,056 out of 3,457
Biggest confusion: Old ladies selling food on the bus. ``Pollo campero, campero campero campero!`` which means ``Country chicken!`` I heard it as ``Pollo con perro, con perro con perro con perro!`` which means ``Chicken with dog!``
Intriguing name for a short story: The Dirtiest Bathroom in Guatemala
Diseases contracted from above title: 12
Location: Huehuetenango (go ahead, say it.)
Bus friends: 1 (a school teacher in a small town)
Ranking of Guatemala on the UN`s Human Index Scale: 118 (second lowest in North America)

.....

A quick look back at San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas:

-This material won´t be on the test, but here´s a look back at part 1, my time in Chiapas.

HINT: Slideshow starts automatically, but click the photo to see a title and caption. You can advance and review faster by using your arrow keys.

Enjoy.

Other charecteristics of Guatemala:
-Advertising. It seemed like every building, especially in the countryside, was painted blue with the ``Tigo`` logo, which is a huge phone company in Guate. Also popular was Pepsi, which pretty much owns the country. Odd, because Coke is Latin America`s fav.



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-People on the side of the road. While going from Huehuetenango, every few minutes you`d see people camped out on the side of the road, some waving, some selling Christmas decorations (wicker reindeer seemed to be popular), some running up to the bus for money, some just hanging out, maybe even living there, sitting under plastic tarps or huts made of scrap metal and wood. Extreme poverty is evident there, and it really is uncomforting to see.





-People. Mayan culture is more prominent here, as evidenced by the skin color and dress. Especially on the bus from La Mesilla to Huehuetenango, I noticed how important their culture is. The people are more reserved although very polite. The bus became more and more packed, and there were times when I thought we`d drive off the edge of the mountain. The curves and climbs and falls were treachourous, and sometimes the bus went too fast for my comfort, but these two hours, scrunched amongst some 50 people, smelling and seeing and hearing them on an intimate level, was one of the highlights of my journey. If you ever want to know the people of an area, just take a long bus ride and you`ll not only know the landscape (something nearly impossible to attain on a plane), you`ll also live like the locals, and that is something you`ll never forget.
-Buses. Almost every bus I saw was decked out in flashy colors and designs, nearly all of them old American school buses. You have a driver and a `co-pilot`who helps with the baggage and gives people their tickets. When you have a lot of people who need to ride the bus and little room on the highway, you have a more rapid boarding-deboarding procedure. At each stop the copilot would jump out, throw the luggage on top of the bus, and collect the money. Meanwhile, the driver really never stopped, and when the last person climbed in the bus was already driving, the copilot behind and climbing in through the back door. At least once he was left behind, and you heard people yelling at the driver to stop.

10 Best.....

7. Weather.
This one is pretty obvious, but not just for the warm weather. Believe it or not, the temperatures I experienced were between 35 F (Volcan Poas in Costa Rica) to upwards of 100 F in Nicaragua. It was nice to experience that freezing temperature, but an hour was enough (as you will find out in Part 3).





6. Beaches.
Ocean sunsets. Warm water. Clean sand. Good sun. Topless girls. Ok, I didn´t run into any of those, unfortunately, but I went to quite a few beaches, the best being Tamarindo in Costa Rica. I also went to La Flor in San Juan, Nicaragua with my family, and we had a great time, but we spotted a mantaray so our time ended quickly. I guess remote possibility of getting stung is still prominent in our minds, especially mine, as I am an ocean ´´newbie.´´ But I got plenty of beaches, maybe enough for a year. I got plenty of tanning, good views, spectacular waves (one that nearly killed me, as I did a somersalt and my head dug into the sand, the wave pushing on me at an uncomfortable angle) and mouthfuls of salt water. Need more explaining when my Minnesota is experiencing blizzards?





5. Food.
Central America has an amazing variety of food, but nearly everyone eats Gallo Pinto, which is a simple rice-and-beans dish. I ate it almost every day, in all three countries I visited, along with tostones, which are fried banana medallions with a chunk of fresh fried cheese. Bananas, since they are cheap and profound, are prepared in many ways, such as fried into chips, fried into slices, topped with chili sauce and lime juice and salt. In Costa Rica casados are common, which means marriage, and consists of a meat (chicken or pork usually), rice, beans, bananas, salad and tostones. Very filling. Central American food, however, still doesn´t compare to Mexican, and it´s not as spicy.





10 Worst....

10. Borders.
Besides having to pay little fees that add up quickly, these crossings are a hassle. Not nearly as bad, I imagine, as the US -Mexico border, but you have to fill out paperwork and show your passport, even if you are just passing through. In total I passed no less than 10 borders, and that was time better spent eating gallo pinto on the beach.

9. Other tourists.
Call me hypocritical but I don´t really like seeing lots of gringos in one place outside my own country. I saw few ´´Ugly Americans´´ (not only the physical aspect) but whenever I saw the calm, tranquil ones, even then I was slightly annoyed. I´m not sure why. Maybe I take traveling and learning LatinAmerican culture more seriously. Maybe I wanted Central America all for my self. Or maybe I´m intolerant and hypocritical. But maybe it´s just that, seeing one idiot American tourist, just one, can give you a bad image for a while, and bring about a self loathe of your own culture. The most irritating image I can recall is not a gringo but an Australian running after a group of indigenous people trying to take their photo. I think being a tourist, outside of your own fishbowl, is liable for intolerance, insensitivity and most importantly ignorance, whether or not intentional. I think this happens with everybody, not just Gringos, and trying to fit into another country can be like trying to mix a room of dogs and cats. It just doesn`t work sometimes, and often times it`s difficult. I am guilty of this often, but I`ve become more hesitant to criticize something of which I`m not familiar.




8. Not getting to see more family.
I had a blast with my family. It was the first time I had met them and we found we got along very well and were obviously blood related. But I stayed with the same people three weeks, the same group of about 15, and only once did I visit other relatives, and that was only for a few minutes. I have quite abit more family in Nicaragua, and I wish I would´ve me them. But, I do feel very close to those Paniaguas I stayed with and when -- when and not if -- I come back, I will surely meet the rest.

*****

19 december 06

I woke up around 4 a.m., still exhausted but feeling slightly better after the sickness I had while in Chiapas. I took a taxi to the bus station and the lights were off. I was starting to worry because I wanted to get to Guatemala City before dark and it was a long journey. Luckily someone at the bus station told me to cross the street where there were colectivos (large vans functioning as mini buses) that went to Comitan, a city halfway between San Cristobal and the Guatemalan border. I could`ve taken a bus to Tapachula, where I would be guaranteed first class all the way to Guate City, but it would`ve been an extra five hours just to the border. So I climbed in the colectivo, paid the 25 pesos, and we waited about a half hour until it was full - I mean, crammed. I was pretty sleepy, but feeling refreshed, and we got to Comitan where I literally got out for about a minute to switch vans and threw my suitcase on top. This made me paranoid for the next hour to the border, but nothing happened to it. Remembering what happened last time, when I forgot to get the exit stamp upon leaving Mexico for my dad`s funeral, I checked my passport at the border station and the guy was a dick. I think that`s part of the job description, for people with a high level of authority, to be assholes. I bought two muffins and a liter of water, everyone staring at me as I lugged my giant suitcase through the cramped convenience store. I got on another colectivo that carried me across the border, and I noticed right before it there was a giant junkyard. Upon arriving to Guatemala I noticed it was much poorer and dirtier than Mexico. But that`s a common characteristic of border towns, I`ve noticed, so it didn`t surprise me much later. I got my passport stamped, which took only a minute and gave me up to 90 days in Guatemala. I used less than one percent of that. Changed some pesos for Quetzales, but very hesitant at first because I didn`t know if the trader was giving me a good exchange. So I only did 100 pesos, and a few minutes later found another trader, who gave me a slightly better rate, and exchanged 150 pesos. The whole border town -- La Mesilla -- seemed chaotic and full of pirated goods: movies, cds, clothing, suitcases, you name it. It seems anything can be pirated nowadays, even iPods. Don`t ask me how they do it, but it looks amazingly real.

I got on the bus to go to Huehuetenango (see above) and upon getting there took a brief break. As I was walking to use a bathroom, I looked at what a street vendor was cooking and it looked hideous, a rancid smelling meat in a questionable sauce. The bathroom was the dirtiest I had ever seen, and I can just let you imagine it yourself because even I get upset thinking about it, especially since it was so close to the aformentioned food vendor. Anyway. Got on the bus, a bit classier than the previous, but the seats must have been designed for people shorter than me, as the whole journey I felt cramped and pressure from the riders in front. Full of mountains and intimidating curves, we were lucky not to crash, especially since there was so much traffic and frequent stops and road construction. Guatemala, however, was beautiful. Where you don´t see small pueblos or buildings painted in ´´TiGo´´ (cell company) or Pepsi decor, which happens to be almost every building, including houses, the countryside is amazing. When I thought of Guatemala before I went I thought thick tropical rainforests. And the country has those, but it felt more Oregon to me. I´ve never been there but have seen the pictures. Since the bus wasn´t direct it made stops every few minutes along small towns, even some on the highway. My seatmates changed so often that I decided not to make an effort to talk to them because I knew we´d become too attached and we wouldn´t want to leave each other. Just kidding. But I did meet one guy, a schoolteacher from a small town. He was very nice and I don´t remember what he was doing, but he was with his wife and kid. Very nice people. Almost every Guatemalan I met was pleasant.

I got to Guatemala City about seven hours after leaving Huehuetenango after some congested traffic near the capital. It was already dark and a bit cold, and I had no idea where to get off. Ideally I wanted to be as close to the TicaBus station as possible, so I made a guesstimate and got off when a handful of riders deboarded. Big mistake. When the bus started pulling away, and my suitcase was still in the undercargo, I ran back on the bus, nearly missing it. Had I lost the bus...well....I´m just glad I can run. The bus continued onward, and fewer and fewer people remained. I checked my Lonely Planet guide and it looked as if the bus I was on, according to the book, was headed toward Zona 1, the market place and old downtown. Finally it came to a halt and the driver told me it was the last stop. I got off (at an empty Texaco station, a few taxis hanging around and few people) and told him I needed my luggage. He opened the first bin. Wasn´t there. Second. Nope. Third. Still not. I start getting nervous, and I begin thinking of all the times the bus stopped in those seven hours, how many people got off and opened the luggage compartments. A big, red London Fog suitcase stands out, especially a nice one like mine. He opened the fourth - and last - compartment. Thank god, it´s there. ´´Espera, espera,´´ he tells me. ´´Tuviste maleta. Entonces, me debes 20 quetzales.´´ I paid him the 20 quetzales and realized how little I had remaining. At Guatemala´s border I had exchanged pesos for about 165 quetzales, or about $25. Since then I had bought food (delicious tamales, coke, Doritos, two sandwiches, cookies, sweet bread) both on the bus and off as well as paid for bus tickets. ´´Not matter,´´ I thought, intending to find an ATM and getting a hotel. My Lonely Planet book has a map and a description of recommended hotels in the area, so I decided to find one that looked semi decent. Pulling my gigantic suitcase, the wheels chugging along on the rough Guatemalan city sidewalks and the heavy backpack slung on one shoulder, the Travel guide in one hand, I looked like the perfect, confused, robbable tourist. I followed the map, stopping to check every so often. By this time it was dark, but after only a few minutes I arrived to the main street in the Zona. It was packed with people, restaurants, shops, and pirated everything. Clothes, CDs, DVDs, toys, electronics -- every thing imaginable. It was surprising to see this many people at about 7 pm. on a Tuesday night. But I continued onward, looking for an ATM, slipping through the crowds, trying not to know anyone over with my suitcase. I asked several people for the nearest one. All told me different directions. But I get walking, until I got to a curve. There were less people, and it seemed logical to turn left, as the main road followed that way. I started getting a bit nervous, but a few blocks down saw some other living beings. Some more curves and turns, stoplights and stop signs and I got the main market. Even more packed than before, but I began seeing hotels, and thought, ´´forget Lonely Planet´s hotels, I´m sick of walking.´´ The first one I saw was gated, so I rang the doorbell. A young kid came to the gate, looking reluctant, and I asked him if there was vacancy and the cost. ´´70 quetzales´´ he told me. I had 40. So I continued to the next hotel, only a block away, and started seeing the hookers. Ugly and fat, and with hardly any clothes on, they leaned on buildings and watched the buses, the people passing by. And then I realized these hotels were for the hookers, as evident by the ´´GARAGE´´ signs (in and out), the gates, the weary-looking attendents. I hurried along, and after about 4 hotels realized I would HAVE to find an ATM before finding even the cheapest. 40 quetzales wouldn´t cut it. I got to a T intersection, and turned left. This part of the Zona was quiet, and strange. But after the T I saw another major road of the city, and a few tall buildings. Then, my godsend. A Burger King! My stomach was digesting itself, and my Visa card was already burning my leg. I ran in, a kid in a candy store on his birthday, and asked if they accepted plastic. Thank god they did. I ordered a rodeo burger and a fries and Pepsi (funny since BK almost always carries Coke) and realized how different the Guatemalan accent was from the Mexican. The guy cut his words, and mixed the sounds, and had a more intonated accent. I´m lucky to be studying in Mexico, as it is said to have one of the easiest accents to understand. But unfortuante in the sense that I´m ´´spoiled´´ by the lack of difficulty. I chowed down the food, delicious, while reading Guatemala´s national paper. It had nice designing, but seemed shallow in news coverage. Upon leaving I asked the clerk where the nearest ATM was. ´´Very close, just up the block´´ he told me. His tone deepened a little more and he became serious. ´´But be careful. A lot of crime happens here. If it´s too quiet, run.´´ I checked my Lonely Planet guide once more to know what he was talking about. Sure enough, it was there:

´´The area around 18a Calle in Zona 1 has many bus stations and even more lowlifes and hustlers. Nearly half of Zona 1´s robberies happen here, the worst black spots being the intersections with the 4a, 6a and 9a Avs. This part of town (also a redlight district) is notoriously dangerous at night;if you are arriving by bus at night or must go someplace on 18a Calle at night, take a taxi...All buses are the turf of adroit pickpockets. Some armed robberies happen on buses too, although mainly in outlying zones.....later in the section....Keep the street noise in mind as you look for a room.´´

I left the Burger King, letting the security guard open the door. I looked down the street and it was lit, but not well. Cars passed, but few. I walked hesitantly and as confidently as I could. I got to the first intersection and looked around. The buildings were closed and I saw a man up ahead. I crossed the street, and could see a few lit establishments a few blocks away. That´s when I started to run. My heart was beating faster than it ever had. Once my suitcase bumped off its wheels and I picked it up while readjusting my backpack. The Burger King guy had told me it was two blocks, but the nearest lit place was at least four. So I kept walking, faster, but not running. I saw a few people lingering around but there was hardly any noise. My head became like that of an owl´s, turning in every direction to make sure I didn´t have any followers. I couldn´t recall a time in my life when I was more scared. Not only was I alone and in a foreign city, I had a heavy load and had no place to stay. But finally, some five minutes after leaving BK, I found the ATM in a large electronics store. It wouldn´t read my card. So I crossed the street, to a gas station, and some shady looking kids my age were hanging outside of the store. They opened the door for me, but I said nothing. I withdrew about 75 dollars worth, bought a bottle of water and some chocolate, and upon leaving they opened the door again. They asked me something, but I didn´t understand. Repeated, still not. So I started speed walking again and they cursed at me. I didn´t care though, as I finally had money and had found a hotel right next to the electronics store. I got there, and there was only one vacancy, though no bathroom. Fewer things are more relieving than taking off a backpack and ceasing to haul a 30 lb. suitcase for an hour around Guatemala City, but i was still paranoid and weary, as the clerk told me to wait in the lobby while he cleaned my room. A few minutes later he brought me a towel, a bar of soap, shampoo (which resembled little packets of lubricant) and, oddly, a Tshirt with the hotel´s information imprinted. I showered in the second foreign country of my life and watched some Mr. Bean episodes. So relieving to see some simple, near-mute comedy after a long day of stressful traveling.


20 december 06

I woke up early, around 7 am, and walked to the gas station to buy a phone card. Then I found a few payphones -- in Latin America they´re everywhere -- but none of them worked. Maybe I didn´t work. But I kept trying to call the bus station to find out when the bus to El Salvador left. So, deciding to go by the schedule given in the travel guide, I began walking back to the hotel to pack up. But, miraculously, on the way back, I saw a bus station -- albeit not the one I was planning for -- and inquired when the next one left. At 2 p.m., but the station for E.S. was across town. With a revived energy I walked back and looked for a farmacy to buy some anti diarrhea pills (it was still persisent, after nearly a week when it began in Veracruz, Mexico). Then I looked for somewhere to eat. I found a small restaurant by my hotel, where I ordered a ´´complete´´ breakfast for 6 quetzales -- not even a dollar! But you get what you pay for. And I paid for watered-down coffee, cold tortillas, lumpy, flavorless eggs and odd tasting beans. Plus, I saw a guy come in, a freshly killed chicken in hand, give it to the cook, and then saw her give him some change, then continue making food. That´s when I left, losing my apetite. By then it was about 930 and back at the hotel I watched some CNN. The Bush was giving a speech, on something of which I forgot, and I cringed throughout the whole time, uncomforted by his mangling of the English language and lack of logic.

At noon I flagged down a taxi and paid 50 quetzales, uncomfortably, the most I´ve paid south of Texas. But no matter. The taxista was nice, and i realized that there was no other option to get to the station (King Quality) other than taxi. I bought the 5-hour ride, 200 quetzal bus ticket to El Salvador, which left at 2 p.m. The area of the bus station was the nicest I had seen yet in Guatemala, even nicer than a lot of areas in the US. I walked, looking for a place to check my email, and found a minimall. I sat down, and just as I was logging on to my account the power went out. A few minutes later it was back on, but at the same point in checking my mails it went out again. By this time another gringo was getting angry, so he started cursing and left. I waited about 15 minutes and decided my patience was up too. I walked onward, out of the mall, but saw a ´´Pollo Campero´´ (the Guatemalan equivalent of KFC, only better) and ordered a chicken nuggets, fries and Pepsi (still no Coke). Even in this ritzy, affluent part of the capital, the people still were dark skinned, still indigenously influenced, giving light that Guatemala was less westernized (that I would later find out) than Costa Rica or Mexico. At the time of leaving my stomach was starting to twist and turn, and I started getting hot, even though the temperature was comfortable. I began walking back to the mall, in hopes that the internet would re open, and passing the houses I saw that most of them, all upper class, were behind high walls topped with large rolls of barbed wire. Luckily, the internet was opened and I checked my email, letting my uncle know I´d be in Nicaragua in two days. After using the net I walked to a supermarket and made the wise investment of baby wipes. Laugh all you want, but when you´re in LatinAmerica and flushing toilet paper is socially rejected, baby wipes make all the difference of comfort. They were put to good use several minutes later, at arrival to the bus station, and 15 to 2 I finally boarded. The people were all better off than those I had ridden with the day before, on the second class buses. But this time I was riding first class, the patience drained from me from the day before.

The trip from Guatemala City to San Salvador was far less exciting. It was cold from the AC and I had some bad gas, and crappy American movies were played. I did have some Guatemalan newspapers and a delicious cherry/chocolate candy bar, and that kept me busy about 2 minutes, but for the other 4 hours and 58 minutes I sat bored and anxious.

We arrived to El Salvador´s capital at dark and I instantly realized how much better off it was than Guate. A bit more developed and more European, hotter and more crowded than the previous country, I felt a bit of relief as it felt a little more familiar. The bus dropped me off in the downtown, though far less dangerous than in Guate, and I found a hotel quickly an painlessly, though I had to find an ATM again since El Salvador uses American dollars. ´´Leave your suitcase here, buddy,´´ the clerk said to me when I realized I had to find the ATM, ´´Have confidence, it´s ok, I´ll watch them.´´ I left it hesitantly, and walking to the ATM I passed under I tree. I had this strange feeling that kids were sitting up there and throwing things, like nuts or rocks, so I hurried on, withdrew some money and got a licuado, or shake, of pineapple. Going back I avoided the tree, but went through a small dark alleway, San Salvador´s version of Zona 1, but only a fraction of the size. Back at the hotel the manager showed me the room, which was much better than Guate´s, and included a bathroom, TV and cable. Oh, a fan, which helped quite a bit. I set four alarms - my iPod, the TV, my cell and my watch. And, not surprisingly, I woke up on time, at about 3 am, got to the bus station, bought the ticket to Nicaragua, and, made it on the doubledecker, first class bus. The ride, like the one before, was even more boring, and it lasted 12 hours, but the movies weren´t quite as shitty. I got to Nicaragua around 5 p.m. and met a family I had never known before. (to be continued....obviously)