Hendrick Turns 5

Nic and Hendrick "helping" me in the kitchen the day before the party. Ela asked me to bake a cake for Hendrick's birthday a few weeks ago. Later I found out one cake really meant 8 cakes. 

The birthday boy. All spiffed up for his big day. 

No party is a party in Guatemala without a religious service. This one lasted almost two hours and clearly didn't hold the attention of these kids. 

Patient kids wait for the service to end so they can take their turn at the pinatas. 

A view from the roof: chaos ensues as the pinatas are emptied. The roof was the safest place to be at that point. 

My family: Benancio, Ela, Hendrick and Elkin (the cutest and fattest Guatemalan kid out there)

After Ela asked Nic and I to sing Happy Birthday to Hendrick, in English, a capela, the candle was lit and Hendrick made a wish. We drew a car on the cake because for months Hendrick had been talking about how his dad was going to buy him a car for his birthday. Turns out he did get a powerwheels race car. It's still not as cool as the car I made on the cake though. 

Christmas in Chirijox

Right on time, Hendrick knocked on the door at 7 a.m., knowing Nic had arrived the night before. When we opened it, Hendrick shot up his arm with a Spiderman card in his hand. With an attempted look of intimidation; he shouted "hombre aranya!". Yes, the kid is obsessed and was decked out in a Spiderman sweatsuit he got as an early Christmas present. 

A Cheese Ball Christmas: Nic and I with the family Christmas tree. 

It's tradition to eat tamales on Christmas here in Guatemala. Instead of making them, my family bought 82 tamales from a women who lives on the lake. Christmas Eve afternoon we left the cold and foggy mountains and moved towards the sun and warm. The last 20 minutes to the lake we climbed in the back of the truck for the amazing views and some sun in our eyes.  

Waiting for midnight, Henrick and I take some time on the swing set. The next day while killing time, hoping to be offered left-over tamales, Nic and I successfully broke one side of the swing and snapped the rope on the tire. After that, we pushed Hendrick so high he fell backwards out of the swing. Fortunately, I was standing in front of the swing and caught him, mid back-flip, on his way to the ground. We decided not to play so rough after that. Note: the white specks in the picture are no snow flakes as I hoped, but a good layer of fog.  

I was surprised to see the amount of Christmas light that were hung around Chirijox. Around 10, we took a stroll through town. Little 5 year old girls to grown men were lighting off fireworks in the streets. Tire fires were keeping people warm in the chilly fog. People were in good moods, greeting each other on Noche Buena. 

We returned home and kept ourselves warm by the wood stove sipping highly-sugared coffee while Dona Ana nodded off. We exchanged gifts with the family outside by the Christmas tree and at around ten minutes till midnight the show began. Flying and exploding fireworks, rolls of firecrackers, whistling fountains and even the Hen Laying Egg were on display. From the roof of Tia Isabel's house we could see Chriijox and three neighboring communities on the hills around. For about 20 minutes it sounded like a war zone. Both Nic and I agreed that Christmas in Guatemala rivals any fireworks display we'd seen on any 4th of July. Inside, until 1 am we ate tamales and drank fruit punch. 

Chichi

Nic and I arrived in Chichicastenango after a 40 minute microbus ride where I sat on Nic's lap, but they still charged us both the fee. Chichi already is a special place as it is the largest and oldest market in Central America, with a large artisan aspect. We had heard that the feria there was something to behold and indeed it was stimulus overload in the most wonderful way. 

The church was elaborately decorated and had the Saints Behind the Glass on full display out front; huge colorful feathers reminding patrons to pay honors.

The street scene from the steps of the church on the other end of the plaza: candy vendors making thier way through densely packed crowds of traditionally dressed Guatemalans; in the middle elaborately costumed locals dance to the tunes of three stages right next to each other each playing different tunes; the pole for Los Palos Voladores; The Pole Fliers and finally the church steps.

In the 10 minutes that we hung out on the steps probably 50 feet of firecrackers were set off and 10 bombs were launched into the air. The steps were littered inches deep and crews were on patrol with buckets of water just incase things got out of hand. Notice the people on the steps shielding themselves with baskets; stray firecrackers fly some distance from the rolls and explode seemingly at bystanders.

This 100 foot pole is set up for Los Palos Voladores; The Pole Fliers, as mentioned earlier. Apparently men climb this janky ladder to a janky pivoting point at the top, tie themselves to the pivoting apparatus and leap from the top, setting the apparatus spinning, flying over the crowd, barely brushing the trees and buildings around. We waited nearly 5 hours for these guys to do their thing to no avail. By 4 we had to catch our respective busses outa there. 

A parade of the costumed locals through the market. They marched to a marimba that was being carried by a man on each end. I think these guys represent the Spanish that came to Guatemala.

Enjoying the spoils of the feria; a Guatemalan donut. 

Patzite Interview

Aldea Patzite is about a 20 minute walk from Chirijox on a dirt path, down and over a ravine and through pine trees. Ela, Hendrick and I walked there yesterday for a visit with one of Ela's friends. Paula's husband is the director of the primary school in Patzite and would be a good person to help me fill out a community survey. We interrupted them in the middle of a horror flick, but Francisco was kind enough to sit with me. I proceeded to ask him some basic questions; how many people in the community, what grows well, the economy. I thought my Spanish was getting pretty good, but multiple times during the interview, Francisco gave me a confused look and asked to see the question. By the end, I felt he was relieved that is was over so he could get back to his flick. Can't blame the guy. 

After, Paula walked Ela, Hendrick and I to the top of the community to a house of a woman who I gathered to be a priestess. We entered a room, painted pepto pink with a 6 foot ceiling, with support beams taking another 6 inches from that. I stood between the beams, my head almost touching the ceiling while the women chatted in K'iche. A dozen or so kids appeared at the doors and windows of the room and stared. When I turned my head to give a wink they giggled and scattered, only to return seconds later. After a few minutes, the woman pointed in my direction, still speaking in K'iche. Hendrick, always a quick wit, broke in. "Esta gringa esta la novia de Elkin"; this gringa is the girlfriend of Elkin. It is true that I tell Elkin, Ela's 7 month old son that I am his girlfriend. This always gets him a good laugh, that's why he uses it a lot. I said goodbye in K'iche to the family; je ba'. This got another good laugh, continuing until we were on our way back down the hill. 

The women of the committee took me here to look for clay. It is a short 10 minute walk from my front door. I was elated to know that there is a stream this close to my house. As you can see it is not much for might but provides all the natural beauty and tranquility needed to help keep me sane. We did also encounter small deposits of dark clay that we may be able to use for artisan projects. 

Friday

When I stepped out of my door this morning at 6 am, I looked to my left to see the clouds slowly cresting the ridge and slinking down the mountain in the morning sun. I boiled water and made a cup of coffee. I used the rest of the water to wash my face. By 9 I had arrived in Nahuala. 

I entered through the sheet metal fence into the dwelling of my K'iche teacher, Don Diego. Don Diego is in his 70's, and can speak 5 Mayan languages and a bit of English. He literally wrote the K'iche dictionary and has traveled to handfuls of countries teaching K'iche. He is also a Mayan priest. His beautiful wife, Pascua, told me that he was out buying medicine, that his stomach was hurting him. She pulled a chair out for me in the common room, near the alter; a mix of Catholicism and Mayan.  She told me how she was born in Nahuala and how her son is in the states. She asked me about my state and like most Guatemalans, asked me if I was sad to be here. 

Once Don Diego and Tim, the volunteer in Nahuala arrived we began classes. Diego gives us lessons on a small chalkboard hanging crookedly on a nail with chalk that sometimes doesn't write. This lesson slowly evolved into story time, Don Diego telling us a myriad of Mayan myths. 

By 11 I had caught a bus to Xela. I had luck today because the first bus to come along was a greyhound type bus, with comfy seats that recline (although mine seemed to be jammed). When the ayudante came to collect my fair, I asked him if they were going to the terminal. He said yes. I love it when the buses go straight to the terminal, it is also where the market is. About a half hour later, the women next to me informed me that they weren't going to the terminal, but to the bus office. This isn't the first time an ayudante has lied to me. 

Once in Xela I caught a local microbus to the market. One end of the market, where I was dropped off, there are stalls with piles and piles of clothes from the states. I always like to stop and dig through the clothes just to see what I can find. Today I found two wool plaid shirts for Nic for 20 quetzales; just under 3 bucks. I wandered through the rest of the huge market and decided to take a different way than usual to the other end. This literally got me lost in this huge market. I wandered for about ten more minutes before orienting myself. 

Just behind the terminal is Hiper Pais; Guatemalan Wal-Mart. It has wonderful things like pesto and wheat bread and imitation crab; or krab should I say. They also have a hot deli and my stomach was telling me it was time to eat. I asked for a portion of fried chicken and they handed me a plate that had the biggest piece of chicken I think I've ever seen. It was delicious, although not as delicious as the friend chicken I had at the market in Totonicapan the weekend before. That was the best in my life. 

I cleared the doors of Hiper with my backpack loaded and a costal (rice bag converted to shopping bag) over my shoulder and headed back to the terminal. Once there, I was confronted, as usual, with men with confused looks on their faces when they ask me where I'm going. "Chirijox." I say. Confused look appears. They respond, "Antigua? Panajachel? San Pedro?" Those are the tourist spots. "No. Chirijox." "Chirijox?" They ask, still with a confused look, but point me to a bus.

The ride home was much more typical than my ride in. An old school bus, hardly recognizable after the paint job as such, loaded with Guatemalans 3 or 4 to a seat and overhead racks stuffed with bundles of brightly colored fabric, banda music blaring.  An hour and a half later I stepped off the bus at the entrance to Chirijox. I walked up the hill and hooked a right after the third house onto the dirt path. Through the harvested corn field, past the pig pen, along the cypress trees and to the flower field. As I approached the flower field I saw Oso, my guard dog at the house below. He saw me and started running toward me. He has a heart of gold, this one. He accompanied me through the flower field, which is good because there is a big turkey with a big attitude that hangs out there. And I am not ashamed to say, I am scared of this turkey. They are big, ugly birds. I turned left off the path and Oso continued straight toward my family's house. Once in my door I again heated water. This time for coffee again, but also to wash my hair. I missed the Thursday night sauna because I fell asleep. Outside, at my sink with a big pot of water I wetted my head to the sound of a church service. Neighbors, about 4 houses down have a speaker on an 8 foot pole on the top of their roof. They broadcast live the worship part of the service, complete with electric guitar and a traditional flute called a chirimia. 

The clouds have rolled down the mountain again, like they do every day about 5 o'clock. I am back inside, windows and door closed in an attempt to retain what heat may exist in my adobe house with a tin roof. I'm sure that any minute Hendrick will come knocking on my door asking me where I was that I missed our 4 pm Go Fish date. 

And just on time, there he is. He entered and asked where I was. I asked him what is in his hair (he always has something in his hair). "Oh", he said. "It's only frosting." 

Harvests

December is the month of the harvest. Guatemalans who had planted corn kernels in prepared fields in March and walked away, allowing the rain to care for their crops, returned again to the fields. About two weeks ago the corn was doblado, chopped in half to let it dry further. This last week, the harvest began. We entered the fields with bags around our shoulders and stalk by stalk, row by row removed the dry ears of corn. The corn was separated into piles by kind; yellow, black, red, white, and sweet and left to dry further on cement rooftops. The dominating feature that has covered the landscape of Guatemala will soon be no more as again Guatemalans return to the fields to work the cane into the ground and wait for March to come to plant again. 

My personal harvest (that I had nothing to do with, but nonetheless am very excited about) is the one lime that the tree in my yard has provided. 

Henrik has become quite a buddy. We know have daily dates, 4 pm sharp to play Go Fish. He is about to turn 5 and I don't know what the recommended age for this game is, but he does a decent job at it. He's still working on learning his numbers, so this is an excellent game to work on that. He doesn't quite have the strategy down yet, showing me the cards he does have when I ask for a card he doesn't have. So sometimes we play a game we named 'ambos', or both. We both take a card from the stack and show each other what it is. When there is a pair, we set it aside. At the end of the deck, Hendrik decides who wins. It really is kind of exciting. 

 

Thanksgiving Weekend

Thanksgiving weekend was spent here, Sta. Cruz la Laguna, a 20 minute boat ride to a village on the flanks of a volcano with no road access. We had an amazing turkey dinner on the veranda with a slew of travelers and ex-pats. Friday was spent kayaking and cliff jumping and lounging in the hammocks. Saturday for me was spent with my face in a bucket in my room; food poisoning I suspect, and missing the infamous Saturday night BBQ at the hostel. Sunday I still didn't feel well enough to travel so I opted to be sick on the terrace for another day. Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for me, a fellow PCV came down with something as well. We were able to be pathetic together and quiz each other for hours with Trivial Pursuit cards. 

Alana, another Oregon girl, finds maybe the healthiest looking cat in Guatemala, obviously with a diet supplemented by generous travelers.

Wind picked up everyday around noon. Saturday the wind brought some clouds and a beautiful sight to see.

Just after sunrise, the view from the terrace. A man in a wooden canoe is out for a morning paddle.