Ice Cream in an Ash Rain -- Antigua, Guatemala

I'm starting this post from El Viejo Cafe in Antigua, Guatemala. In front of me hangs a TV screen showing the match between Uruguay and Russia. There's also a screen behind me. And to my left. And a few in the other room. 

Guatemala is almost as bonkers for football as it is for Jesus. And blinding colors. And sliced mango in a bag. 

The whole of Antigua is currently experiencing internet crashes, as most people are streaming the World Cup from their homes. And using up all the WiFi (internet is Guatemala is a limited commodity. Like hot water and days without natural disasters). When I walk to school every afternoon, I can hear a Spanish sports announcer from each and every home I pass. If my Spanish were better, I'd be very well versed on exactly what happened in the matches played between twelve and two, Guatemalan time. 

My stint living in Central America is quickly (but slowly. Like speed-crawling) drawing to a close. By the time I finally board my plane bound for Zurich, I will have been in this crazy country for eight months. Which is the longest (by far) I've lived in any country other than the US. 

I'm ready to go. So very, very, very ready. 

I'm ready for the small luxuries, like hot, reliable water (and water I can drink without fear of parasites). For clean air. I'm ready to walk down the street and not be engulfed in a toxic cloud of black exhaust every time a ramshackle chicken bus revs its dilapidated engine. I'm ready to sit in a square and read a book without having to constantly say, "no, gracias," with a smile to every woman offering textiles, every teenage boy selling cigarettes and gum, and every man shining shoes. 

Whilst wearing my chaco sandals, I have had to say, "no, gracias," to a shoe shiner. With more a look of utter bewilderment than a smile.   

What? What does he think he can SHINE? Is he insinuating that my feet look like leather? 

...

I mean...

He isn't WRONG...

...

but still. 

I will be happy for the big luxuries, like feeling safe walking alone. Or, safer, por la menos. I will feel better living in a country where if I get lost and don't have a working phone, people don't mind lending me theirs. 

I talked to Silvia about this the other day. How, out of the thirty eight countries I've visited, Guatemala is the only place wherein everyone seems to own unusually nice phones and no one seems willing to lend them out. At first, I figured that this reluctance to share was because data/minutes were expensive. But Silvia disillusioned me. 

"There's a lot of extortion in Guatemala," she said in Spanish. But I'm not feeling particularly motivated enough right now to write this exchange in Spanish and English. 

"Extortion?" I raised my hairy eyebrows. 

"Yes. There are people who will call you at home and say, "give me three thousand quetzales tomorrow or I will kill this person in your family. I know that your sister's name is such-and-such. I know where she works. I know your son's name is so-and-so. I know where he goes to school. I know where you live. So pay three thousand quetzales tomorrow or I will kill someone." 

"That's horrible," I choked. 

"And maybe they used your phone to make the call. So if or when they call the police, the police tracks you down. And now you are complicit." 

"So, that's why no one in Guatemala lends their phones." 

"Yes, and it's why we don't have a public phone book anymore.  But people get these numbers using old phone books."

I've felt very conflicted about Guatemala, as of late. Guatemala and its health risks/safety risks. I've managed to survive my eight months here with only three scorpion stings, three bouts of giardia, two weeks of diarrhea, one volcano eruption, one rather large earthquake, and one wildfire so close that I went to sleep to the sound of its crackling flames... oh, and that one time I was charged at by two teenage boys wielding machetes.  But some people haven't been so lucky. Like the tourist in San Marcos who had her finger cut off with a machete. Like the man I met a few years ago who was stabbed in San Pedro whilst being robbed. Like the girl at the Yoga forest who had all her valuables stolen from her locked cabaña. Like the local woman who was attacked and raped on the trail leading up to the Forest. 

And the thing is, I know this happens in every country (okay, so maybe not with machetes -- but every country has crime), but somehow, Guatemala just feels worse. To me. And it's sad, because this is a mindbogglingly gorgeous country with (for the most part) extraordinarily friendly people.

A few of Guatemala's extraordinarily friendly people. :)

But a heinously corrupt government creates poverty, creates desperation, creates crime.

Guatemala needs tourism. Towns like Antigua have entirely reinvented themselves to cater to foreigners with money. Without tourism, thousands of Guatemalans would lose their jobs. The hotels, the restaurants, the Spanish schools, the adventure companies would all be forced to lay off their employees.

And (in part) thanks to Fuego's display the other week, governments all over the world are warning their citizens to steer clear of Guatemala. 

And you know what? 

I can't say I disagree. Which feels like something of a betrayal to admit, because there still is a large part of my heart that has fallen madly in love with this vibrant, Central American country. With its volcano views -- 

 -- its seemingly endless supply of colorful crafts and textiles --

-- its paint-chipped walls --

 -- its bustling markets --

 

 

-- and its remarkably resilient, resourceful people. 

People who can just pop out umbrellas during an ash storm and keep enjoying their ice cream. People who can respond to the threat of a possibly dangerous earthquake with, "Don't worry, be happy. I'm having a drink."

 People who've found a way to smile after experiencing unimaginable hardships, as anyone over the age of thirty probably has vivid memories of Guatemala's civil war. A brutal war wherein 200,000 persons were left dead/missing. A war that lasted thirty-six horrific years.

I have a few regrets about leaving Central America this early. I regret not getting to a better level in Spanish. I don't regret the money I've spent on classes or the time I've devoted to studying; this is, by far, the furthest I've come in learning another language, and it's stretched and challenged my poor, monolingual brain in entirely new ways. Made me actually actively think about the things my beleaguered subconscious usually handles. And that's been wonderful. But I do still wish that my Spanish had reached a higher degree of proficiency before I absconded from Spanish speaking countries. It would have been nice to feel like I'd "finished" something.

I also regret not seeing more than Guatemala. When I leave on Wednesday morning, I'll still never have set foot in Belize, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, or Panama. Which is disappointing, as eight months seems like an awfully long time to not be seeing new places.

All the same, if I consider my health and sanity, I know I wouldn't have had the energy to experience these countries well. To travel through these countries with the enthusiasm and curiosity they deserve.

Guatemala has left me drained. I just feel so, so tired. I need a long period of rest. A long period of first-world problems before I have the fortitude to again face third-world problems. I need a few months to resuscitate my thoroughly doused sense of adventure. I need to feel fully healthy in my body again in order to rediscover my enthusiasm to take risks and travel to challenging places.
 

I think Switzerland will be where I get my months of respite. Of recovery. My two months with Massi will be complete with gorgeous scenery, clean air, hot water, a certain lack of erupting volcanoes, and neither of the two kinds of earthquakes.

But I doubt even two months of living with my loving boyfriend would make me want to eat ice cream under an umbrella in an ash rain.

I'll leave that particular activity to the tough, tenacious Guatemalans.