Thursday, November 24, 2005

Guatemala! The first Guatemalans we came across were a group of men sitting by the river, chilling. We exchanged greetings and then Michael asked, "La Technica?"

"Si!"

"Guatemala?"

"Si! Bienvenidos!"

Now to find our way onto a bus to Xela, or Guatemala City. A short way up from the river we came to a hotel, where we tried to figure out what to do next. We talked to a guy with a giant cold sore in the middle of his upper lip (I hope no one told him he's more aware of it than other people are, because that's not true). We asked him about busses and it turned out we had missed the only bus to come through town, destination Flores. (Flores!)

Michael asked him about Migracion.

"Bethel."

A bank?

"Bethel."

He said we'd have to take a special vehicle to Bethel if we wanted to get there today. And if we wanted to change money? His friend could do it. And who would drive this special vehicle? He would, of course. And what is the special vehicle? Why, that pickup truck over there. How much? 150 Quetzales. Each.

Ok. We had no guidebook. We had no Guatemalan money. We were not yet legally cleared to be in the country (sound familiar?). We had no map. We didn't know what the exchange rate should be, not that it matters. We had no choice but to change money with his friend.

For Michael's last $200 pesos, he received Q140. We assumed this was a bad exchange, but we had no idea if it was very bad or just a little bad. We had no idea if it was a legal exchange or if we had just had our first Black Market experience. We had no idea how much Q140 was worth now that we actually had it. All we knew was that it wasn't enough to get even one of us a ride in this guy's truck. We didn't know if his price was good or bad, but we suspected it was bad from his manner. We had no idea how far away Bethel was, but we decided to walk.

An old man in the town's store said that we could get a ride from a passing car, but -I should create a macro for this- we had no idea if that was true or not. But as the town consists of about five buildings, our only options were to beg/bargain with the hotel guy, or walk. But we had high hopes. We spent the first few minutes of the walk deciding what we would say to the drivers of the many cars that would surely come along. It was 2:15 p.m.

The road, a single lane of dirt and small jagged rocks bordered by thick greenery tall enough to block the view but not tall enough to give shade, wound around corners and curved up and over hills. A twisty road like that is the worst kind, because it lures and tempts you to see what's around the next bend - you never know, Bethel could be right there and wouldn't you feel stupid going sheepishly back to the guy with the cold sore to beg him to take you ten meters further than what you'd just walked to and back? At 3:15 we came to our first building. There was a group of men working and we asked them how far to Bethel.

"Seis kilometros."

"Six kilometers!" We freaked out. Then we tried to figure out how long a kilometer is. Less than a mile, right? We decided it was walkable. Our water felt like it was boiling, but we drank some anyway, because the sun was beating down on us and Michael was saying all kinds of worrisome things about heatstroke and dehydration. Our t-shirts were soaked through with sweat, even mine, and I am supposed to be the dainty one. We squeezed up against the plants encroaching onto the road to get out of the way of a deli delivery truck coming from the direction of Bethel. "We'll catch that truck on its way back," Michael joked.

At 3:30 we passed our first walking person, a man who casually used his machete to strip the leaves off a plant he'd pulled from the side of the road.

At 4:15 our road wound into jungly tall trees and we found a dead tarantula in the middle of the road. Even though it was clearly squashed and in the process of being devoured by tiny brown ants, I was still terrified. I mean, if Bethel could be lurking around every bend, so could more tarantulas, live ones.

Shortly after the tarantula, we came to a tiny village. A naked little boy, two little girls with dresses on, a pig and some chickens were playing and/or foraging in the road, which had gradually changed to a reddish clay. We spent our first five Quetzales on a warm can of Coke from a shed staffed by two young girls. We sat on a wooden bench to drink it and be gawked at by some of the townspeople. After bumbling about in Spanish, we finally determined that they didn't really speak Spanish at all, but Quiche, a Mayan language. Ah. No wonder they didn't understand "agua."

Michael's not a huge Coke fan, so after a few sips, he let me finish off the Coke while he drank the rest of our bottled water. When he was through with the liter bottle he asked, "basura?" ("garbage?") The girls did not understand him. He held out the bottle to show that it was empty and in need of disposal. A little girl who had been peeping at us shyly came forward. She nodded her head and held out her hands for the bottle with a hopeful smile on her face. She was young enough to be waiting for some of her grownup front teeth to come in.

We thought she was offering to throw the bottle away for us, and Michael handed it to her. She took it as though he might change his mind and snatch it back, clutched it to her chest with both arms, and ran into her house. Did she think we meant it as a gift? She's more than welcome to it, if she can use it for something, but it was a very uncomfortable feeling for us, this little girl being so happy to get our old bottle.

Shortly after we passed the village, we met some teenage boys in the road. We confirmed that we were on the right road to Bethel, and that there was no bus. We asked how much further, and they told us and hour and a half.

That didn't seem too bad, if they were right. But the sun was sinking, our bags were getting heavier, and the howler monkeys, which should really be called ungodly roarer monkeys, were making a frightening racket.

Then we overtook a family. We asked them about Bethel, and they said something like, "Yes, yes, Bethel, but right now we're looking at this bird." So we politely looked up at the bird for a while. It was some kind of really big bird way up in a tree. After we had looked at it, the man told us Bethel was six kilometers away. But... that's what they said two hours ago!

We had no choice but to keep walking. It would be impossible to get back to La Technica before dark. Not a single car had passed us going in our direction. The shadows were beginning to cross the road and it was getting so cool that our soaked t-shirts felt clammy and cold against our skin. Monkeys howled in the trees.

Then, finally, there was a car. Or something. Something coming in our direction. "I'm going to lie down in the middle of the road," Michael said. But he didn't need to. It was the deli truck, coming back from La Technica, and it angled across the road so that it stopped inches from where we were cowering in the bushes. There were three guys in the front seat, and the one near the door had a rifle.

My Spanish fled when they drove at us like that, but they they didn't mean to be scary. And they just took it as a matter of course that they would give us a ride to Bethel, so we let them put our backpacks in the back and we climbed in the front. I sat next to the driver and tried to keep my legs off the gearshift, Michael sat next to me, the second guy sat on the passenger side with the door partly open to accommodate our combined width, and the third guy hopped in the back with our stuff.

The ride was made longer by the fact that the driver had to concentrate on steering over the rocky dirt road and around various sunken places. Still, it was a short ride. But it would have been a very long walk. We arrived safe and sound in Bethel at dusk, eternally grateful to our three friends. Bethel. We wondered if we would run into Julien, and if we did, if he's be jealous that we'd made it there for a mere $20 pesos each, or relieved that he'd spent $350 pesos on a trip sans sweat, exhaustion, and howler monkeys.

Happy Thanksgiving!

HOURS IN A DELIVERY TRUCK: .25

 

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Walking to Bethel.

Still walking to Bethel.

This year it's Thanksgiving for the turkeys.

Lovely pre-sunset light appears ominious when you have no idea how much further you need to walk.

Three guys and a deli truck - our very own deus et machina. Michael's camera is so good that you can't tell how dark it is by this point.