July 23 - Initiate Cultural Immersion Sequence....
Sunday July 23 - The day started at the Posada de Santiago with a clear blue sky and calm water on the lake. I went down to the dock to gaze across the bay to where I imagined Aleeza was meditating or doing Yoga - so close yet so far. (The Yoga Farm is just below the cliffs that can be seen in the center of the photo.)
After another "desayun chapin" (Guatemalan Breakfast - scrambled eggs, fried plantains, refried beans and tortillas) I packed up and hailed a tuk-tuk to the public docks. A helpful man basically grabbed my bags and hauled me to the already totally full boat. I hopped on (didn't want to lose my bag!) and we puttered out of the harbor to San Pedro. The views were of course beautiful but I was so crammed i at the back, next to the driver, I could barely turn my head, let alone take photos.
After arriving in San Pedro, I hopped in another tuk-tuk to find my Spanish school.
The town, like almost all the towns around the lake, is built on a hillside, and in the lower part of town the streets are about 8 feet wide. It is a network of small roads and narrow alleys. The tuk-tuk drivers speed around, dodging the dogs and pedestrians and motorcycles and other tuk-tuks with incredible skill. It was like being in a video game!
After dropping my bags at the school, I had a couple of hours to kill, so I walked back down the hill in search of the tourist district where I figured I could find something to eat.
As I approached this part of town, the houses and hotels were surrounded by walls, most of which are colorfully painted with murals and graffiti. Many of the murals have political messages.
It was getting hot, so the street dogs found shade where they could.
The streets were wide in some places, but everywhere full of colorful locals and tuk-tuks!
I knew I had come to the tourist area when the signs changed from Spanish to...
I will skip the part where I had a plate of Nachos with an expat who has lived here for 18 years, supporting himself as a yogi, masseuse, adviser, "time traveler," but mostly selling weed. He offered me an ounce of pot for 20 dollars. I think the two "Cuba Libres" he threw back during the twenty minutes we were talking might have helped loosen his tongue. But I digress...
I returned to the Language school after wandering in circles for half an hour (yes I was lost!) and was introduced to my host dad, Manuel. When I told him my name, he smiled. "Good name. From the bible!" He told me he is "un pastor" and that he is building a church in the neighboring town, San Juan. "We will go there, at 4:30" he told me. Cool, I figured, he'll show me the church he is working to build.
(I told him that I am Jewish right away, he was pleased with that but seemed a bit confused as to why I don't live in Israel. I don't have the Spanish vocabulary to tackle that one!)
After settling in and meeting his wife, Maria, they told me it was time to go. I wanted to change into clean clothes to be respectful, and when I emerged from my room, Manuel and Maria were also dressed quite nicely. Most people would probably have figured out what was happening but I had forgotten what day of the week it was.
We hopped into a tuk-tuk and bumped our way along the rutted dirt road to San Juan. We arrived at the half constructed church, where chairs were arranged and a PA system set up. Music was playing, I asked Maria what was happening. She seemed amused by my question. It finally dawns on me that we have come to Sunday worship service! As the congregants arrived, we took seats at the front of the room.
The building, like many of the buildings here, had open sides, so when the sky darkened and thunder rumbled, it was hard to miss. Then the skies opened up and it poured buckets for about fifteen minutes. When services ended and we headed out, the yard (remember this is an active construction site!) was a sea of mud. Nobody seemed fazed by it, and the tuk-tuk driver fearlessly took us back through huge puddles. In the dark, each tuk-tuk has unique custom lights, many of them blinking and flashing.
Back in San Pedro, we all went out to dinner at a restaurant with a view of the lake and of the tourist district. Reggae music and young tourists speaking English with many accents filled the streets.
After dinner, we walked back home through the shimmering cobblestone streets. It was fun being with Manuel and Maria because the locals all know them and smiled at me knowingly. By locals I mean the natives, not the expats. I may not have mentioned that the real locals speak mostly the "Kaqchikel" language to each other. Interestingly they speak Spanish to their kids. It is a practical thing because they want their kids to be able to get good jobs in the city, and in the city, Spanish is the only language spoken. In Guatemala City, you don't see people in traditional dress, you see McDonalds and Pizza Hut. It is really interesting to see the contrasts and the change happening here in just one generation.
Tomorrow I start Language school so there might be less to share, but I'll try to at least say something about how that goes.
Signing off for now.
- AK
The only boats on this part of the lake at this hour are the local fishermen in their traditional wooden boats that look like floating bathtubs. They fish with hand nets, moving very slowly.
After another "desayun chapin" (Guatemalan Breakfast - scrambled eggs, fried plantains, refried beans and tortillas) I packed up and hailed a tuk-tuk to the public docks. A helpful man basically grabbed my bags and hauled me to the already totally full boat. I hopped on (didn't want to lose my bag!) and we puttered out of the harbor to San Pedro. The views were of course beautiful but I was so crammed i at the back, next to the driver, I could barely turn my head, let alone take photos.
After arriving in San Pedro, I hopped in another tuk-tuk to find my Spanish school.
The town, like almost all the towns around the lake, is built on a hillside, and in the lower part of town the streets are about 8 feet wide. It is a network of small roads and narrow alleys. The tuk-tuk drivers speed around, dodging the dogs and pedestrians and motorcycles and other tuk-tuks with incredible skill. It was like being in a video game!
After dropping my bags at the school, I had a couple of hours to kill, so I walked back down the hill in search of the tourist district where I figured I could find something to eat.
As I approached this part of town, the houses and hotels were surrounded by walls, most of which are colorfully painted with murals and graffiti. Many of the murals have political messages.
It was getting hot, so the street dogs found shade where they could.
The streets were wide in some places, but everywhere full of colorful locals and tuk-tuks!
I knew I had come to the tourist area when the signs changed from Spanish to...
I will skip the part where I had a plate of Nachos with an expat who has lived here for 18 years, supporting himself as a yogi, masseuse, adviser, "time traveler," but mostly selling weed. He offered me an ounce of pot for 20 dollars. I think the two "Cuba Libres" he threw back during the twenty minutes we were talking might have helped loosen his tongue. But I digress...
I returned to the Language school after wandering in circles for half an hour (yes I was lost!) and was introduced to my host dad, Manuel. When I told him my name, he smiled. "Good name. From the bible!" He told me he is "un pastor" and that he is building a church in the neighboring town, San Juan. "We will go there, at 4:30" he told me. Cool, I figured, he'll show me the church he is working to build.
(I told him that I am Jewish right away, he was pleased with that but seemed a bit confused as to why I don't live in Israel. I don't have the Spanish vocabulary to tackle that one!)
After settling in and meeting his wife, Maria, they told me it was time to go. I wanted to change into clean clothes to be respectful, and when I emerged from my room, Manuel and Maria were also dressed quite nicely. Most people would probably have figured out what was happening but I had forgotten what day of the week it was.
We hopped into a tuk-tuk and bumped our way along the rutted dirt road to San Juan. We arrived at the half constructed church, where chairs were arranged and a PA system set up. Music was playing, I asked Maria what was happening. She seemed amused by my question. It finally dawns on me that we have come to Sunday worship service! As the congregants arrived, we took seats at the front of the room.
At 5:30, Manuel steps up to the stage and begins the service with a benediction, followed by some singing. Then he looks at me and launches into a speech, something about "nosotros son hermanos" (we are all brothers) and then he clearly says "Ah-ron" and he raises his hands. I turn around and everyone has their hands up and they are looking at me. I stood, smiled and waved back, and sat back down. I think that was OK, everyone was real nice in any case.
The service went on for over an hour, with various groups of women, men, and children going on the stage to sing. I clapped along and tried to parrot the words I could make out. There was also a bible reading and a sermon, which I listened to attentively while trying to keep my eyes open.
The building, like many of the buildings here, had open sides, so when the sky darkened and thunder rumbled, it was hard to miss. Then the skies opened up and it poured buckets for about fifteen minutes. When services ended and we headed out, the yard (remember this is an active construction site!) was a sea of mud. Nobody seemed fazed by it, and the tuk-tuk driver fearlessly took us back through huge puddles. In the dark, each tuk-tuk has unique custom lights, many of them blinking and flashing.
Back in San Pedro, we all went out to dinner at a restaurant with a view of the lake and of the tourist district. Reggae music and young tourists speaking English with many accents filled the streets.
After dinner, we walked back home through the shimmering cobblestone streets. It was fun being with Manuel and Maria because the locals all know them and smiled at me knowingly. By locals I mean the natives, not the expats. I may not have mentioned that the real locals speak mostly the "Kaqchikel" language to each other. Interestingly they speak Spanish to their kids. It is a practical thing because they want their kids to be able to get good jobs in the city, and in the city, Spanish is the only language spoken. In Guatemala City, you don't see people in traditional dress, you see McDonalds and Pizza Hut. It is really interesting to see the contrasts and the change happening here in just one generation.
Tomorrow I start Language school so there might be less to share, but I'll try to at least say something about how that goes.
Signing off for now.
- AK
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