Wanna Golf?

It’s easy to lose track of time out here, as I hardly have any idea what day of the week it is. Usually I can gauge the day based off of when I give my 40 minute powerpoint evening program because that typically happens on Sunday nights—but not always. Having Monday, Tuesday and every other Wednesday as my weekends typically screws up that timing quite nicely. However, having these days as my days off usually means a stress-free weekend without traffic and crowds—which I can always appreciate.

Pebble Beach

This past weekend I was lucky to have my parents fly out to California for a visit. They didn’t make it up to the park because they’ve visited Yosemite the past two years and wanted a trip to the coast. I wasn’t too upset about this because I usually take any excuse I can get to spend a bit of time out of the Valley, and I’m know to never turn down a trip to the Monterey Bay. Being avid golfers, my rents love visiting the south end of the bay, as golf Meccas like Pebble Beach and Spyglass dot the rocky shores and provide for some pretty amazing views.

Growing up I despised golf probably because my parents were so into it. I didn’t really see a whole lot of fun in walking around for half the day whacking a ball into a little hole, and it was usually pretty torturous to go out in the hot sun and sweat all day long. For me the only upside to going golfing was I usually was allowed to drive the golf cart, and as a kid, there is no greater satisfaction then being able to reenact all those racing videogames I spent all my free time playing. I could appreciate their enthusiasm, but other than driving the cart, golf really wasn’t for me.

Now that I’ve grown a little older I’ve really learned to appreciate those weekends my dad would take me out on the course. Being out in the wilderness and spending a lot of time each day trying to share my love of wild landscapes to others, I’ve had to take a lot of time to reflect on why my love for places like Yosemite are so strong. Through this reflection I’ve come to realize that one of the biggest driving forces for my love of Nature really stems from those afternoons riding around the Mount Prospect Golf Course and really looking at the changing landscape around me.

Mt. Prospect Golf Course

A lot of environmentalists are quick to hate on the suburban landscape for its dependency on cars, cookie cutter materialism, and whatnot, but if you look to the Chicago ‘burbs as a model, the city and regional planners really have done an amazing job protecting large tracts of land and exposing people to the outdoors through the form of golf courses. In the golf courses that I’ve experienced, the maintenance crews seem to have been utilizing native plant species in the areas, as they are often a more cost effective approach to having seasonal flowers and solving things like land erosion. Even parts of the desert, where having nice green golf courses can put a lot of stress on the water table in the area, you are starting to see more and more courses utilizing the natural landscape of the area and finding new cost effective ways to make their courses unique. Even in Mount Prospect, the Park District reintroduced foxes on the golf course to help curtail the exploding geese population.

I find this to be great because the main lesson I teach out here in the park is that people need to love and take care of the landscapes in their hometowns, and realize there are amazing places in their backyards and trips to the National Parks aren’t the only way to connect with the landscape. The downfall of people getting their Nature fix at golf courses, however is that they can often associate all wild areas with golfing.

If you want to golf in Yosemite, the park has a decent course about an hour south of the Valley in the town of Wawona. I haven’t been on the course, so I can’t speak to its beauty or skill, but by playing there you can always say that you played golf in Yosemite.

So back to my weekends. My evening program got switched around this week so instead of having it on a Sunday night, I had it on a Saturday night. In my head I completely forgot that it was Saturday and when I should have known better and rode a bike or walked to the campground where it was being held, I decided to take my car (pretty much so I could get home quicker at the end of the night).

Big mistake.

Saturdays in Yosemite tend to get filled with crazy amounts of people and cars, and it doesn’t matter what Saturday it is, there is always a huge traffic jam in the valley. A trip that can normally take no more than seven minutes quickly turns into an hour and a half hair pulling nightmare on a Saturday evening. Having a large brain fart, I found myself stuck in traffic.

Being stuck in traffic doesn’t bother me as much as I know it bothers others, as I just turn on some tunes, sit back and give myself some primetime people watching—as visitors who have been in the traffic all day get flustered, illegally park their cars on the side of the road, get out and walk. Last night was no exception, except this past Saturday brought out some of the best people watching I’ve ever experienced.

As I was stuck between Sentinel Bridge and the ‘camping’ are of Housekeeping Camp, I noticed two men who were falling over each other in laughter. I didn’t think much of it, as it’s always nice to see people really enjoying themselves in the park. Then as I kept watching I noticed one of the men was swinging a golf club. The main thing that made me notice he had a golf club was the fact that his swing was so bad that the head of the driver would hit the dirt with such force that I thought the club would snap in half. I start thinking to myself, “Why would they be swinging a golf club if….no…they aren’t really…”

I mean kinda looks like a golf course.

As my car inched forward I saw they had a whole bucket of golf balls that they were teeing up and hitting into the Merced River. Not only is this awful because they are littering by hitting those balls in the river, but an entire campground and a beach full of people were just on the other side of the river from them and in the rare event that they actually hit a good ball, they were going to hit someone in the head.

So I got out of my car and approached them in full uniform. They turned to me and smiled and asked if I wanted to hit one. I was awestruck at the ineptitude of these grown men. Grown men who should have known better than to hit golf balls into a wild, scenic and protected river, grown men who should have known that you don’t hit golf balls anywhere other than a golf course. So I scolded them, and they asked me what they should do. Since I saw them just dink one over the edge of the river I told them that at the very least they should get out of this area after getting that last ball that they hit. Not realizing how deep the river was at that point, the guy jumps into the river, completely dousing himself in water, gets the ball and they go on their merry way.

Just another day in the Yosemite Valley.

Epilogue: Dos Meses

It's hard to believe I'm back home, shivering under a pile of blankets, and cursing the Chicago weather because I can't wear my Chaco sandals outside anymore. Gone are the early morning gallos, loud music, polluted air, lingering smells of street food and friendly faces of Guatemala--only to be replaced with the efficiency, fresh air, clean water, abundant amount of...well...everything... at Costco, friendly faces and the gas prices that are nearing $4 a gallon (which is a lot to Americans for those of you reading from Europe) that seem to characterize life in the United States. 

I spent two months in two countries that I previously had no interest in visiting what-so-ever. Being the brat that I am, I figured that I should take my precious time off from work and visit the exotic, Buddhist ways of Southeast Asia and not bother with the Machismo and Catholicism of Central America (I mean I can experience that out in California...Right?). Before leaving, I told just about everyone that I knew (minus the people I was traveling with), that I was not looking forward to visiting Central America, and I had a bit of cold feet about even leaving. After spending two months in Guatemala and Chiapas, Mexico, I can say that I not only resend my previous apprehensions, but I also cannot wait to get back to the region.

My two (very very brief) months were characterized by some of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever laid eyes on, exhilarating travels on as many different modes of transportation as possible, sometimes shady but always delicious food, and some of the most amazing encounters with people from all around the world--but especially from Central America. If you are thinking about taking a trip to Central America, I have this to say: GO!

While I can only speak for Guatemala and Chiapas, Mexico, my experiences in these two countries was unbelievably eye opening and something that I wish more people (especially Americans) would experience. I have found there to be many cultural differences and hurdles that one will come across while traveling in this region, but no matter what hardships you find yourself facing, I firmly believe the experience is worth it. For anyone looking to travel on the cheap in Guatemala/Chiapas, here are some recommendations and observations I have found. 


1) Don't read the United States State Department website before going. Per capita, Guatemala is the fourth most violent country in the world (behind El Salvador, Honduras, and Jamaica in intentional homicide rate). Being apart of the bottleneck that squeezes drug trafficking from South America up to the United States, Guatemala and Chiapas harbor drug lords and cartels that take advantage of police, military, and government officials who are all fairly easy to bribe. Violence exists throughout the country--especially in Guatemala City and people get killed all over the country everyday (actually disturbingly, A LOT of people get killed), but it's my impression that most of these people are killed for having some sort of relation to the drug wars that are happening.

The State Department site will freak you out and make you not want to step foot inside the country, and while there is violence, I saw none of it during my trip (other than in Prensa Libre). By trying to stay smart about how I handled myself, I wasn't robbed once in Central America (well other than my debit card number being seized while in Antigua, but no one took any money from the account). Maybe I was just lucky, but I found that following the advice of not being drunk, alone, carrying a lot of money while at night (or any combination of those factors) worked well in my favor during this trip. The country, people and their culture have so much to offer, I feel that you shouldn't miss out on what this country has to offer. Just be smart.


2) Don't limit yourself to activities or methods of transportation where only foreigners will be present. Just because you are rich (actually or relatively) doesn't mean that you are better than anyone else, and I think it's a hell of a time taking a ride on a Chicken Bus and eating street food. I've heard a lot of people on the road be weary of them because of the danger of them on the road and the possibility of getting robbed, but honestly, I felt more scared weaving in and out of traffic on a micro than I ever did on a Chicken bus. Whenever I was on a micro and we had to stop to get gas, the driver never turned off the engine while fueling up. I mean, that's safe...right?


Also, like I said, I never got robbed on a chicken bus. Just be safe about where you put your money and know that scammers are out there looking to take advantage of you. Try your best to prevent falling victim to some tactics. 


Besides who doesn't want a chicken pecking at their ankles for three hours?


Also, maybe like with not getting robbed, I managed to make it out of Central America without getting sick once (ok, there was like half a day but I think I was just hung over). I ate street food maybe 50% of the time that I was down there and turned out okay. This doesn't always happen with everyone, I know, but taking a week to get into the swing of things by NOT eating street food seemed to work very well in prepping my stomach. Or maybe it was the Deep Dish pizza (Lou Malnati's sausage, anyone?) and chicken wings that I devoured before leaving that helped line my stomach with an impermeable grease that did the trick...




3) Don't bring a miniature keyboard and think that you are going to make music on the road. You wont.


4) Don't assume that if you buy a coffee for 8Q and hand the cashier a 10Q bill that they will have change. They probably wont. In Guatemala and Chiapas, **almost** no one had change. You have no idea how unbelievably hilarious and frustrating this was. I once had to wait 20 minutes for a coffee shop to find some cambrio in Chiapas because they didn't have five pesos change to give to me. This problem happened everywhere.


5) Pressure cookers might be the greatest invention ever. Dried beans to fully cooked in 20 minutes? Life. Changing.


6) Apparently, Guatemalan and Mexican eggs don't need to be refrigerated... I mean hens don't come with Kenmore appliances, right?


7) Listomania:


Best Food: Breakfast lady in Xela. In the Southeast corner of the Parque Central there is usually a few people setting up shop and selling food at all hours of the day. The lady that is closest to the stairs heading down to the market in the morning has the most delicious beans/rice/omelet (or steak or chicken or chorizo) ever. The thing that makes this place the best, however, is her homemade picante. Holy Shit.


Best Experience: Acatenango and Campur (tie)


If you are thinking about climbing a volcano in Antigua and want to work your ass off to do it, climb Acatenango. I have done quite a few amazing hikes over the past few years but nothing has been as amazing as reaching the summit of that volcano and looking down over a sea of clouds and an erupting Vulcán Fuego. To read about this experience and see pictures, read my entry Type II Fun.


Also, my the experience of really seeing and getting the feeling for indigenous life (and experiencing the culture shock that went along with it) in Campur was unbelievable. This little village changed something in me and helped put my life and priorities on a more refined track. Fantastically eye-opening.


Best Hostel: Los Amigos, Flores


Packed with cheap booze, good food, and awesome people, this place was more than a blast. If you plan on visiting Tikal, bribe the security guard and sleep in the park overnight. If you can't do that, stay at Los Amigos.


Best Party: Xela

Something about the combination of places like King and Queen, Pool and Beer, La Rhumba, and La Parranda made Xela the best time for nightlife. Maybe it was due to the electrification of Jamil or maybe the town was actually awesome (probably a combo of both) but loud music, the occasional live show, salsa dancing, and cheap bottles of rum made living in this town one of the most fantastic experiences of the trip.






Again, my trip was beyond fantastic and I urge all of you to go and explore your country and the world. One of the most amazing things that I experienced while abroad is the abundant amount of opportunity that we all have to make both small and large differences in the lives of others and ourselves. Being a region where things do not come at an expensive price, Latin America is an unbelievable place to get your feet wet in the world of traveling, and as my first experience abroad as an adult, I can say it's a pretty great place to start your travels. Coming from the developed world provided me with so many opportunities in Latin America (some of which I jumped on, many others I didn't have the time for) that it is unbelievable that we (at least in the US) aren't that conscious of them and don't take advantage of them. 

Early on in my travels in Guatemala, I came across an article that talked about how only 30% of Americans have a passport and of trips that required a passport, 50% of them were to Canada or Mexico. Of the remaining trips, I wonder what is the percentage that is travel to Europe? How about the developing world?


Whether we like it or not, the United States has one of the most unbelievable impacts on the world. Wherever I went, the sounds of American music blasted from speakers and the symbols of American consumerism were abundant--even in villages of revolutionaries who were established in order to fight against these symbols. In Campur, an indigenous Mayan village, where paved roads were nonexistent and televisions, I'm sure very very very very very few and far between, my friend Hannah was called "Hannah Montana"--and not by choice. 

But while our cultural influences stretch far and wide, I can't help but think that we can benefit greatly from more travel to unconventional places. By getting out there we can not only help fix a heavily stereotyped image of the American populous abroad by acting curious and courteous abroad but we can also really see both our nation's and our own individual impacts throughout this world. The more I saw and learned about Guatemala, the more I realized how much of an impact we had on the causes and potential solutions to many of the country's problems. I think it would do our country good to see the impact of some of the things that we throw away, and to take the time to learn about how the democratic elections that we chose to support and not support in the past have had an impact on many present day struggles. 

I feel it's important for my country to learn as much about the world and realize that while we are an important aspect to the way this world runs in the 21st Century, we are not the center of things amazing, holy, and glorious on this planet. While we live in a great country and have many amazing goods and services available to us, I can't help but the idea of living within a global community trumps any sentiments for nationalism. It's important for us to realize the connections that exist throughout this globe and how we can make decisions that result in positive impacts on those connections. We should be using whatever resources we have available to us to help build up the world--not tear it down. We should be using these resources to help make sustainable, positive change throughout the globe and not wasting it away on bombs in the middle east, the lives of celebrities and status updates on Facebook (and trust me, I'm not angel when it comes to constructive time on the internet). There are a lot of amazing people working in a lot of amazing organizations that are working on trying to figure out the right thing to do, and many of these organizations are understaffed, underfunded, and unorganized. With an increase in travel, I truly believe that this country can develop an empathetic eye toward the plights of individuals both close and far from our homes and begin to take the right steps in finding solutions to many of our problems. 


This trip has done a lot to open my eyes to much of the world, and with the knowledge that I have gained, I have realized how little I actually know about the realities of the world. The things that I have shared on this blog are only sparks of ideas that I'm only beginning to work out and will hopefully spend the rest of my life figuring out and passing on to others, as others have done to me. If you're still reading, I thank you for putting up with my ideas and ramblings...

Before I wrap up this experience, I think it's best to take some time and give thanks to some people. I guess the short end of a very very long list goes like this: Adam, Harvey, Jamil, Kat (who was a champ at introducing us to Guatemala), and the rest of my amigos in Habitat. You guys are doing such amazing work and keep such an amazing attitude about it and life in general. Hannah, Sabhia, Jareau and the rest of the Peace Corps members thanks for taking me in, showing me many ropes and having lots of great convos about the pains and promises of what is still an amazing organization, despite the pains of bad apples and working within our own government structures and those of a different country. To all the travelers that were willing to share conversation in coffee shops, on buses and boats and over a beer or twelve in the many hostels and bars visited, thanks for renewing my wanderlust and the many tips and travel ideas. To the people of Guatemala and Mexico thanks for the hospitality and unrelenting generosity. I cannot tell you all how many times I found myself in a tough spot, unable to speak much Spanish, and having an individual help me out for no other reason that it being the right thing to do. Thanks.

Finally I would like to thank all of YOU for reading. Just a few stats about this blog. I had roughly 1,600 hits over the course of writing this from places as close as the US and Central America and places as far as India, Vietnam, Singapore, China, Russia, and all over Europe. Thank all of you for following along on my travels, as this blog was a fantastic outlet (and escape) for me throughout the adventure. 


I'm not entire sure about the future of this blog. I may update it this summer with some dispatches and photos from hikes around Yosemite National Park, and I will most likely update it when I embark on my next adventure abroad. 




Speaking of which... any suggestions?


-Brien

La Vida Campureña

I swear I haven’t turned back into a lazy blogger. The past week has had me running all over Guatemala in areas where gmail took roughly 5 minutes to load—let alone the ability to upload photos.

So after Tikal, I took a bus over to Rio Dulce and hopped on a beautiful boat ride up the river to the Carribean coast of Guatemala and the neat little rundown town of Livingston. With a healthy mix of Mayan and Garifuna (people descended from slaves) cultures, a great (fun) hostel, and good food, Livingston proved to be a worthwhile trip. While I only spent roughly 24 hours in the town (and entirely way too much money on booze), I had to keep moving and make my way toward the city of Cobán.

The 13 hour trip from Livingston to Puerto Barrios to Cobán was easily the most tedious of the trip, as it required a boat ride, a few too many chicken bus transfers, a military stop, and a micro ride into Cobán at night. I’m not the biggest fan of traveling at night for safety reasons, so during my ride into the city, I was probably on edge the most that I’ve been this entire trip. However, I made it to my hostel without a hitch and enjoyed a nice deep sleep before waking up early the next morning to visit two of my friends in their village roughly two hours outside the city.

Campur

Jareau and Hannah are two Peace Corps volunteers that we met way back during our first visit in Antigua. When the Guatemalan government decided to flex some muscle and hammer down on some drug lords who were finding a safe haven in Cobán, they instituted a military siege in the Guatemalan state of Alta Verapaz, and as a result the United States government pulled all the Peace Corps volunteers out of the area for safety—but mainly political—reasons. After talking at length with Jareau and Hannah about the good, bad and ugly of the Peace Corps, they extended an invitiation for me to go visit their site in Campur after the siege had ended and see what the day-to-day process is like. Having had an intital pause about visiting the area due to reasons involving my safety, they were able to convince me otherwise by claiming that life in their village is much different than anything that goes on in the cities. So I awoke early in the morning in Cobán and hopped on a little micro for roughly two hours out to Campur.

Riding on the bus I realized I was in for a completely new adventure and my time spent in this village would be unlike anything I had done at that point mainly due to the fact that everybody looked at me as if I was an alien from another planet, traveling to a place where gringos didn’t travel, and I couldn’t understand a single word that anyone was speaking—because hardly anyone knew how to speak Spanish.

One of the most surprising facts that I learned when I arrived in Guatemala was that nearly 50% of the population either spoke Spanish as a second language or didn’t speak Spanish at all. Due to the strong Mayan lineage in Guatemala most of the population in the country is raised speaking one of the many dialects that the original Mayan languages have branched into. In Alta Verapaz and many other areas throughout Guatemala, the main dialect that is spoken is Q’eqchi’.

My little van wove through the lush green mountains of Alta on unpaved roads that failed to have any guard rails until I reached my final destination: Campur. My first impression of the town was actually a bit of culture shock. While the brick and brightly colored buildings were what I was used to throughout my travels, the dirt roads (which were mud roads, as it was pouring out) weren’t really something that I was used to. It took only a few moments before I was covered with mud up to my ankles. Also giving that I arrived on a market day, there were hoards of people about and when I exited the micro, all eyes turned to me: the tall gringro with a beard. I definitely felt like an outsider. While I had fairly good directions to find Hannah and Jareau’s house, I still was lost in this new town, and for the first time I found myself having to ask shop keepers not only for directions, but if they knew how to speak Spanish, as I do not know a single word of Q’eqchi’. I eventually found their humble abode and after dropping my things on the couch, I was taken on tour of the town to see some of the schools they worked at and to meet some of the locals.

Little did I know before coming but I happened to descend upon Campur during ‘feria’ when the village gets a sort of mini carnival to visit and each day is celebrated with a variety of events. My first day I was lucky enough to attend a beauty pageant, where a panel of judges picked the Campur girl who looked the best and provided the best answers to a variety of questions. While the three of us had an absolute blast at the packed event eating local treats and mingling with coworkers and friends, I couldn’t help but think that the American-export of a beauty pageant was probably not the greatest thing for Guatemala. Oh well, the town—or at least the men of the town—seemed to enjoy the event.

The next day I traveled with Hannah for roughly an hour to a neighboring village where she established the first women’s group in the area. For the past few months she has been working on getting funding to build a series of pilas (concrete wash basins where the women clean food, clothing, dishes, and children) in the village. The group was able to put together roughly 30% of the cost themselves, and Hannah called the meeting to tell the women that the other 70% of the money had been raised back in the States and the check was in the mail. In addition to a bit of talking about logistics, we also spent the majority of the meeting introducing black bean burgers to the women—who tied for cash as it was, could be introduced to new high-protein foods that were not as expensive as meat. My presence at the meeting was quite the novelty, as both the children that were there and the women loved my camera. Throughout the meeting the women couldn’t stop giggling at me and my mistakes in cooking and dropping food, and Hannah also told me that the women thought I looked like a soap opera star. While the meeting was rather flattering, I thought that having a group like this in such a far off area was absolutely amazing. While it didn’t seem like a whole lot got accomplished during the 2.5 or so hours that we were there, having just about every woman in the small village to get together and just talk and share stories once a week was amazing to be around, and being there was easily one of the highlights of my trip.

The following day we were treated to a fantastically long parade where all the schools in the area strutted their stuff by walking through the streets of Campur behind a series of drumlines. As in the States, some of the drumlines were better than the others but I was truly impressed at how many people were involved with each one, as some of the drumlines had about twenty members or so. As expected, the drums were of a quality that would be laughed at in the United States, and the kids carved their own drumsticks out of tree branches, but many of the groups could not only hold a beat but some were very very talented. I was very impressed.

After a few days seeing the town, seeing the schools Jareau and Hannah volunteered at, meeting quite a bit of people, eating a lot of really good home cooked food, playing Bananagrams and sharing quite a number of laughs, I had to move on and travel only an hour down the road to an area that was described to me as “the most beautiful place in Guatemala” when I first arrived in the country: Semuc Champey. Even though it poured during the two days that I visited the national park, I had an amazing time swimming in the river behind my hostel and exploring the spring fed, deep pools of the park. The low hanging, misty clouds provided me with a feeling of isolation that was similar to feelings I received while in Palenque, and the howler monkeys were out in full force--making the park feel (and sound) like Jurassic Park. Along with Livingston, Semuc Champey is a place that I will most definitely return to when I make another visit back to Guatemala.

Howler Monkeys

So I currently find myself back in Cobán ready to board a bus in the morning to head back to Antigua, where I will stay for a night before boarding a plane Wednesday and returning back to Chicago after two months abroad. I plan on having one more blog post before I return to O’Hare to try to sum up this experience, so until then I hope everyone is enjoying themselves, and I plan on seeing many of you very soon.

Semuc Champey

Clowns at the Feria

I guess I'm tall.

Tikal

It's been a long couple of days in Central America. I left Palenque early in the morning on Saturday in order to catch a series of shuttles and boats that took me across the border back into Guatemala. Since I was only in Mexico for 6 days (and not over a week), I didn't have to pay any exit taxes, whereas many people that were in my traveling group had to pay up to $300 pesos just to leave Mexico. One person in the group had run out of money and the immigration official in Mexico refused to stamp an exit stamp on his passport, but when he got to Guatemala, the entrance official just smiled and said, "Welcome to Guatemala."

While I am definitely feeling like I'm losing out of quite a bit of sleep, one very large perk to traveling fast like I am now is covering a lot of ground and really being able to notice the subtle differences in landscape between the regions and countries. The mountainous jungles of southern Chiapas melted away into a hot plain in Guatemala, but once we approached Tikal, that plain transformed into a jungle and I once again found myself in the rainforest.

The hostel I've been staying at isn't in Tikal, it's in a city called Flores, which is located on an island in the middle of a lake roughly one hour from Tikal. The hostel here might be the best I've ever been to, as it is packed with travelers, all of whom enjoy stiff drinks and long conversations--something that is becoming essential while traveling solo down here. Being around so many like-minded people from around the globe is very much inspiring, and hearing about other's travels has been fantastic. It's weird to be at the point where people are asking me advice and taking notes of how I felt about certain places, when I feel as if I've been the rookie for this entire trip. 

I woke up on Sunday at 4:00am to try to catch the sunrise in Tikal, and while I saw it on the drive there, I wasn't disappointed. While I had a great time in Tikal (saw my first monkey in the wild!) and would recommend it to anyone looking to travel down in Central America, the feeling that I got when I first laid eyes on Palenque has taken the cake for Mayan ruin experiences for me down here. However, driving into Guatemala, one of the people on the shuttle asked the driver what caused the formation of some of these very small and frequent hills that doted the countryside. The driver had no idea but he told us that it's very plausible that each of those hills could have a ruin buried beneath it. I couldn't quite imagine what this looked like until we reached Tikal and saw what he was talking about, as archeologists have left many of the ruins in the various states that they found them, showing the transformation from hill to ruin. Very neat.

Today if I get some courage to get out of bed, eat breakfast and hop on a chicken bus, then hopefully I'll make my way over to Rio Dulce and hop on a boat down the Rio to Livingston. Livingston is one of the missing puzzle pieces in this trip that will give me that satisfaction that I "saw" Guatemala. Hopefully I wake up.

Spider Monkey

Ocellated Turkey

Leaf Cutter Ants

Mayan Rain

After a six hour bus ride from San Cristóbal de las Casas, I finally arrived in Palenque. In an effort to try to find my way back to Guatemala, I found out that pretty much no matter what I did, I would have to go through Palenque. Since the journey from San Cristóbal to Flores, Guatemala would be around 17 hours, I figured I would spend a day in Palenque and check out the Mayan ruins here.

I arrived at the bus station at around 6pm to a torrential downpour of rain and deafening thunder. Since it’s been the dry season down here, I haven’t really experienced too much rain other than one or two afternoon showers. Rain in the jungle is no joke, as it was unyielding all night long.

I woke up nice and early this morning, rolled out of bed and hopped on a 10 minute colectivo ride to the ruins. I was raised on the moto that the early bird catches the worm, and man was that beneficial for this trip. Both the rain (which was still coming down this morning) and the hour of the day made it so that there was hardly anyone at the ruins, and I essentially had Palenque to myself for a few hours.

I’m having a tough time trying to come up with the words to how I felt as I turned the corner in the path and first saw the ruins through the trees. The buildings looked absolutely majestic and all the colors of the jungle where wonderfully vibrant with the coating of rain. Fog from the low lying clouds curled over the canopy, and in the distance the roaring screams of howler monkeys echoed throughout the trees. Also, having no people around added such a wonderful mystique of the ruins, as I was waiting for the cast of Apocalypto to jump out and ambush me.

While I enjoyed exploring the ruins immensely, I couldn’t help but think about the downfall of civilizations all day. Walking through the ruins, I kept wondering to myself what future species would think about our achievements and downfalls when our time has come to pass. Ironically enough, when I eventually made it back to the hostel, the first things I saw on the TV in the communal area were images and videos from Japan. Talk about goosebumps.

A guy I saw in San Cristóbal

Revolutionary Cheetos

Other than a guard with a red bandana tied around her face—covering both her nose and mouth—and us, the compound was deserted. Some would say that the rusted steel gate, painted red and black, had a nice, rustic charm to it, others would probably describe it as dilapidated. It didn’t take long for the guard to signal to someone inside one of the wooden shacks with beautiful, colorful murals of revolutionary heroes both past and present painted on it, to come over and ask us what we wanted. Two men approached—one wearing the same red bandana, bandit style, the other a black ski mask with only his eyes and a slight bit of his Mayan skin showing. Both men carried guns and demanding we hand over our passports.

While I chose to visit a militant revolutionary compound whose main ideologies center around a peasant uprising against United States Imperialism, I never really thought that visiting would be so serious and my only manner of identifying my nationality (and returning home) had the potential to be compromised. While I always knew that my presence was probably going to be unwelcomed, I never thought there would be such hostility in the guards’ eyes as my little blue booklet showed that I was from where their enemies were bred. I finally realized at this moment that I had zero control over myself on their land and the color of my skin and my nationality would make it so that I would never be accepted here, but for some reason, I still felt as if I had to be there. I had to see the face of the Zapatista Movement.

I first became interested in the Zapatista Movement in high school, but subsequent classes on Latin American history and politics at Madison allowed me to gain a deeper understanding of the movement. The movement sprang up on New Years Day in 1994 in direct opposition to NAFTA. Since Chiapas is the poorest state in Mexico, the indigenous farmers felt that the lowering of abolishing of subsidies on Mexican crops (without the equal ending of subsidies on US crops) would drive the divide between the rich and poor in Mexico to even greater lengths. I always thought the movement was pretty interesting due to the fact that it is happening in modern times, consists mainly of an indigenous population, and their symbolism also heavily focuses on the power and influence of women within the movement.

Essentially I went to San Cristóbal to see if I could get a better idea of this movement, but even though the city is considered the capitol of the movement, walking around San Cristóbal there is almost no EZLN (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional or Zapatista Army of National Liberation) presence anywhere—except the markets. Since the vendors in the markets throughout Guatemala and Mexico are mainly of Mayan descent, the San Cristóbal market had plenty of people selling little handcrafted dolls of the Zapatista leaders, Subcomandante Marcos and Comandante Ramona. Even little children on the street would come up to me while I ate food on the street and tried to sell me the little dolls. I asked a girl who didn’t look a day over 5 years of age if she knew the name of the dolls and she smiled and said, “Marcos and Ramona.”

Unable to find any Zapatistas to talk with in San Cristóbal proper, I jumped at the chance to travel outside the city to a compound when some friends from Argentina and France said they were going. The four of us hopped in a colectivo (microbus) and traveled for roughly an hour through the mountains of Chiapas until we reached our destination.

After the men returned our passports at the gate, we were allowed to enter. The compound was pretty small, and along the dirt path of the main road were little shops selling local Zapatista art or food. One of the guards led our way down the hill along the dirt path, brought us to a wooden shack and knocked on the door. Another man with the signature black Zapatista ski mask opened the door, whispered something to the guard that was leading us and promptly closed the door. The guard walked past us, left us and returned to his post up the hill. We waited outside of the door not knowing what to do for maybe two minutes when the man with the mask opened the door again and motioned for us to follow him.

Walking behind him, he instructed us not to take pictures of anything unless he told us we could. As we walked down the hill, women, men and children stopped whatever they where doing and watched us walk behind our “guide”. For over the course of about an hour, the guide took us to three different shops where local citizens had made Zapatista crafts. While we tried to ask our guide questions about the village and the movement, he refused to answer any of them and only stated, “the person who is allowed to talk to outsiders isn’t here.” It was certainly frustrating to say the least. We didn’t come to the compound to be herded into the shops but to gain a greater knowledge of what they were trying to accomplish there, and our inability to get more than three words out of anyone’s mouth was very disheartening.

When our guide decided that our tour was done, he led us into a little tienda where we were allowed to get something to eat. Looking around the tienda, I noticed that in addition to selling a variety of crafts, they were also selling Coca-Cola, Cheetos, and Marlboros. Now if I was trying to start a movement that claimed to be against the imperialism of the United States, I’m not sure if Coca-Cola and Marlboros would be the things that I would sell in the store. So just because I could, I bought some Flaming Hot Cheetos and a can of Coke from a Zapatista.

Another thing that was a little off about the tienda was a lot of the hand crafted goods with writing on them often had a lot of misspellings. There’s a lot of bad things that can be said about the Cuban revolution, but one of the good things that came out of that was a total revitalization of the education and medical systems in the country. While the Zapatistas did have what looked like a very nice medical clinic in the village, I always that since one giant aspect of oppression is the lack of education, and assuming that the Zapatistas would want their followers to be able to read the movement’s writings and perhaps even write their own, they would want to educate their own people. But from the look of things, that didn’t really seem to be happening.

Inside the tienda were two other gringos, and when I noticed they were speaking English with an American accent, I asked them where they were from. Both of them were from Minnesota, and were actually taking part of a study abroad program where they lived in the Zapatista community, studied different social movements and studied Spanish under and with the Zapatistas (since many indigenous in Central America speak primarily with their native tongue and Spanish as a second language).

Since we couldn’t get a lot of answers from the Zapatistas themselves, the Minnesotans’ knowledge would have to do. They claimed that the intimidation at the front gate and the lack of people speaking to us was mainly due to the movement having trouble with the Mexican government sending in spies to try to take note of what they were doing in the compound. They also told us that the movement didn’t really like to have tourists pass through, and since their main objective for the community at the moment was try to become autonomous, they didn’t really care to talk to us or even have us around. I struggled with this idea because if the community really wanted to become autonomous, why would they sell Coca-Cola. While I realize they need to sell goods in order to make money for the cause, couldn’t they sell Mexican-made soda and not a company that is one of the biggest symbols of consumerism in America?

Needless to say, I left the community disappointed. I went in with high expectations about what I was going to learn and the people I was going to talk to, but came away with not too much more knowledge than when I went in. While I still think a lot of the ideology of the movement makes sense and is positive for the people it intends to defend, I guess getting a movement that stands up for the poor and oppressed from ideology to action is probably harder than it seems. However, I figured with over 15 years of trying, they would have something more concrete to stand against other than a bunch of pretty murals. I guess it was just another learning experience.


Also, something in Cheetos makes them taste better in Mexico. 

As I write this, I’m on a bus making my way to Palenque, where I plan to spend a day before heading back to Guatemala. I never had any idea that Mexico was as beautiful as it is, and I really can’t believe I get to live the life that I live. I’ve been feeling very appreciative of a lot of things throughout this journey, but just the fact that I’m able to travel for pleasure is probably one of the things I’ve been most appreciative of. Till next time...

Cañón del Sumidero

An hour away from San Cristóbal, my Kiwi buddy, Simon, and I took a two hour long boat tour of Cañón del Sumidero. Upon first entering the canyon, I realized I had more than had my money's worth. While the lake we were on was the result of a dam, I guess the positive of this is that the water provides electricity for the entire state of Chiapas.

With cliffs towering around 1000 meters, Sumidero Canyon reminded me very much of what Yosemite would have looked like with a lake.

Entering the Canyon

Waterfall but it's the dry season, so no water

Reminded me of El Capitan

American Crocodile