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. 

Why Guatemalans Don't Sleep Naked -- Antigua, Guatemala

I'm starting this post from the bed of my simple, sweet room in Eybi's house. I hear Sophie sneeze and cough and snort through the paper thin wall separating our rooms, and I'm sure she can hear me reciprocate. I've got my green hydro-flask steaming with onion, garlic, ginger, orange, cinnamon, thyme, honey tea. A tea with the precise vile flavor of something that's got to be terribly good for you.

One day. I will be able to make it through an entire month without coming down with some sort of illness. 

Gosh, I can't wait for that day. Come soon? Please? Tomorrow?

Eybi returned home early in the week with "gripa," which seems to be Guatemala's version of a nasty cold. And now the only creature in the home sans gripa, appears to be Mini, the family's friendly schnauzer. 

But Mini has other things to worry about. Like being stuffed inside a laundry basket by a precocious twelve year old.

 

  

I hear rumbling in the distance. When falling asleep anywhere else in the world (in my experience of the world, anyway), this kind of rumbling normally makes me feel cozy. Makes me feel warm and safe, tucked into bed with a hot cup of tea and a good book. This kind of rumbling makes me feel snug. 

But here in Guatemala, I imagine Fuego erupting again, blanketing this colorful city in more than a layer of dust and sand. And the fact that Eybi and Sophie aren't freaking out about the ominous rumbling instills not a single iota of calm into my frazzled nerves.

Because Guatemalans (I'm learning) haven't got nerves. Whatever nerves they may have had have long since been frazzled into nothingness after centuries of living in a country with thirty fucking volcanoes.

Example.

I was in bed on Sunday night. Naked (because I prefer to sleep naked whenever possible) when the room started to move. My wooden headboard began to shake and bang against the wall behind me. The doors of my armoire swung open and shut, like Madame de la Grande Bouche, from Beauty and the Beast. 

I panicked, still unsure of what was going on. Because I'm a Colorado girl, and earthquakes are a phenomenon far outside my realm of "normal".

Silvia said that earthquakes often happen after big volcanic eruptions. Is this an earthquake? 

I stood up. And felt like the room was spinning, as if I'd drunk two glasses too much wine. I quickly, dazedly, wrapped myself in my towel and popped my head into the living room, to see if Eybi and Sophie were panicking.

They weren't panicking. They were still singing to bad American music and cleaning the kitchen, not bothered in the slightest.

Freaking Guatemalans. 

Well... if they're not worried, that probably means I shouldn't worry either.  So... I should... go back to bed?

I nervously clambered back into bed, keeping my towel close by. Just in case.

"Did you feel the earthquake?" Pancho texted me.

"Yes!" I wrote back. "I was nervous."

"It's normal," he replied. "We could have five or six a year."

"Ooookay," I heaved a sigh as I texted, "I'll try to calm my heart."

"Just be ready for the next one."

...

"And do what?" I asked. "Do you think there will be another one?"

"Jajajaja. You never know!!!" was my friend's reassuring response.

"... You're not making me feel better, Pancho."

"Jajajaja. Don't worry, be happy. I'm having a drink."

So. This is how Guatemalans deal with earthquakes. They "don't worry, be happy" them. And they have a drink. 

Silvia also texted me.

"Hola, estas bien?"

She included a googlemaps image of the earthquake, where it had struck and its 5.8 number on the Richter Scale.

 
 "Era muy fuerte!" (it was very strong) she continued.

"Si! Tengo mucho miedo," (Yes! I'm very afraid) I replied.

"No te preocupes! Es normal!" (don't worry! It's normal!) Silvia tried to calm me down.

"Pero personas de Guatemala siempre dicen esto!" (but people from Guatemala always say this!) I protested.

"Descansa!" (Calm down!) Silvia insisted. With a laughing, crying emoticon.

"No me gusta este respuesta. Estoy preocupado!" (I don't like this answer. I'm worried!) I refused to be calmed. Like the abundantly sensible human being I am.

"Vivimos en un pais sismico, tenemos mas o menos 1600 temblores en un año! Es bueno, para que la energia se libere!" (we live in a seismic country, we have more or less 1600 small earthquakes in a year. It's good, so that the energy is released)

"Pero esto terremotto era muy fuerte!" (but this earthquake was very strong) I texted back, still reeling from it all and wondering why no one else appeared to be reeling with me.

"No fue terremoto! Fue temblor," (it's wasn't an earthquake. It was a "trembling") Silvia continued in her quest to calm her anxious student.

"Pensé que Godzilla estaba fuera de mi ventana," (I thought that Godzilla was outside of my window) I sent Silvia a GIF with a rampaging monster.

"El terremoto tiene destrucción! Y esperamos que no occura!"(earthquakes have destruction. And we hope that this doesn't happen) Silvia clarified the difference between a temblor and a terremoto.

This is a country where the earth makes such a habit of moving about that people need to have two words for earthquake.

...

Note to self, Bourget. Never again live in a place where people need more than one word for "earthquake". Live in places where people need lots of words for sunshine. For rainbows. For sunsets. For butterflies.

I slept fitfully that night. As has been my norm, as of late. 

Switzerland can't come soon enough...

I fly to Switzerland on Wednesday morning. Which seems like no time at all to someone who isn't tired of living in a land bursting with earthquakes, volcanoes, and parasites (and not nearly enough cheese). And to someone who doesn't have a handsome Swiss fellow waiting on the other side of the ocean.

To someone without these things, Wednesday is only a little less than a week of waiting. But to someone with these things, Wednesday feels interminably far away.

I met Massi in Tikal a little over a month ago. We shared some adventures in Guatemala and Mexico, and then he flew back home to Switzerland. But not before we'd decided that we liked "us" quite well enough to want to give "us" a chance.

So I'm flying to be with him on the interminably far away Wednesday. 

We'll spend a month and a half together at his home in Switzerland. And then I'll fly to Colorado to be with my little sister (who is busily making a baby) and my best friend (for her 30th birthday).

And then I'll go back to Massi in mid-October.

This fellow. Turned my life entirely upside down in approximately two weeks. 

And I'm just... I'm just so, so happy with the way my world looks now. 

Since my next stop is Switzerland, my very money-conscious hobo brain has been thinking about the things that I need that are cheaper to buy in Guatemala than in Switzerland (which is everything, give or take). So I headed out early on Monday morning to snap some photographs, visit a lab for a stool analysis (to see if I still had any manner of parasites camping out in my gut), and to buy some more contact lenses.

I think I'm the most pragmatic vagabond there ever was. 

...

If I ever start another blog, that will be the name. The Pragmatic Vagabond. 

Anyway. There are probably many other things I need... I made a mental checklist of my possessions (it doesn't take me very long). But...but I sincerely doubt that Fat Ellie has capacity for much more. She's fraying at her seams already. Poor old lady. 
 

Okay... so don't buy more things. Just pick up the boots you already paid for in Pastores. And just trust that everything else will work out.

My Spanish class with Silvia was very... err... animated that afternoon. I related to her my experience of the earthquake, and how I'd been quite naked when it had struck.

"Aimee," Silvia laughed. "No es posible dormir desnudo en Guatemala! Necesitamos estar listos para un terremoto." (Aimee, it's not possible to sleep naked in Guatemala. We need to be ready for an earthquake)

Note to self, Bourget. Never live in a country wherein you have to sleep with clothes on because there might be an earthquake. 

The Aftermath -- Antigua, Guatemala

I'm starting this post from my quaint little room in Eybi's house, wrapped in blankets and writing by the light of the askew lamp to my left. Listening to yet another indie/rock playlist on YouTube and wondering if I should ever take the time to actually develop a decent taste in music.

One of these days. I'll learn to like things other than sad Irish music and Jack Johnson. 

But today. Today is not that day. 
 
My arms hurt. My belly hurts. My legs hurt.

And the hurt feels amazing. It feels like my body has actually been able to do something, instead of just lounging around and occasionally sprinting to the toilet. 

This is Guatemala's version of "interval training". 

After two weeks of diarrhea and nausea, I've finally started to feel enough energy to practice yoga. Three days in a row. And my body is registering all that exercise all over.

I love the first few days of getting back into a practice. When you can observe the dramatic changes in your body instead of the minutia you experience later on. 

But, I mean. That's my life, isn't it? Maybe I have an addiction to dramatic changes. Maybe I just don't have the sensitivity to recognize the value of subtle changes. I need drama.  

I would like to stop needing that. And to start recognizing and appreciating small changes more. 

It's been nearly two weeks since Fuego went berserk and submerged two villages in lava, killing over a hundred people and displacing thousands. Nearly two weeks since my day standing in an ash storm and wondering what strange kind of insect had just laid its eggs in my hair. Nearly two weeks of checking the news every day to see if there had been other eruptions, to see how many people had died, to see what other volcanoes had decided they'd like in on the action as well (there are currently three tantruming volcanoes in Guatemala).

No wonder I've had such a hard time sleeping. Sheesh. 

 The streets of Antigua are still covered with black volcanic sand, some of which Eybi found in the water from the kitchen sink two days ago. Some conscientious Guatemalans work to sweep up the streets, bag the ash and sand, and leave the bags on the sidewalks for the trash trucks to collect. But the majority of Guatemalans just hose down their sidewalks, heedlessly letting the pyroclastic material flow into the pipes.

And then into Eybi's kitchen sink.

That can't be healthy...

The city feels abandoned these days. The hotels are empty. The restaurants serve no one and many of employees have been given "vacation". The bars have more security guards than clients. Many of my fellow Spanish students have fled to Flores or Mexico. 

Which is fair. To be honest, I'd have hightailed it to San Cristobal immediately if a) I hadn't already paid for a month of rent with Eybi, b) I didn't absolutely love my Spanish teacher, and c) I didn't have about as much fear of Guatemalan roads and shuttles as I do of Guatemalan volcanoes and earthquakes. 

So I'm in Antigua. Walking to class every day at one o'clock. Practicing Duolingo, watching Narcos (purely to improve my Spanish, I swear). Frying up plantains for dinner. Listening to the bombs go off and wishing that people would take a fucking break (sometimes the bombs sound like a volcano's going off again. Which is mightily disconcerting for someone like me). Going shopping with Eybi once a week, and noticing that prices for produce are already going up.

"The volcano destroyed a lot of farms. This is going to be a hard year. And next year is going to be hard as well," Silvia told me during one of our classes. "My mother is already asking that we buy food to save. Beans, rice, lentils. Food that keeps."

At least I get to leave in a couple of weeks. I get to fly out of Guatemala City airport (if it's open, that is) and know that I'm leaving this behind. My experience was one of fear, of annoyance at having to wear a dust mask for so long -- 

-- and of temporary stress-induced insomnia.  

But for people like Silvia? 

They have to live with the fact that not only is food going to be more expensive and hard to get for the next few months/year, but that the tourist industry in Antigua, and most of Guatemala, is going to fucking tank. And tourism is the bread and butter of Antigua. It's the engine of this town. Without tourism, they're going to have a sort of crisis. 

I went on a hike with one of my neighbors the other day. A neighbor who is a mountaineer and a volcano expert. A neighbor who owns a tour company in Antigua.

"The media is inflating everything now, just so they can keep a good story. Sure, the volcano erupted. Sure, it was horrible. But the eruptions from Fuego now aren't dangerous. Look at that one," Victor pointed to a large column of white smoke billowing out from Fuego's caldera. "It's white. That means it's mostly vapor. But the media is gonna take a picture of that and use it to tell a story about how dangerous Fuego is."

"I can understand your frustration," I said, as delicately as possible. "But my Spanish teacher says there's another side to it as well. She's lived in this area a long time. She knows how many people lived in the villages that were destroyed. And the villagers didn't have much time at all, if any, to evacuate... There are still so many people missing, but the government doesn't want to scare away tourists, so it's keeping the official death toll at about a hundred. Even though it's probably quite a bit higher."

The government of Guatemala is also hijacking the generous donations sent by concerned people from around the world. And when there's an official donation area, government officials simply repackage everything and add their own logo. Even though they had nothing to do with the donated goods.

"The government is robbing the people," my Spanish teacher said, matter of factly. "When people want to donate to volcano survivors, they need to go through a different organization. Like the Red Cross. Not the government. There's a lot of corruption in Guatemala."

"How many years do you have left with this president?" I asked, a little stunned.

"Two years," Silvia sighed.

"Yeah, us too."

Don't Worry, it's Just the Volcano -- Antigua, Guatemala

What... what IS that? I frowned in confusion Sunday afternoon, as I habitually ran my fingers through my hair. And encountered something I do not habitually encounter whilst running my fingers through my hair. Something small, hard, and close to my scalp. Lots of somethings small, hard, and close to my scalp.

What the heck? I thought, staring in utter bewilderment at the small black piece of... sand(?) I'd just pulled from my head. I just showered twenty minutes ago. And washed my hair. Thoroughly, or so I thought. Why do I have black shit in my hair? 

I kept walking through Antigua, still scratching my head and wearing an expression of disgusted befuddlement.

Did a bug lay eggs in my hair within the last twenty minutes? Is this some strange breed of lice? Guatemalan lice? 

I took a break from picking Guatemalan lice out of my hair to take some photographs of the arch reflected in a cobblestone puddle. 

At that point, I began to notice that I wasn't the only one scratching her head. 

WE'VE ALL GOT GUATEMALAN LICE! I thought in alarm, observing another ten-fifteen people who'd started absentmindedly sifting through their hair.  At least my hair is short. It won't take long to grow back if I have to shave it all off.
 
I stopped looking at the scratching tourists to take in the sky.

When did it get so dark? This... doesn't feel normal. I'm confused... and... scared. I'm scared. What is this? 

The puddles from yesterday's rain began to dance and splutter. 

Is it raining again? I held out my hand, expecting to catch a fat, wet droplet.

Instead, I caught several tiny, black, grains of something. 

Is this... my brain stalled for a moment, like my phone does when I have seventeen applications open. Is this... ash? My gut seized in panic and I slipped into a nearby fast food restaurant to avoid the bizarre black rain.  

Okay. What's going on. Find out what's going on, Bourget. Then panic later, if necessary. 

"Disculpe," I asked one of the restaurant's employees. "Sabes que es esto?"

"Es solo el volcán. No te preocupes."

It's only the volcano. Don't worry. 

... 

That doesn't make me not worry.  In fact, that makes me worry. A lot, my eyes widened, my heart ramped up its pace, and my stomach clenched into a tight knot of fear.

Okay. I call Eybi and ask if this is normal, I fumbled with my phone, dialing my host and listening to the tone.

Fuck, I hung up after waiting for what felt like decades.

I wrote Pancho next. No response.

I wrote Silvia, my Spanish teacher.

"Silvia! Es todo seguro? Tengo miedo ahora." (Is everything safe? I'm afraid now)

Silvia responded with an emoticon laughing so hard it was crying.

"Es el fin del mundo!" (it's the end of the world) Es una lluvia de ceniza!" (it's a rain of ash!)

So... I'm not sure why everyone thinks this is funny. Or doesn't think much of anything at all, I ogled at the locals who were sharing ice cream cones under their brightly colored umbrellas, as if ash rain were an every second Tuesday sort of thing.

"Es normal?" I asked a Guatemalan at the supermarket, eyes owlishly wide with worry.

"No, no es normal," the Guatemalan responded, taking photographs of the rapidly darkening horizon. "Pero no te preocupes, es solo el volcán." 

It's not normal. But don't worry, it's just the volcano. 

Who, WHO, has a sentence like that EVER calmed down? 

Don't worry, it's just the VOLCANO? 

AM I MISSING SOMETHING? 

This is why everyone in Pompeii bloody died. They were probably eating ice cream under umbrellas when Vesuvius erupted, too. And then, poof. No more Pompeii. Or ice cream. Or umbrellas.  
 

I had left Eybi's house to buy laundry detergent, milk, and bananas. And since everyone and their dog and reassured me that everything would be okay, it was only a volcano erupting, I decided to go ahead and purchase my laundry detergent, milk, and bananas.

Is this how I really want to spend my final moments on earth? I thought, staring blankly at the shelf of soap and wondering which was softener, which was bleach, and which was actually for washing my clothes.

Things that are hard when you don't speak the language very well. 

This. 

I finally made it through the queue with my purchases, and decided to brave the ash and skip-hop-slip to Cafe Boheme. Where I could enjoy my last few moments on earth with a nice smoothie, not some fucking ambiguous fabric softener.

I spent a couple of hours nervously scribbling in my journal, knees pulled up close to my body and watching the windows slowly darken with ash. Listening to the harsh pitter-patter of tiny bits of volcano pelting Boheme's metal roof.

I. Am genuinely frightened right now. 

Is this really happening? Am I really less than twenty kilometers away from an erupting volcano? 

DULCE JESUS, Guatemala. Scorpions,  parasites, wildfire, torrential rainstorms, and the most abysmal roads on which I've EVER traveled aren't enough for you? You have to have fucking erupting volcanoes as well?  

CALM DOWN, you hear? STOP IT. JUST. STOP. 

Eventually the ash did stop, and I cautiously ventured out from the French cafe in which I'd taken shelter.

 And other than the roads being covered with ash, and cars needing a thorough washing, everything seemed to have returned to normal in the blink of an eye.

The nut guy went back to selling nuts.

Mothers and daughters went back to selling textiles.

Tourists went back to taking pictures. Pigeons resumed their pigeoning.

I walked home in a daze, not quite sure if I was safe. Whether or not I'd be suffocated by a cloud of toxic ash or hit by a river of lava or killed by an earthquake before I managed to reach Eybi's.

This is... your life, Bourget. 

Gosh. 

I'm so ready to be done with Central America. Guatemala, you're beautiful and everything, but you're fucking exhausting. 

Locals were sweeping their sidewalks clean, spraying down their cars with water, washing streams of ash into the cobbled streets.

Which is only going to clog the old, tiny pipes and probably contaminate the water... 
 

I sat in the living room with Eybi and Sophie that night, anxiously picking at my dinner and watching the news.

Twenty five dead. Thousands evacuated. Hundreds missing. 

Fuck, Guatemala. Do you really have to be this extreme?

I slept fitfully that night. At best. Eybi had assured me that her house was built to be earthquake resistant, and that somewhat helped to soothe my pounding heart... 

... but not enough for me to drift off to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

Yes. Guatemala. I believe I'm ready to be done with you.