¡Buenas tardes de Oaxaca! I just finished my first academic week in this lively, colonial city, after (one week ago) successfully navigating the border from Guatemala without losing my passport or contracting malaria. ¡Hooray!
It it nice to be living in a house again, not having to repack my mochila daily or consult my travel guides. The house is just a few blocks northeast of the Instituto Cultural de Oaxaca, a privately owned and beautifully-maintained language and culture center. It is rather small with high walls, abundant plantlife, and skads of gringos. While most estudiantes attend smaller classes, I meet with just a teacher, Joel, every school day from 9 am until 12 pm, and then join another student-teacher pair for an hour of conversación. I would have liked to have been put with at least one other peer in the mornings, but I am thankful to have Joel as a teacher because he is good at challenging me in interesting ways and helping me articulate my own ideas.
My host family has been wonderful. Its matriarch is Señora Aurora Reyes, a tiny, sweet Mexican abuela who lives with one of her four daugters and two of her sundry granddaughters. These four ladies live in the main body of the house, while Hilary, the other exchange student, and I live in a sort of adjoining apartment with our own baño and living room. Hilary is a sophomore from PLU who will study here for the whole of fall semester. She is bright-eyed, brave, and goofy, and since her arrival we have had fun practicing español and getting to know each other. We hang out with the señora and whoever else is around (amigos and relatives come and go constantly) at meal times, and walk to school together. And last night, with a group of other estudiantes, we both enjoyed our first taste of mescal, that infamous oaxequeñan licor that, when combined with mango juice, is actually palatable.
One final thought on Guatemala: Mosying around on my own was certainly interesting and let me meet some cool, fellow explorers. However, I hope that I never have to travel on my own like that again. Yes, flying solo gives you complete freedom to leave the light on as long as you like and climb all the volcanoes you want, but it also leaves you (or at least me) lonely. It takes some of the punch out of your adventures. You catch a glimpse of the full moon over Lake Atitlán and can´t turn to anyone and say ¨Look! Isn´t that beautiful?¨ Your chicken bus takes a hairpin pin on the edge of a cliff and you can´t scoot closer to anyone and say, ¨I´m sure glad my mum doesn´t know where I am right now.¨ I am not broken-hearted about being static for a while, about having the chance to actually develop some relationships. And yet, this alone time did have one, great benefit: increased awareness of the steadfast presence of God. It is humbling to think that the Creator of everything is always with me and loves me like crazy, just as He is with and loves every other soul out there struggling to figure out life.
viernes, 27 de agosto de 2010
domingo, 22 de agosto de 2010
Los Volcanes
These were the real reason that I traveled through Guatemala, these huge mountains that towered over all the towns through which I passed. Don´t get me wrong, it was great to explore urban areas, but I can only take so much of the markets and the crowds and the backfiring, honking traffic.
I first took a shot at Volcán San Pedro, the 3020 metre volcano that lies on the southwest end of the lake. My thwarted attempt at Acatenango back in Antigua had made me especially anxious to trek, so I signed up with a trusted tour company, gathered my gear, and set my alarm for 5:30 am. I don´t normally sleep well the night before a hike because of excitement. This time however, I slept great. So great that I slept through my blasted alarm till 7 am. I was furious with myself. I ran down to the tour company, but it was locked shut. However, thanks to the advice of a friendly Spaniard who had hiked San Pedro the day before, I returned at 8 am and was able to jump in with another guide and group. Disaster averted.
Besides being annoyed with the late start, I quickly became annoyed with the other trekkers, a couple my age from the UK who confessed to have hiked hardly ever. I didn´t mind climbing at a slower pace, (I myself was a spectacular caboose just a few days later), but I did mind the increased whining from the girl, who didn´t like how hard the trek was. San Pedro is 3,020 metres tall, and the average ascent is 3-4 hours. How you sign up for an excursion like that and expect it to be a stroll along the Thames, I have no idea.
The moaning and groaning was obnoxious, but the hike itself was good. After climbing the peripheral highway for a bit, we hit the park entrance and made our way through coffee trees and corn fields, occasionally bidding ´Buenos días´ to the local farmers in their plaid shirts and galoshes. The trail became steeper as we passed into dense forest, shaded from the sun which at that point was in full swing. After 3 ½ hours, and many moans and groans, we hit the final ridge. The summit itself was small, a space perhaps 10 yards wide crowned with boulders. There were two overflowing garbage bins on the south side that really added to the ambience, but the view was spectacular. At first we were completely shrouded in mist, but after waiting a bit we felt some warmth from the sun, and literally in seconds the clouds disappeared to reveal the lake shining below. Dark blue against dark green hills, and above both of those a sky as blue as a robin´s egg. The same waxing and waning of clouds occurred behind us as well, sometimes revealing the other two summits of San Pedro and the mountain chains far behind them. It was a little noisy up there thanks to a group of Italians that beat us to the top, but it was still good to be up high, away from the hubbub below.
My second hike was out of a dismal city called Quetzaltenango, where I snagged a trip to Volcán Santa María at the last minute with a Frenchman named Robin and a guide named Carlos, a Guatemalan who could have been a character out of Fern Gulley. He had long hair, showed us different plants used for traditional medicine, and spoke frequently and cariñosamente about ¨Nature¨.
I didn´t think I would luck out again if I slept through my alarm, so I set two alarms and was ready for my ride to the trailhead at 5 am. And yes, in case you were wondering, this is trip where I was the spectacular caboose. Both Carlos, who climbs all kinds of peaks in Central America, and Robin, who prances through the Pyrenees on a regular basis, could have run up the mountain. I tried to keep pace with them, but soon realized that I could either keep that up and fall over dead, or climb at a snail´s pace and actually see the summit. I chose the latter, and holy cow am I glad that I did. The initial ascent was similar to San Pedro, through fields and coffee trees, and then we jumped into the forest and wound steadily up along rocky, slippery terrain. As we approached the last quarter of the climb I began to see lupines, those wonderful, bright purple flowers that adorn so many trails in the Northwest, and when I finally finished the trek I found the summit´s sides covered with them. Santa María´s peak was extensive, deserted, and also mist-shrouded, but once again it parted for us to reveal a panorama of cloud fields, other mountain peaks, and even the Pacific Ocean to the far south. We had an hour to walk about, rest on the rocks, and just take in the beauty. It was so still up there, with the air so chilly and clean, and the earth 3700 metres below.
I first took a shot at Volcán San Pedro, the 3020 metre volcano that lies on the southwest end of the lake. My thwarted attempt at Acatenango back in Antigua had made me especially anxious to trek, so I signed up with a trusted tour company, gathered my gear, and set my alarm for 5:30 am. I don´t normally sleep well the night before a hike because of excitement. This time however, I slept great. So great that I slept through my blasted alarm till 7 am. I was furious with myself. I ran down to the tour company, but it was locked shut. However, thanks to the advice of a friendly Spaniard who had hiked San Pedro the day before, I returned at 8 am and was able to jump in with another guide and group. Disaster averted.
Besides being annoyed with the late start, I quickly became annoyed with the other trekkers, a couple my age from the UK who confessed to have hiked hardly ever. I didn´t mind climbing at a slower pace, (I myself was a spectacular caboose just a few days later), but I did mind the increased whining from the girl, who didn´t like how hard the trek was. San Pedro is 3,020 metres tall, and the average ascent is 3-4 hours. How you sign up for an excursion like that and expect it to be a stroll along the Thames, I have no idea.
The moaning and groaning was obnoxious, but the hike itself was good. After climbing the peripheral highway for a bit, we hit the park entrance and made our way through coffee trees and corn fields, occasionally bidding ´Buenos días´ to the local farmers in their plaid shirts and galoshes. The trail became steeper as we passed into dense forest, shaded from the sun which at that point was in full swing. After 3 ½ hours, and many moans and groans, we hit the final ridge. The summit itself was small, a space perhaps 10 yards wide crowned with boulders. There were two overflowing garbage bins on the south side that really added to the ambience, but the view was spectacular. At first we were completely shrouded in mist, but after waiting a bit we felt some warmth from the sun, and literally in seconds the clouds disappeared to reveal the lake shining below. Dark blue against dark green hills, and above both of those a sky as blue as a robin´s egg. The same waxing and waning of clouds occurred behind us as well, sometimes revealing the other two summits of San Pedro and the mountain chains far behind them. It was a little noisy up there thanks to a group of Italians that beat us to the top, but it was still good to be up high, away from the hubbub below.
My second hike was out of a dismal city called Quetzaltenango, where I snagged a trip to Volcán Santa María at the last minute with a Frenchman named Robin and a guide named Carlos, a Guatemalan who could have been a character out of Fern Gulley. He had long hair, showed us different plants used for traditional medicine, and spoke frequently and cariñosamente about ¨Nature¨.
I didn´t think I would luck out again if I slept through my alarm, so I set two alarms and was ready for my ride to the trailhead at 5 am. And yes, in case you were wondering, this is trip where I was the spectacular caboose. Both Carlos, who climbs all kinds of peaks in Central America, and Robin, who prances through the Pyrenees on a regular basis, could have run up the mountain. I tried to keep pace with them, but soon realized that I could either keep that up and fall over dead, or climb at a snail´s pace and actually see the summit. I chose the latter, and holy cow am I glad that I did. The initial ascent was similar to San Pedro, through fields and coffee trees, and then we jumped into the forest and wound steadily up along rocky, slippery terrain. As we approached the last quarter of the climb I began to see lupines, those wonderful, bright purple flowers that adorn so many trails in the Northwest, and when I finally finished the trek I found the summit´s sides covered with them. Santa María´s peak was extensive, deserted, and also mist-shrouded, but once again it parted for us to reveal a panorama of cloud fields, other mountain peaks, and even the Pacific Ocean to the far south. We had an hour to walk about, rest on the rocks, and just take in the beauty. It was so still up there, with the air so chilly and clean, and the earth 3700 metres below.
jueves, 19 de agosto de 2010
Lago de Atitlán
My second stop in Guate (after barely making the shuttle that arrived at my Antigua hostel one hour early, fun packing session that one) was Lake Atitlán. I knew the lake was going to be big, but I was not prepared for just how big. I caught glimpses of it as our conductor loco zoomed down the narrow, cobblestone streets toward Panajachel, and got my first real look when I walked onto the ferry dock. Even ringed by clouds the water was a brilliant, deep blue, and with the Volcanoes San Pedro and Tomilán standing guard its massivity was even more pronounced.
But lovely as this initial sighting was it didn´t even compare to the view from my hostel, La Iguana Perdida. Located in one of the little towns ringing the lake, its front porch, with its pillowed sofa and trailing vines, looked directly out over the water. I thoroughly enjoyed munching my homemade yogurt and granola on that porch, and also managed to have a couple nice conversations there with Kieran, my Oxford amigo, who also was staying there with his Dutch friend, Karen. The dialogue that I most remember was after dinner, which was also homemade and served family style for the entire hostel. Groovy, eh? It is funny how no matter how educated you are, no matter how well-traveled, no matter how many grand ideas are floating around in your cabeza, the issue that matters most is your relationships. No gorgeous vista or exciting adveture can ever change that.
The next day I took a boat over to San Pedro, another touristy town, and spent an hour kayaking on the west end of the lake. This let me get an even better idea of the vastness of the terrain and rest for a bit in its tranquility. Unfortunately, it also let me see the garbage floating about and the locals washing their clothes on the shore, stuff that the guide books fail to note. Best of all, it let me meet Moshe and Ortal, an Israeli couple on their honeymoon who were kayaking at the same time. They were kind enough to offer me a ride with them via tuk-tuk back to my hostel to escape the impending rain, and then asked if I´d like to hang out later. I enjoyed dinner while they enjoyed cappuchinos (being kosher while traveling seems like a pain) as we talked about monotheistic faiths, cultural differences and once again, relationships. It was an awfully nice way to end the day.
But lovely as this initial sighting was it didn´t even compare to the view from my hostel, La Iguana Perdida. Located in one of the little towns ringing the lake, its front porch, with its pillowed sofa and trailing vines, looked directly out over the water. I thoroughly enjoyed munching my homemade yogurt and granola on that porch, and also managed to have a couple nice conversations there with Kieran, my Oxford amigo, who also was staying there with his Dutch friend, Karen. The dialogue that I most remember was after dinner, which was also homemade and served family style for the entire hostel. Groovy, eh? It is funny how no matter how educated you are, no matter how well-traveled, no matter how many grand ideas are floating around in your cabeza, the issue that matters most is your relationships. No gorgeous vista or exciting adveture can ever change that.
The next day I took a boat over to San Pedro, another touristy town, and spent an hour kayaking on the west end of the lake. This let me get an even better idea of the vastness of the terrain and rest for a bit in its tranquility. Unfortunately, it also let me see the garbage floating about and the locals washing their clothes on the shore, stuff that the guide books fail to note. Best of all, it let me meet Moshe and Ortal, an Israeli couple on their honeymoon who were kayaking at the same time. They were kind enough to offer me a ride with them via tuk-tuk back to my hostel to escape the impending rain, and then asked if I´d like to hang out later. I enjoyed dinner while they enjoyed cappuchinos (being kosher while traveling seems like a pain) as we talked about monotheistic faiths, cultural differences and once again, relationships. It was an awfully nice way to end the day.
sábado, 14 de agosto de 2010
Antigua Antigua
¡Buenas tardes de Antigua, Guatemala! I hope that each of you is well and enjoying the sunshine that I wouldn´t mind right now. (You can thank the rain for this first entry.)
I had originally planned to do an overnight trip to Volcán Acatenango. It rises 13,900 feet, just southwest of this city, next to Volcán de Fuego. Antigua is surrounded by green hills and volcanoes, which makes for some scenic backdrops when wandering the streets. I wanted to climb one of these peaks during my stay, but unfriendly weather and resulting landslides compromised the route. The other available trips are not terribly expensive, but they fail to summit and make you spend more time driving to the trailhead than actually climbing. So, I have decided to wait, write, and try my luck around Lago de Atitlán, my next destination, which also happens to be in the vicinity of some impressive volcanoes. A ver lo que pasa.
I arrived in Antigua exhausted emotionally and physically, not really prepared to start exploring Guatemala. (Just in case you were thinking about flying via Mexicana anytime soon, don´t do it. Business isn´t exactly coming along swimmingly for them). However, thanks to my nice hostel, encouragement from loved ones, and the people I have met I have begun to emerge from my funk. While reading in the courtyard my first evening here, I met a woman named Melissa who had just finished two years in Panamá with the Peace Corps. She was awaiting six friends, some of whom had just finished the same stint as her, and some of whom were from Western Washington. This Peace Corps crew had been giving presentations throughout Central America on nutrition and healthy living. Did I mention that they are making that trek via bicycle? Yikes.
I met this crew the next morning over fresh papayas and pineapple, along with two other ladies named Mari and Nora. They both recently earned their Masters and decided to celebrate by taking on Central America together. I found out that they just happened to have grown up with one of the Peace Corps-ers in Anacortes. Plus, Mari lives in Greenwood, Seattle. Small world, eh?
Antigua is compact and colorful, with every street made of cobblestones. On most sidewalks you will see infant-adorned, Mayan women hawking wares, and around most corners you will find a looming, aging cathedral. The city definitely has that colonial-town-turned-tourist-attraction feel with hundreds of tienditas and travel agencies under red tile roofs and a crowded mercado stuffed to bursting.
I explored a good deal of this with Mari and Nora, and though the sights were cool it was the conversations with these two that I most enjoyed. I got to hear about their academic endeavors, be encouraged in my own, and listen and share about the complex and vital natures of our communities and relationships. I´m looking forward to continuing those talks back in the states. That evening I joined el grupo entero plus Kieren (who just earned his Ph.D. in molecular biology at Oxford…again, yikes) for an enjoyable dinner at Café la Escudilla, and then a loud game of Taboo back at the courtyard. It was good to be in the company of cool people all day. I hope that it happens again before too much longer.
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)