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."
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