Day 4

2/20
Breakfast is a little earlier today as we’re heading on to the next city, Chichicastenango, place of the chichicas—a poison ivy type plant. I try the oatmeal, which the Guatemalans like as more milk than oatmeal. It’s soupy with a hint of cinnamon. Very good. Plus, I have a freshly prepared ham and cheese omelet. I get some Choco Krispis cereal—for the box.
We get on the road at 8:25 a.m., five minutes early. The ride takes us past several small towns and many rural homes made from adobe, which is actually baked earth, and curved clay tile roofs. We see bricks of adobe drying in the sun in the yards.
Arriving at the hotel after a brief cloudy period en route, we have clear blue skies once again. The Hotel Casa Del Rey, which means ‘house of the king’, sits atop a hill. It is very quaint and very native. However, Joe tells us its like going from the four star hotels we’ve stayed in to a two star. The beds are small, and the furnishings are minimal. A bare light bulb sticks out of the wall above the mirror, and the bathroom is small, with a sink on metal legs. The dining area is first rate with two long cloth covered tables. The lobby has a large wall-sized 3D topographical map of Guatemala. It’s interesting to see how big some of the mountains and volcanoes really are.
A groundskeeper working in the driveway is wearing an American Punisher skull t-shirt, the significance of my recent belt purchase not lost on me. Eucalyptus trees in blue-green and other blossoming trees line the grounds. There’s a pool, but the temperature is cooler up here, and I don’t know if the water is regularly maintained. I can see across the valley to the colorful mausoleum on the far hillside. Small square buildings are built as needed and painted vivid colors. They serve as above ground burial plots for a particular family of means. As the family grows and members pass on, more buildings are erected.
It’s only late morning and warming up. I’m surprised when the staff tells us we’ll need our jackets by the time this day is done. I inadvertently hold the van up as I run way back to my room to get mine, then hop down steps and over walls to get back on board to loud cheers. And we’re off to the Utatlan ruins, a great post-classic Mayan settlement from the 1400-1500s. It’s a very bumpy ride as we get nearer. In one of the towns we pass through, I see I a local woman standing on a corner carrying two dead chickens while waiting for the bus. I also see a boy in his rural home running with a limp turkey held by its legs that he was either taking to slaughter or just did and was running it into the house to be dressed for dinner.
The ruins seem to be out in the middle of nowhere. The first thing I notice as I walk among the grounds is the tall spruce-like trees with a sort of Spanish moss hanging down off the branches high overhead. There is the subtle scent of pine in the air. Rich and faded greens are the colors surrounding us as we walk in a spread out line toward the main site. It is quite different than Chichen Itza, which is a lot older, being from the classic Mayan period. It also doesn’t seem like that much funding has gone into this site for major reconstruction or unearthing of the ruins. Several larger structures have been mostly uncovered but left with the forest growth and dirt remaining amidst the rocks used for the walls. It gives the structures a unique shape among the clearing.
A guide tells us the unique story of the conquest of this village by Pedro Alverado and his battle with the great Mayan chief Tecunuman. There is a cave farther onward that was carved into a hillside. The women and children were hidden there during the battles. It’s dark and narrow as we venture into the mouth of the cave. Several of the team have flashlights. There are alcoves with several lit candles and flower offerings. The candles leave a smoky scent and soot on the walls. I find this out after leaning against the side to steady myself to take a picture. I’m wearing my new Guatemalan native shirt.
On the way back toward the entrance of the park, I climb one of the higher mounds, and Diana takes my picture in my moment of triumph. Noreen Matthews, a teacher from New Jersey, walks my camera back up to me, and I survey the grounds. There’s a main plaza in the center with a flat circular fire ring. There’s even a ball court off to the side, but I wouldn’t have known what it was unless I was told. I walk Noreen’s camera down as she stays up, and I take her picture for her.
We have boxed lunches waiting for us made up by Porta Hotel de Lago. There’s a sandwich with a kind of chiliburger paste. It’s cold now but normally served hot. It’s still good. There is a can of pineapple-orange drink and chips with a Spongebob Squarepants knick-knack inside. Bob Esponja, as he’s known in Spanish. I collect a few from others who laugh when I say they’re for my kids.
“Surrrrrre,” they kid me.
We sit on the ground eating, and I notice I’m suddenly getting really dirty. And, on the day of my small group’s presentation to the school we’re sponsoring.
Half of the team goes on to Chinique School, while the rest of us travel on to Nuestra Senora del Carmen (Our Lady of Carmen). It’s a catholic school of about 52 students in grades 7,8 and 9. Those grades are called Básico 1, 2 and 3. It’s a quaint two-story open-air structure with a concrete courtyard in the middle. We are encouraged to smile and greet as many as we can as we enter the school on a path of pine needles. I need no further reminders, as I can’t stop smiling. I’m so excited to be seeing these kids who are themselves excited about their visitors. The girls are very pretty. They wear huipils and handmade blouses. Many wear a little make up and perfume. The boys are handsome. Most of them have white button down uniform shirts over blue slacks.
“Buenos tardes.” Good afternoon
“Ola.” Hello.
“Mucho Gusto.” Pleased to meet you.
The students respond eagerly to our greetings. I reaffirm an observation I’ve made since my first close up experience with the Guatemalan people. I see that their race is truly a beautiful people. As I mentioned before, the girls have a strong beauty to them and the boys are ruggedly handsome.
Informally, we are shown several small classrooms. One is quite dreary. The other is livelier. It has a dry-erase board. We are also introduced to several girls who represent their respective grades. We then move into the courtyard under plastic tarps stretched out overhead. I sit in the front row with John and Diana on plastic patio chairs as we hear one of the teachers welcome us. Joe is up front translating for us.
There is a stack of boxes with colorful labels containing the books and donated sport balls. We see a musical bit lip-synched by a group of boys, several of whom are “playing” various instruments. Soon, boys dressed as men and as women (which really gets a laugh from us and the other students) join in and dance. One boy pulls Holly out of her seat to dance with him. Then, one of the boys dressed in drag pulls me out to the floor to dance, much to the delight of the crowd. We are also treated to a re-enactment of a courtship and Mayan marriage ceremony put on by the students. During the Bride and Groom dance, it’s explained that it’s a reception and everyone dances. I get to dance with a little girl, probably nine years old.
It’s time for the formal presentations now. I’m called up first as the Speaker of the group. I have my prepared speech and take a microphone. I’m surprised I’m not really nervous. I just want the kids to like what I have to say and appreciate us, without me feeling like they think we believe we’re here to “rescue” them or that we’re superior to them because of what we’re doing for them. I definitely don’t think that. I speak a few sentences at a time, and Joe translates. I hope the message makes it through the paraphrased translation. I mix in a little Spanish and actually trip up a little in pronouncing their school. It goes well, and I’m met with great applause.
Diana reads the plaque that COED provides on behalf of the sponsors. She does well as it’s all in Spanish. Next, John presents the hanging rosary and rosaries to the principal who just came back to the school after a family emergency of some sort. John has a pretty good impromptu speech about spreading good will through our church and school. The principal wants us to thank the children of St. Albert School, and she welcomes them to her school anytime.
Dick and Alberta “Bert” Tepe hand out the pencils as John and Diana give the rosaries to each child, which is something we hadn’t expected doing. I take pictures. I see one boy receives a pink rosary, and I track him down after finding a blue one. I use my limited Spanish to see if he wants to exchange the two because of the stigma of the color pink associated with girls. He seems more than happy to.
We line up in front of the crowd again as the children give us gifts they made by hand along with Thank You letters. A group of three girls giggle as one of them approaches me and places this fancy square piece of fabric with a silk loop around my neck. They give the other team members the same item but folded and wrapped in plastic. It isn’t until we leave the school that I learn from Claudia Avila, a Guatemalan COED staff member, that the craft is not some native costume adornment, but a simple bag. How silly I must have looked.
Our group mingles with the students. I show a few girls the picture of Maddie playing soccer out of the small photo album I brought along that fits in my pocket. I try to guess their ages. They’re eleven. I tell them my daughter is ten. I find a group of boys younger than the Junior High School level and not in uniforms. They are probably already out of school for the day and came back for the festivities. The younger children go to school first, then the older grades have school in the same building after lunch. The boys like the soccer pictures, and the pictures I included of my police work are a big hit.
I back up to let more kids look at my photo album, and I step into a bicycle that is resting up against the wall behind me. I knock it over and nearly fall down as my leg is temporarily trapped inside the frame above the pedals. How embarrassing. At least they can’t see through my sunburn how red I turn.
I talk to a teacher whose first name is Ellolalio. I have a tough time with his name, but he takes it in stride. He sees my pictures as boys standing around us point to me and tell others, “Policia.” I show him pictures of my kids, and he introduces me to his son, Donis. His daughter is one of the girls who represented her grade who we met earlier.
I enjoy saying what I can in Spanish, but a little boy keeps asking me about or remarking on my pictures in Spanish and I can’t understand. It’s like a one-way street. I can convey my ideas but can’t understand theirs.
Despite now being able to address the throbbing pain in leg, I’m sad to leave. I have several long scrapes to my left shin. Boarding the bus, everyone tells me how great my speech was and how well I spoke it. I’m proud of their compliments. We’re all excited for a job well done. Plus, we can relax now and let the other teams work at the other schools as we watch.
We are in fact heading to another school this same day, Chichicastenango Nocturnal. It’s a public night school held in the evening for those students who have to work during the day and can’t attend school during regular hours. It’s generally the poorer families who need all their members working in the fields during the day.
The small children are finishing their school day as we arrive, and they run among us, giggling. We greet them, waving and smiling. They are so cute. As the school sets up for the presentation, some of us seek el bano, the bathroom. There is a row of narrow doors and the pungent odor of an outhouse. Luckily, this is at the far end of the school. The open doors have toilets in them that are quite dirty. Someone from the school quickly comes and unlocks some of the other doors in the row, wanting us to use those instead. There is no paper or outer lid, and it’s dark with the door shut. But, I’m not a snobby, complaining American on this trip.
Some boys are shooting baskets in the open courtyard/assembly area outside. A couple of us move in to catch some rebounds, but we don’t really connect with the boys since they don’t pass the ball to us. Gradually we start to sit down in the assembly area in old school desks facing the now familiar display of boxes of books. 150 students sit on bleachers behind us. The Guatemalan flag is brought out and presented as their National Anthem is played. It’s a beautiful song and melody—all twelve verses. We have the words and translation. All the students are singing it, and we give it a try with our hands over our hearts as well.
The presentations go similarly as before as it turns to dusk. The rest of us who are not on the team with specific duties are encouraged to line up and shake hands with the students after they get their pencils. I vary my responses and greetings, and some students respond in English.
“Thank you,” one says with a smile.
“Hello Eric,” one surprises me, until I realize he read my nametag.
Most of the kids wear enthusiastic expressions and appear really happy to meet us. Some of the boys shake hands in the macho “brotherhood” manner. I’m happy to oblige, adding an extra move that I’m familiar with from the “brothers” I encounter out on the street in my line of work.
We leave quickly but not rudely, and I wave genuine farewells to several and receive pleasant responses. This ceremony started at dusk and it’s now dark. It’s chilly too, but I don’t need my jacket, even after all I went through to get it.
Back at the hotel, I finally reach Becky and the kids. It’s nice to hear their voices and have a pleasant conversation. I miss that. Becky tells me she had a patient from Guatemala City today. Maddie tells me they prayed the rosary for me last night. And, Sam tells me they skipped Math because the first graders came to visit. I talk for twenty minutes before heading to dinner late.
We’re having a kind of pot roast dish with rice and carrots. The beef is tough but has a good flavor. It’s not much. Dessert is custard in a warm fritter floating in apple juice. It’s good! I talk more with George at dinner, one of the handful remaining that I really hadn’t gotten to know yet.
Don Griffin gives me some salve that works wonders on my sunburn. I enter my hotel room alone with John off with Diana somewhere. A large spider greets me as it clings to the drapes that are closest to my bed. When it starts to move and it’s clear John isn’t coming in anytime soon, I finally squish it. Man! That creeps me out! John returns, and I write in my journal by candlelight as he goes to bed. There’s a miller flitting about, enjoying the open flame. We have to get up even earlier tomorrow, and I write for almost two hours tonight. Finally, it’s lights out at 11:35 p.m. on Day 4 in Guatemala.