MAYA-HO! _{Guatemala, Easter 2003}

Tuesday 6 May 2003

Chichicastenango: Early Tuesday morning I had the chills and shakes but didn't really feel sick yet. Up too early, tiredly did the final repack, crawled out on schedule for breakfast. Our favorite and its adjacent backup were both closed, so we stomped to the lushly upscale Santo Tomás Hotel and its early-opening great dining room, decorated with immense displays of local pottery. Screeching parrots entertained us as we enjoyed a fine repast. We eyed the carving-laden archways once more, exited past the low-key security guard (plainclothes with a pistol in his pocket, not flak-jacketed with a sawed-off shotgun at port arms), and trundled back to catch our ride.

We waited in Posada El Arco's homey lobby. The phone rang. Armando's car was 'bad', he'd get another one, be there in a half hour or so. OK. Short Armando finally arrived with his Mistubishi diesel van and petite sister and burley driver. Pedro shouted "Hola Armando!" I was relieved - Pedro knows him, so Armando and crew probably won't murder us or rob us or abandon us naked in a dirty alley. Confident and coughing, we departed.

Leaving Chichi

Now I'm feeling sick but still determined to do the ride and tour.

South on the spastic serpentine Chichi camino to the InterAmerican carretera, west along the inner rim of the Atitlán caldera, thense to new turf. We pass legend-shrouded Nahualá ("place of sorcerers") and its sister and bitter rival Santa Catarina Ixtuahuacán, nearly swallowed up by the earth (or demons?) a couple years ago.

We're rising now, the country looks greener and more prosperous until reaching the naked high plateau of Alaska, at 3670 meters (12,100 feet) the most astronomical reach of the InterAmericano. Volcanoes are DOWN from here, along with most of the rest of Guatemala. Down to the north is our next stop, Toto, but the shortcut is a dirt track. We'll take the longer paved route.

Now down into richer lusher country, Xela's great valley to the south backed by the mighty Santa Maria volcano, more hill systems to the north. I THINK it's a pretty ride but my fevered memory is fuzzy.

Touring North of Xela

Fully descended, we looped back eastward up a pretty green tree-lined valley to Toto (Totonicapán), described in guidebooks as a laid-back town. And indeed it is unless the locals are rebelling and rioting as happened a couple years ago. It's Tuesday, market day, and this market is indeed laid back and relaxed, like a larger version of the upper Pana market.

We wandered happily about, and all those around us seemed happy too, especially when looking at us. Giggling. Pointing. At me. At this VERY tall pale man with VERY white hair and a (by now) VERY bushy white beard, almost Nordic-looking. I was obviously an item of surprise, astonishment, humor, entertainment. I wonder just what my appearance may mean to them, and I dread finding out.

(A guidebook says Mayas consider beards as marks of ugliness. Am I a great ogre to them? But early Mayan inscriptions depicted bushy-bearded gods. Am I divine or demonic? Then why laugh?)

But Toto is pleasant, with some notable architecture - it'd be nice to return on a quiet day. I can't say the same for San Francisco el Alto, our next stop, described as a "small market town." The views from San Francisco might be spectacular on clear days, but the town is a huge fabric market, the national garment district, not unlike New York City's but with steeper hills and narrower streets. San Francisco is strictly an outlet for nearby and international fabric mills and garment fabricators.

Next we crawled the bumpy dusty dirt track through rich cornfields to San Andrés Xecul to take pictures of its psychedelic church. OK, the facade is richly colorful, bright yellow with splashes of everything primary, and gringo photographers are sure to buy snacks at local stands. Return here? I think not. And now I'm feeling tireder, sicker, coughing and sneezing continuously. No more dust, please.

Into Xela (Quetzaltenango)

So we finally reach Xela (SHAY-lah). Kilometer after kilometer of traffic jams, urban sprawl, spewing diesels, etc. This looks like an industrial armpit, Los Angeles without emission controls. I'm gagging. We search all over downtown for lodgings, but every hostelry is either ratty and/or airless and/or noisy and/or full. And downtown ain't exactly quaint.

Quetzaltenango was once "the city that would be capitol of Central America." That was quite a few dictators and earthquakes ago. The once-impressive city center is now a jumble of structures poisoned by a snarl of traffic. On Chichi's small scale it was funny. Xela's cacaphony isn't funny, the air is grating, I'm about to pass out.

We end up miles away at Hotel del Campo, a 'modern' (1970s) place far from any resources and serving curious Chinese and Gringo food. Our suite is dusty and overlooks what appear to be wastewater settling ponds - no, they're just agricultural resevoirs. Al least it's pretty quiet here.

Tuesday night my temp spikes to 101.9°f, then levels at 101.4° for a few hours. Only had chills and shivers briefly, then seemed to radiate heat. If no improvement by morning, call a doc.

Wednesday 7 May 2003

Xela: But by Wednesday morning I'm down to 99.4°f, then 99.1°, then 98.1°, then 99.5° - rebounding. Now I'm achy and tired and apparently mending. Lungs still clogged though. So you don't want to hear my symptoms? Tough. And I haven't even mentioned flatulence.

We've re-thought our plans. Much of the rest of Guatemala now is dusty and/or hot and/or hotter. Some options are:

• * Bail out now, return to the US, forfeiting deposits
• * Head for the Costa Rican highlands for a couple weeks
• * Hang around Lake Atitlán for the balance, try to relax

We chose the third door. So today we rest, drink lots of water, maybe try the piscina (swimming pool) after the Junior Mermaids classes depart, and book a shuttle to Pana for tomorrow. There we'll evaluate our healths and desires, and turn our last fortnight here from an adventure to a vacation.

Wednesday Afternoon

I'm too woozy for the pool so we just lay about woozily. The food at both lunch and dinner was exceedingly curious but stable. This hotel is occupied with a conference, something about intercultural relations. A lunch table was filled with 30 French folk - including another bearded man! A dinner table was a multiethnic melenge, but no beards. So many other Xela hotels are full - is this conference week?

I'm still a bit feverish and groggy, I hope I reconstructed the last 36 hours fairly well. Any lacunae can be infilled by imagination, eh?

Soon it's bye-bye Xela. I readily admit my negative perceptions are base entirely on a drive-through in poor health, plus the wee bits visible from our peripheral hotel window. Perhaps there IS much here that's worthy of a long, slow exploration, as in Antigua. Maybe this whole are looks better after a good rain. Next time, maybe.

And next time, the Petén and Tikal. But not now. (We're plotting a winter cruise to the lowlands.) It's still dry season there, which one guidebook describes as "Hell on Earth". But I've been reading the De Camp's CITADELS OF MYSTERY and am struck by L.Sprague's poem Tikal:

About us looms the forest of Petén,
  Immense, and dark, and threatening. All around
  Colossal buttress-rooted trees, liana-wound,
Rise orchid-laden from the humid fen.
Beneath the jungle's blindly groping touch
  Lie scattered and askew the works of man,
  To raucous parrot and grotesque toucan
Abandoned, in the forest's subtle clutch.

Obeying Señor Profesor's command,
  José the Mayan, swart and slant of eye,
  Pecks gently at his forebears' temples. Why?
He know nothing of when they ruled this land.
  Shall our descendants, for a stranger's coin,
  Peck likewise at the ruins of Des Moines?