Catching up on details

Sorry still no pictures. Alan´s phone just started working again, and I sent a bunch last night, but they don´t seem to have published here yet.

Last post reads like a Lonely Planet guide. I was sitting in a stuffy little room with only 15 minutes of online time while a guy sat right behind me reading over my shoulder, so I made it fast. Also distracted by all the mosquitos under the desk feasting on my legs. And we were pretty tired by that point. A certain weariness hits when we change cities too often. Makes me unable to see anything but the travel book type details, like "it´s on a river and lots of boats go by" instead of the fun details like how funny Brits are when they find things distasteful or how exciting it is to go traipsing around a lagoon hoping to see the big crocodile somebody told us lives in it.

Much has happened since my last post, but first I´d like to fill in the more interesting details that went along with the last few adventures.

At Tikal:

A small herd of pisotes (coatis) scattered across the ruins completely ignore the tourists and dig furiously with their noses like Future playing in the snow.

Monkey families moving through the trees. I noticed it´s a universal thing that when any of us humans spot the little one we say, "Oh look, it´s a baby monkey!" Warned Alan to move just in time as one peed above him. Yeah, I guess they can just pee wherever they are up there.

Gorgeous jungles, really. And amazing ruins. But the best part was looking deep into the jungle at every corner and hoping to see a jaguar or ocelot. No luck.

Lots of birds making huge sounds, but the best is this black bird with a bright yellow beak and tail who makes a sound like he´s gargling and whistling at the same time. Even better, every time he does this, he dives off the branch while keeping his claws wrapped around it, twirling around the branch like a gymnast on the parallel bars. Don´t know if this is a courting thing or just what they do for fun.

Very special smell to spend two days and a night in the steamy jungle drenched in DEET with no shower in between. Those clothes are still wrapped and buried at the bottom of the backpack.

On the road:

OK the book talks about unfortunate deforestation. But all we´re seeing is dense jungles with occasional, tiny tiny farms of corn, pineapples, bananas, lettuce, sugar cane, beans carved miraculously into the sides of steep hills. In some areas a small pasture being grazed by cows, goats, horses. Mostly the chickens, pigs, cows, goats, horses, dogs, children seem to wander right alongside the road ... occasionally into the road. Takes alert driving to dodge all of this and the potholes. Seems like poor travelling etiquette to hit someone´s chicken. The cutest thing ever is a big fat sow leading a row of tiny piglets across the road. They´re trying to move fast, but theír bodies just aren´t designed for speed. Anyway, we´re not seeing much deforestation, just meager subsistence farming.

Sudden rainstorms with big fat raindrops, followed ten minutes later by sparkling sun making all that rich green shine brightly. Thanks, Rik, for the tip on spare windshield wipers. Changed them already.

Speaking Spanish:

At first we just knew the polite stuff - please, thank you, yes, no, hello, goodbye, etc. But we´ve been forced to learn so much more. I suspect our vocabulary has more road-related terms than the average visitor. Toll road, "fill it up please," do not enter, etc. We´ve learned how to describe the rooms we want and how we want our food cooked. But borders are the best way to be immersed by force in terms like vehicle permit, enter, exit, return, stay. It gets tiring speaking entirely in nouns, badly conjugated verbs, and a small selection of adjectives (good, bad, hot, cold, big, small). We both miss being able to have a conversation with strangers that involves any subtlety at all. And it´s hard to discern someone´s personality when you´re just straining to get the gist of the conversation. The language barrier just makes them all seem smart and us terribly dumb. Outside of the border towns of Mexico, people do not speak English at all. In some areas Spanish is a second language to their indigenous language. So we just keep getting better at charades.

Rio Dulce:

Apparently a place favored by "yachties", it felt a lot like other cities where lots of wealthy tourists just pass through for a night. Hard to get a smile out of the locals, and everyone looks a little tired of being at your service. The yachties come in all sizes and colors but none seem to even try to speak Spanish. Not even "Hola" to start a sentence. More like, "Yeah. Is your shrimp breaded? And can I get some fries with that? God, it´s so dirty here."

We stayed in the cheap option, a hostel whose proceeds support an orphanage. Nice place right on the water. The room was cute, made entirely of screens up on the second floor. We keep choosing rooms during the day that seem nice for air circulation and views, then at night discovering that means lots of noise and smells. This one turned out to be above the kitchen, specifically above the dishwashing area and where they apparently kept the boom-box. From about 9 p.m. to about 1 a.m. the stereo blaired and the special smell of large-scale dish washing wafted up from beneath the bed. And the matress was so saggy, it was a bit like sleeping in box of wadded up kleenex. Alan was up all night, but by this time I was so tired, I slept like a rock for about 10 hours.

The guy running this hotel was a rather annoying Canadian who, it turned out, was well-acquainted with a board member at the Toronto Fringe. Small world. But he was so annoying I really didn´t want it to be that small. A certain type of ex-pat ... you know, they enjoy bossing around the locals and having a little fiefdom they´d never have at home. Also an expert on all things you never wanted to know.

Nonetheless a beautiful place.

Clothes:

Neither of us were too good about reading up before leaving. I read in the guidebook that women dress very conservatively after I had packed and left. No exposed midrift, no tank tops, etc. As it turns out, at least in Guatemala, they are wearing exactly what women in the U.S. are wearing. So I haven´t had to buy new shirts. But I did buy a local skirt because it was cute and it´s fun to fit in a bit. If we ever get the camera-phone-blog thing worked out I´ll send a picture, and you can let me know if I look a little Guatemalan.

Dirt:

In the cities, the streets are clogged with people, street vendors, trash in the gutters, and the sidewalks are narrow and unstable. You walk alternately on the sidewalk, weaving around people carring bags of rice, bags of coffee, babies, or you walk down in the street with the trash and the loud, stinky, horn-honking traffic.

In the rural areas, the roads are dirt, and since it rains a lot, that means mud, mud, mud. Bugs, bugs, bugs. Lots of broken things.

And everywhere, stray dogs. Most cute. Some very mangy.

You can´t put any paper whatsoever in the toilets. So the trash can next to the toilets is filled with paper and, you know, the stuff on the paper. Some places, you´re grateful for a toilet seat and a door that shuts all the way.

But the wierd thing is, after a few weeks, you totally get used to it. And you see how beautiful everything else is.

People:

People are nice everywhere. But they seem to smile and go about their life pretty happily especially in Guatemala.