tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51588956026407271522024-02-18T23:36:59.158-06:00SerendipityLiving in Honduras and Guatemala is sometimes hard, mostly fun but never boring. Here some of my musings on life in this colourful part of the world where you can always expect the unexpected. Hence Serendipity, the gift of finding without seeking…Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-53281454045368419632021-02-16T15:04:00.004-06:002021-02-16T15:07:00.649-06:00 Rescuing the Wrong Dog<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ALRpljOtImZGFdxZTu775Hay9UsSTyRoHLiQIKDq-N0Q_9-3ZcmKAZ4tCXD_xlceafmkJykQmOehJ1HgJcfk1-dLeClhFJcO530WSoO07SipmgSzmjydaMoT3HjBkqv5SV6BWZlTJM2h/s2508/Rescued+Dogs+Collage.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="2508" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ALRpljOtImZGFdxZTu775Hay9UsSTyRoHLiQIKDq-N0Q_9-3ZcmKAZ4tCXD_xlceafmkJykQmOehJ1HgJcfk1-dLeClhFJcO530WSoO07SipmgSzmjydaMoT3HjBkqv5SV6BWZlTJM2h/w400-h200/Rescued+Dogs+Collage.jpg" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Some portraits I painted of dogs that were rescued off the streets of Antigua<br />(Charlie, Bruno, Einstein, Cleo, Aggie, Milagros, Maco, Jacco)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>It was busy
this morning on the Alameda Santa Lucía, as it always is on this street in
Antigua Guatemala. The rough cobblestones slow down the speed of traffic but never
the amount. This is where chicken busses take a turn towards the terminal;
shoppers head to the market while motorcycles and tuc-tucs weave in and out of
long lines of cars, on both sides of the treelined strip of cement that divides
the lanes. The sidewalk wasn’t much better. I was hopscotching my way to the
hardware store when out of the corner of my eye I saw something quite out of
place. A dog lying in the middle of the street. Not quite in the middle, actually, more like next to the curb of the midsection. But ON the busy street.
Very likely to get hit by a car, if he hadn’t been hit already, because his hind
legs lay in a bit of an odd angle underneath his body. Damn!<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I kept on
walking, as if by ignoring the dog the problem would miraculously go away. But
I couldn’t. After a few more meters I stopped and turned around. I managed to
cross the street and made my way to the dog. He was dirty but friendly. He let me
pet him and ate a few pieces of kibble. (Yes, I quite often carry kibble around
in my purse.) I tried to lure him onto the curb, but the dog made no effort to
get up. It looked he was paralysed indeed. So, I’d have to lift him up. That
was a little scary because it was a big dog and although he seemed friendly,
you never know ho he might react, especially if in pain. But the dog let me lift
him up without a problem. I put him on the curb and got my phone out, thinking
of a strategy. Whom to call, which vet to take him?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As my brain
goes highwire thinking of how to save this dog’s life, the animal in question
gets up (!!!) and casually crosses the street at the exact but rare moment when not a
car is in sight. He then walked up to this kid in a wheelchair who apparently was
laughing his butt off at my attempt to “save” his dog. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The kid mentioned
for me to come over and when I made it through the stream of traffic, we
chatted a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had seen this kid
before, he can’t walk (as opposed to his dog I tried to rescue, how ironic) and
is often panhandling on this part of the Santa Lucia. He told me his dog just
wanted to lie in the sun a bit. I told him the road was not the right place to let
his dog do so. He then told me he had another dog too, but it died when it got hit
by a car. I told him that’s why his dog shouldn’t be on the street.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anyway, he
then asked if I could spare some change for breakfast. I gave him enough for
breakfast for the two of them. <br />
And that’s how I ended up rescuing a dog that didn’t need rescuing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-58341889128183836082021-01-27T20:40:00.002-06:002021-01-27T21:14:40.693-06:00No more dogs!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_QZeMKAKXwF4qoIpFFpBwuqF_IrDMgR0o0q1nBRfUogA8Qy5EUOLq0IEynap7cX2m5KtGvMOu6pb1wr24Ofjuc7siS_jy9hza1q7iAExZGwWvXszO76UiLxmKG6NtfruqBVDFAxeigjm/s1071/IMG_20210126_150133.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1071" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_QZeMKAKXwF4qoIpFFpBwuqF_IrDMgR0o0q1nBRfUogA8Qy5EUOLq0IEynap7cX2m5KtGvMOu6pb1wr24Ofjuc7siS_jy9hza1q7iAExZGwWvXszO76UiLxmKG6NtfruqBVDFAxeigjm/w400-h253/IMG_20210126_150133.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>There is
lots to like about Guatemala but also a few things not to. Let’s not talk trash
today, but about something else that bothers me.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Street
dogs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On my short
walk through town yesterday I saw no less than seven dogs in different spots
and different degrees of shabbiness. Some might have owners but they were
nonetheless wandering around town in search of food or a short-lived love
affair, resulting in even more unwanted puppies. Each of the coffee farms near
the place I’m staying at has its own pack of dogs. Many of them are injured
from fights with their peers, traffic accidents or from purposely being hurt by
people with machetes. And needless to say, the packs keep growing and growing.
These dogs sometimes assault people who’re walking their pet, chase motorcycles
and rip open garbage bags. They’re definitely a pain in the butt. But it isn’t
their fault. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciWtKt6w-gEcqyUml4-Na7BCKexegTHl4vXcoam9jrumjTAFaaXJ83eYJhulPEo92hdMWbH2ebX1K5OELvt1CDnEhsX4T7sR5sZS1DsYQZ4zKlwiAf5rYe4slW2lvAYYWPek5A8Cfra5i/s2048/IMG_20210126_164335.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciWtKt6w-gEcqyUml4-Na7BCKexegTHl4vXcoam9jrumjTAFaaXJ83eYJhulPEo92hdMWbH2ebX1K5OELvt1CDnEhsX4T7sR5sZS1DsYQZ4zKlwiAf5rYe4slW2lvAYYWPek5A8Cfra5i/w300-h400/IMG_20210126_164335.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of 6 puppies we've so far been unable to catch, in its "home" at one of the coffee plantations</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Being born poor
in Guatemala as a human usually means a tough life ahead. Being born an
unwanted puppy is basically having no future at all. Even “proper” pets are often
not well taken care of. People take on pets without a thought (and to be honest,
in many cases the same counts for kids), not realising it is a serious and long-term
commitment. Despite the fact that hardly anyone is ever forced to have a pet
(unfortunately the same can’t be said about unwanted babies in Guatemala with
its skyrocketing number of cases of sexual abuse), few people seem to think of
what a dog’s life involves. I’m not talking about puppy day-care, designer
booties or pricey wet food from a tin with a sprig of parsley on top. Just
basic stuff, like actually having enough food to spare. A dry, safe space to
live. Medical care when needed. Care in old age instead of being dumped on the
street. And preferably, playtime, exercise and socializing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although I
think that in many “developed” countries the way people treat their pets is sometimes
way over the top, around here even basic, fair treatment is not a matter of course.
But it doesn’t mean people don’t love their animals. I think it’s mostly a
matter of education. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5WdOCsRWQq7O9cS5VM0KOmq-RVBFl4VVLm0AA33zLrY1b_PZ9ovzgaR0naLhGBk5uxbF7zee9C5m3LyiLuaVsHHBFbrkS8-2udu6tpqiCQk0cpdnbK714uN3kmzyHZrN9f-29d-b3MD1/s992/Luca+Monster+Saudi.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5WdOCsRWQq7O9cS5VM0KOmq-RVBFl4VVLm0AA33zLrY1b_PZ9ovzgaR0naLhGBk5uxbF7zee9C5m3LyiLuaVsHHBFbrkS8-2udu6tpqiCQk0cpdnbK714uN3kmzyHZrN9f-29d-b3MD1/w400-h300/Luca+Monster+Saudi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Luca, Monster, Saudi and me, Honduras<br /><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table>When I
lived in a small town in Honduras, I was appalled to see that people’s first
reaction to seeing a dog on the street is to kick it. I even saw toddlers
barely able to stand, swing a leg at a passing dog. Dogs were obviously considered
dirty and a pest. But not MY dogs! Everybody loved MY dogs! Cars would stop on
the street and let us pass when Monster would drag his four feet long stick
back home from our walk. The kids I used to teach were always more excited to
see my Luca than me! They’d spend hours playing with her, teaching her tricks
and would even share their lunch with her. (No wonder she was fat.) But none of these
kids would ever consider doing the same with their own dog, which they all have
in the rural areas. And when I would ask why not, they answered their dogs don’t
play. Because they were never taught to.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But the times
are a-changing. More and more upper-class Guatemalans who previously would only
be interested in overpriced full bred pedigree puppies are now considering
adopting. Even in rural areas, small changes are visible. My friend and patron
saint of dogs in San Martín Jilotepeque, Cristy Velasco, mentioned how dogs
are mostly used as doorbells, but more and more often she sees people walking
their dogs or putting food outside for the strays. More people are willing to
spay and neuter too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSbYfZCy3PbvCbFQDjpb2h7eONSPdOUTKWq09p8Mzi1YtSqvfnqlxlpa816kyg1KHq4co0vxwYg7OxrfKGQbLk2WAApduTyCCfEv4J4ZjAwrslOYHGiL7yMeO3_s1Vaa888_NUUrmwidd/s2048/IMG_20210127_114412.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSbYfZCy3PbvCbFQDjpb2h7eONSPdOUTKWq09p8Mzi1YtSqvfnqlxlpa816kyg1KHq4co0vxwYg7OxrfKGQbLk2WAApduTyCCfEv4J4ZjAwrslOYHGiL7yMeO3_s1Vaa888_NUUrmwidd/w300-h400/IMG_20210127_114412.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tessa and Gerson with cats in recovery</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When Linda Green
made her dogs rescue efforts official in 2010 with the NGO <i><a href="https://unidosparalosanimales.org/">Unidos para los Animales</a></i>, she quickly realised that picking up abandoned puppies off the
streets and shipping them off for adoption to the US was just a drop in the
ocean (although not for the puppies, obviously). Stronger measures were needed
in order to prevent puppies on the streets altogether. But when Linda started her
first spay and neuter campaigns, she almost had to beg people to have their
pet sterilised. It wasn’t a common thing and especially castration of male dogs
was not considered “natural” in this macho culture. But how times have changed! The main focus of <i>Unidos
para los Animales</i> is now on sterilization campaigns with a target number of
at least 2.000 dogs and cats a year, in communities in and around Antigua
Guatemala. And these days people are begging for a spot on the waiting list! Considering
the fact that each pregnant cat or dog can easily be responsible for a thousand
puppies or kittens (because her babies will eventually have babies too), this
has a huge impact on the canine and feline community.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjc4Nfe9d7X0P5kH7s9HAqqIoJWCMuGbxmg3rAxWLfrjYS54uSxpJ7EnV1e1Z1TJu6mjKZTG0hFH1yZI4qGPOe2MGyzqY4tKjFrfie3BCIjKt1TxM-mpwi7feSePX9RedU75JWxGHk9lhy/s2048/IMG_20210127_102629.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjc4Nfe9d7X0P5kH7s9HAqqIoJWCMuGbxmg3rAxWLfrjYS54uSxpJ7EnV1e1Z1TJu6mjKZTG0hFH1yZI4qGPOe2MGyzqY4tKjFrfie3BCIjKt1TxM-mpwi7feSePX9RedU75JWxGHk9lhy/w400-h300/IMG_20210127_102629.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Linda and her paharmacy<br /><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Due to
Covid-19 the target of 2.000 animals wasn’t reached in 2020, but this year we’re
off to a good start. The first week of January, veterinarian Jim Bader (from Mapleview
Animal Hospital, Holland, MI, USA) and his daughter Karina came down for a full
week of surgeries. Dr. Jim did a total of 161 surgeries, including some
complicated cases other than sterilisations. Today another 82 cats and dogs
were spayed/neutered in Jocotenango.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR-RGTqtCCVm_rF1Wc6iWpzyIHUCu7P_4d43PHdiqkWS6C0h6w2kv3lXTOosXe9jhyphenhyphencw19tUp3g33-dxSAZPqxy1TXYJBrCjUxVM6B1R0ve4Awabu949_-uLidmr0ujGllUhg8BseT9cb/s2048/IMG_20210127_122820.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR-RGTqtCCVm_rF1Wc6iWpzyIHUCu7P_4d43PHdiqkWS6C0h6w2kv3lXTOosXe9jhyphenhyphencw19tUp3g33-dxSAZPqxy1TXYJBrCjUxVM6B1R0ve4Awabu949_-uLidmr0ujGllUhg8BseT9cb/w400-h300/IMG_20210127_122820.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">The
logistics for today’s clinic were in the capable hands of the <i>Dirección de la
Mujer</i> (Women’s Office) of the Municipality of Jocotenango. We did a clinic
there last December, but the demand was so overwhelming that a new one was
scheduled so soon after. As usual, the ladies of this office were fantastic.
They did a pre-sign-up last week and in no time the 100 slots were filled. They
closed shop with no less than 132 people on the waiting list! And today everything
went as smooth as can be. Volunteering for the clinics in Jocotenango is
borderline boring, because everything is so well organised and so many people
are helping out. From the traffic police out on the street to the ladies at the
entrance disinfecting everybody; the ones at the inscription table; the strongman who carried the dogs and cats from the operating room to recovery; the
cleaners afterwards… The three Guatemalan vets and their techs did an awesome
job and were done operating around lunch time. And 82* happy humans went home with slightly
groggy cats or dogs.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXBSlhb7Xoc_Ad9LrThgQibUctJ0X5ewsnQ3-XmkeN32WycqyW5BkIDnZhLA4wTxSnM3hfFTYG1UqM1yXVIB2zpyUT7wwX_bWJbo-SUsl_NcAwAs_9AhLLskZCStHCJ-xBZztVm77Htvw/s2048/143048543_3030672907212185_2189267561178731491_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXBSlhb7Xoc_Ad9LrThgQibUctJ0X5ewsnQ3-XmkeN32WycqyW5BkIDnZhLA4wTxSnM3hfFTYG1UqM1yXVIB2zpyUT7wwX_bWJbo-SUsl_NcAwAs_9AhLLskZCStHCJ-xBZztVm77Htvw/w400-h266/143048543_3030672907212185_2189267561178731491_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Our strongman of the day</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Today was
actually a little weird because we got a lot more attention than usual. We got
no less than four visits by politicians and the press and were live streamed on
several social media. Turns out we are great (although unwilling) propaganda and
were reported to have done 150 surgeries with more to come in the following
days. (Not.) All that with “international support” and no mention of <i>Unidos
para los Animales</i>. Not that the dogs or cats don’t care, but we humans do.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlF0vLkD-1H5LD3zRknD4-s9s2skBL9ecuZeWRB_7NiX14PxBeFX9nVIlYOj9jib5kL9buyBlrcSDXQNrrMjjIHApYROUBw2QMqdJEDGWc3cTrFRhAAEtyWNx_1VeCJVTmWMvHFnlD8EJ/s2048/142683598_3030673113878831_4899682632478551315_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlF0vLkD-1H5LD3zRknD4-s9s2skBL9ecuZeWRB_7NiX14PxBeFX9nVIlYOj9jib5kL9buyBlrcSDXQNrrMjjIHApYROUBw2QMqdJEDGWc3cTrFRhAAEtyWNx_1VeCJVTmWMvHFnlD8EJ/w400-h266/142683598_3030673113878831_4899682632478551315_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>People and patients waiting for their turn</i></td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">See, these
clinic cost money. Each pet owner pays a small contribution (50 Quetzales or
USD 6.50) whereas the cost per animal is four times as much (surgery and
vaccines). If people can’t afford the required contribution, they can “pay”
with whatever they can. A bag of rice, some avocados or a few pounds of sugar
will do. The clinics are organised and run by volunteers. And although they
are officially offered by <i>Unidos para los Animales</i>, it is in close
collaboration with Tessa and Gerson of <i>WOOF Guatemala</i> and Francesca of <i>Patitas</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkkF7nE2JqO5lXIDYo3cJdu2zHWjCqXDsYQeMgbprMdVwvCZ8rBpXtW5YRht8vuA1W58Xa6IjybTkIXFEmBl_XwzM9opmNCzh7Hnp6_GeryCZ3xURdjXArJ4rRQqvm3n8Ujjgir5aaLW7/s2048/142309158_3030673003878842_2367842502417252453_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkkF7nE2JqO5lXIDYo3cJdu2zHWjCqXDsYQeMgbprMdVwvCZ8rBpXtW5YRht8vuA1W58Xa6IjybTkIXFEmBl_XwzM9opmNCzh7Hnp6_GeryCZ3xURdjXArJ4rRQqvm3n8Ujjgir5aaLW7/w400-h266/142309158_3030673003878842_2367842502417252453_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Volunteers Jimmy and Bobbie<br /><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It is great
to see how animal welfare is slowly going tin the right direction.
Sterilisation is becoming the norm, as is clear from the number of inscriptions.
New too is the increasing number of male dogs and cats. It would be great to
walk the streets of Antigua one day and not encounter a single stray.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you’d
like to contribute towards the sterilisation program, please visit the
following websites. Thank you!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="es-419" style="mso-ansi-language: #580A;">USA,
Canada, Guatemala, Europe: <a href="https://unidosparalosanimales.org/support-us/donate/" target="_blank">Unidos para los Animales</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="es-419" style="mso-ansi-language: #580A;">Holland:
<a href="http://woofguatemala.com/how-to-donate">WOOF Guatemala</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="es-419" style="mso-ansi-language: #580A;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_24SIgEHDFJV6pFjR2E7s5IDnYeAy2f2me5uQ97sHHlFZOL5x8qtEr0ZsnfZR34KOQM7HiAQVBvS2Lec7GX66YwjO4jcZh_utXptQyeAmkmT-zLd115LOnzyfhstlAxAFD6V-zgyfRHL/s2048/IMG_20210127_114313.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_24SIgEHDFJV6pFjR2E7s5IDnYeAy2f2me5uQ97sHHlFZOL5x8qtEr0ZsnfZR34KOQM7HiAQVBvS2Lec7GX66YwjO4jcZh_utXptQyeAmkmT-zLd115LOnzyfhstlAxAFD6V-zgyfRHL/w300-h400/IMG_20210127_114313.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-VGwo3NgrWH6jK5BlgJUuz7rDZdyIj_cp6AUMFlrMKWs8_quYYqV1e1ymKroBuG10-858pSnHPTI2Oql40_gS1ymGM6P1YZEzs6TsUP8U6hzJpBUZ9NljVgvgBncbE51a4QUIo_mTAZC/s2048/IMG_20210127_104738.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-VGwo3NgrWH6jK5BlgJUuz7rDZdyIj_cp6AUMFlrMKWs8_quYYqV1e1ymKroBuG10-858pSnHPTI2Oql40_gS1ymGM6P1YZEzs6TsUP8U6hzJpBUZ9NljVgvgBncbE51a4QUIo_mTAZC/s320/IMG_20210127_104738.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpWQePBlQmbT1XDhK0rjwMmSBA2hAw9FMvFGNz4lH4_-cqZMooVOdFJAmBC66kW1fFCI4R9NHtV3XfStST1UT2UfLs1y8PUXbsUpp2x4yqRi_FFQXbhczMARWe33HkGbePsskvtUcmAaR/s2048/IMG_20210127_094537.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpWQePBlQmbT1XDhK0rjwMmSBA2hAw9FMvFGNz4lH4_-cqZMooVOdFJAmBC66kW1fFCI4R9NHtV3XfStST1UT2UfLs1y8PUXbsUpp2x4yqRi_FFQXbhczMARWe33HkGbePsskvtUcmAaR/w300-h400/IMG_20210127_094537.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*The number
of surgeries is usually a bit lower than planned because some animals are
rejected because of medical history, not having fasted or nor being healthy
enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-73629733268923882062020-12-22T18:08:00.002-06:002020-12-22T18:08:13.774-06:00A Christmassy Thing for Dogs<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjWLPkiVQyLn2rDQo7HdzCuSrh6Oc57yb4V4GghzohMJ4_57z0XTBrZomjSY4YkForfZTzkpQbyUQ51PKIN0rvFHKwrlfLpHK5Ga2bdEb4THXJuppH1RZhkR-6yKsRJMnArasMOtvvT7B/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjWLPkiVQyLn2rDQo7HdzCuSrh6Oc57yb4V4GghzohMJ4_57z0XTBrZomjSY4YkForfZTzkpQbyUQ51PKIN0rvFHKwrlfLpHK5Ga2bdEb4THXJuppH1RZhkR-6yKsRJMnArasMOtvvT7B/w300-h400/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">‘Twas a few
days before Christmas and it wasn’t snow but a light traffic that covered the
roads to San Martin Jilotepeque, a town in mountainous Guatemala. After many twists
and turns in between steep walls of soothing green, the town of San Martin
Jilotepeque is surprisingly buzzling and urban. A cacophony of sounds and colours
hits you in the face with motorcycles whooshing by with women in their
indigenous dress apparently comfortable sideways on the backseat. Chicken
busses honk, rev and roar on the narrow streets covered in bright signs,
posters and banners. If you don’t have a specific reason to go there, you
probably won’t. But we were on a mission.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyT2CUKqo6HjOmIehiSD9pK5-Y7qUz-qknrroMepg-3FKxnDj3SogHdX-0YIXhPvqAtDkOfPQWh6AA9v1MmE9fmoDjPhbp_sCVbc1Nb6wZ1uP8aUrsd73r7Zmg1ty0Z9iEmuQE1Lmc1Ey/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyT2CUKqo6HjOmIehiSD9pK5-Y7qUz-qknrroMepg-3FKxnDj3SogHdX-0YIXhPvqAtDkOfPQWh6AA9v1MmE9fmoDjPhbp_sCVbc1Nb6wZ1uP8aUrsd73r7Zmg1ty0Z9iEmuQE1Lmc1Ey/w300-h400/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%25285%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">See, San
Martin Jilotepeque is the town where Cristy Velasco lives and works. Cristy is
the patron saint of street dogs in that part of the world and cares for over a
hundred dogs in her shelter, not counting the twenty or so she has at home, the
dozen that stay at her restaurant or the never-ending number of strays that
she feeds. So, after an eventless journey, we went by Cristy’s restaurant to
pick her up to direct us to the shelter, only a ten-minute drive away.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">
Well, not today. The asphalt of the road near the shelter was being renewed and
we got stuck in a humongous traffic jam. After sitting put for about 45 minutes
(entertained by a puppy that Cristy had just rescued off the street), we
decided to park the car at a carwash across the road, walk to the shelter and
then return to the restaurant to drop off our donations. And that turned out to
be a very good idea, because on our way back, the line had barely moved an
inch. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvb2_unjWcA8VyJ2WUob0gy1pghrwF57tpzTUdnDA_I_GD-LATUWqUeaUAgd3Fzt08FhvWeNqCfKKiXjVoNfqrCJvcOJhrQI4ccRWBYE2dby1J1aGNrk_WUJ0Zn09SOEVadDeSFU4iPlT/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252827%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvb2_unjWcA8VyJ2WUob0gy1pghrwF57tpzTUdnDA_I_GD-LATUWqUeaUAgd3Fzt08FhvWeNqCfKKiXjVoNfqrCJvcOJhrQI4ccRWBYE2dby1J1aGNrk_WUJ0Zn09SOEVadDeSFU4iPlT/w300-h400/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252827%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Up until
last week, Cristy kept her dogs at an abandoned construction site of what was once
supposed to become a maternity clinic. The place consisted mainly of walls and
a roof, but it was spacious and offered dry places for the dogs to sleep and
enough areas for play. Recently the town council decided to resume building the
clinic. Not a bad idea by itself, but what to do with over a hundred dogs? The
mayor offered to build a new place. And he did. Which was a very nice thing to
do, but unfortunately the new place is very small and there is no space at all for
the dogs to play. </span></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvgnR6dgq-UIxY7xTFNoS96M2CfDYmpOown08pHxH1RBByfgzoYDeAQKlALs48HGnWMAWO7ZKh5NG3fKgif-cEBtfCp_lsR6ceo5HOotmK-aqz9X2aYsKpYtCZpJ8KB0povE1h6-9Qlmd/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvgnR6dgq-UIxY7xTFNoS96M2CfDYmpOown08pHxH1RBByfgzoYDeAQKlALs48HGnWMAWO7ZKh5NG3fKgif-cEBtfCp_lsR6ceo5HOotmK-aqz9X2aYsKpYtCZpJ8KB0povE1h6-9Qlmd/w400-h300/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On our way to "the end of the world..."<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The shelter is located on the outskirts of town, right there
where you think you’ve reached the end of the world. It consists of two wooden / aluminium sheets structures
with kennels divided by chain-link fences. The kennels are clean but bare,
with just one wooden pallet for the dogs to sleep on.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJLju8y42wBm2tkfsSLVjftU1-1OXOvVQOpiMXUY3C2El1sTYL0hosI_2sPBSiY0hXETHpQcAi2f2z30nXlzggWvRtaaa952zC-qxYeBzl3DLDEkNsuwi-jla-D6mj5Ey6ZXGe-HpQc6V/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252819%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJLju8y42wBm2tkfsSLVjftU1-1OXOvVQOpiMXUY3C2El1sTYL0hosI_2sPBSiY0hXETHpQcAi2f2z30nXlzggWvRtaaa952zC-qxYeBzl3DLDEkNsuwi-jla-D6mj5Ey6ZXGe-HpQc6V/w400-h300/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252819%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BprqwURHugTRun70ieE9-CWYlym5M-Sl60OzQHs3yCFXMfucxfwmeiIMF38_GDRX4HzTzFR6WCG3ldG0E5_mnlzZLvd1mBPj4uMTA_Vn_Ek7RS15__BQX7xMLaJO03e8MJnA25fGoEub/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252814%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BprqwURHugTRun70ieE9-CWYlym5M-Sl60OzQHs3yCFXMfucxfwmeiIMF38_GDRX4HzTzFR6WCG3ldG0E5_mnlzZLvd1mBPj4uMTA_Vn_Ek7RS15__BQX7xMLaJO03e8MJnA25fGoEub/w400-h300/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252814%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cristy at the shelter</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This is not a shelter as
you know them up North or in Europe. This is a place where, with all efforts
and good intentions, the dogs are dry, safe and fed, but not much else. All
because Cristy does this basically singlehandedly, on a shoestring budget. Just
the cost of feeding al those dogs is staggering, not to mention medical costs.
So Cristy can use all the help she can get and that’s why we went up there with
a few bags of food, dog beds, used collars and leashes, cleaning supplies, some
cash and a bag of bulky sweaters that can be used for beds. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIc8LimJSsd3BffXuAMh8pedTkyaEIDnxCWU5qQ-X-Cumvq1OF871_sj7eH2ZG9ENjOMGn6RYgX_MCbQAl9kEcFP8XBRGl2x4kMXG9EJ5xn9SwgiQeyqLMOrYZU5ACC3LMBqzLPftDsqV3/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252826%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIc8LimJSsd3BffXuAMh8pedTkyaEIDnxCWU5qQ-X-Cumvq1OF871_sj7eH2ZG9ENjOMGn6RYgX_MCbQAl9kEcFP8XBRGl2x4kMXG9EJ5xn9SwgiQeyqLMOrYZU5ACC3LMBqzLPftDsqV3/w300-h400/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252826%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cristy had to stop on the way back to buy some food for some street dogs we encountered.</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After a
delicious lunch at Cristy’s restaurant it was time to head back. During our
ride home I already received pictures from Cristy of the donated bed and collar
being put to good use. She had even made puppy sweaters out of the sleeves of
the cardigans we had left. Darn cute!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITEtdhqbXQjv6u9v_b7Bj4YeF456wq7JJ24iyJ9_S44iy52nLYXwr4c7NHPdrEMxG83bPQWjqCzHqAhS2W8XBysuXM6P0F_DpMa-5jAX06FkTPryo4xDuEzYtiImrE57RRjY6zOEfhRak/s1920/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+Dogbed+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITEtdhqbXQjv6u9v_b7Bj4YeF456wq7JJ24iyJ9_S44iy52nLYXwr4c7NHPdrEMxG83bPQWjqCzHqAhS2W8XBysuXM6P0F_DpMa-5jAX06FkTPryo4xDuEzYtiImrE57RRjY6zOEfhRak/w400-h225/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+Dogbed+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Puppy Sweater, design by Cristy Velasco!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnkw6npS1IyT8UP2ym979gt5-331HstRuWSjrqVV_eAZki0Ise8b-U0B2GkN4Xs3pVSTIZopDfaFb4l6KDznHpTHVVVS8jZBAhRbgWf-9cz3xS3WnU1QZIC9FdKt5eXnyx5h0iYkpM52l/s3756/San+Martin+Dogbed+collage+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="3756" height="89" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnkw6npS1IyT8UP2ym979gt5-331HstRuWSjrqVV_eAZki0Ise8b-U0B2GkN4Xs3pVSTIZopDfaFb4l6KDznHpTHVVVS8jZBAhRbgWf-9cz3xS3WnU1QZIC9FdKt5eXnyx5h0iYkpM52l/w400-h89/San+Martin+Dogbed+collage+.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dog bed and red collar approved!!!<br /><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table>It was a
wonderful day and I couldn’t believe to be back in San martin Jilotepeque this
soon. It was only a few weeks ago we were there to paint a doggie mural. You
can read all about that project and more about Cristy by clicking here:
<a href="https://www.muralarteguate.org/2020/12/four-pups-and-kitty-in-san-martin.html" target="_blank">MuralArt Guate</a>.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The idea to
go to San Martin Jilotepeque to drop off donations was a fantastic one, and all
credits go to Catherine Corry, who not only offered to drive, but also supplied
much of the donations. Many thanks too to Ana Maria Ackermans, Irene Saletan,
Ellen Cristenson, Linda Green, Unidos para los Animales, Alice Lai, Cat Langley
and Catherine’s friend whose name I forgot. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVWH6UUlBxNhaW8LEHVjteVpzpS3-EoJFl3NqLv77Q3dfyAu7-QHHQ-7CZhBfGUJwQEog4SGFGPLea6SjAgPkRqW6jy3cREJdzHVZiP_3h06BMKpdS1Hir1V3Tt8t_JnM2B-dmU-gmBkl/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252828%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVWH6UUlBxNhaW8LEHVjteVpzpS3-EoJFl3NqLv77Q3dfyAu7-QHHQ-7CZhBfGUJwQEog4SGFGPLea6SjAgPkRqW6jy3cREJdzHVZiP_3h06BMKpdS1Hir1V3Tt8t_JnM2B-dmU-gmBkl/w400-h300/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252828%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Today's donations.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>A few bags
of dog food will help, but won’t last. So in the future we hope to continue
supporting Cristy taking care of the dogs of san Martin Jilotepeque. If you’re
in Guatemala and would like to donate, please contact me at carinsteen at
yahoo.com. You can also donate directly through Paypal using the following
link: <a href="https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/sanmartindogs?fbclid=IwAR3xy3CqLuRQkBsbSxWEL9NlLfi2zP7h__szn4J74E6ci3X_qBJ0-VW9XwI">https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/sanmartindogs?fbclid=IwAR3xy3CqLuRQkBsbSxWEL9NlLfi2zP7h__szn4J74E6ci3X_qBJ0-VW9XwI</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipX2V1o2TQgXrhQNXeMnvX2DKk_gve_m4c6I7rVWNEStLQ02k_ZssNgleHu4yj_rrncYIgGVsuG7KlyTjw8lAQdyv2Nc1z-0yJw8x9v0u6vjrO-Pc76UowuVcY0QlGPrJZda_8eB1fb0KG/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252832%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipX2V1o2TQgXrhQNXeMnvX2DKk_gve_m4c6I7rVWNEStLQ02k_ZssNgleHu4yj_rrncYIgGVsuG7KlyTjw8lAQdyv2Nc1z-0yJw8x9v0u6vjrO-Pc76UowuVcY0QlGPrJZda_8eB1fb0KG/w400-h300/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252832%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Donations pup approved!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW52a5xVwOidAjpMu9lI3WxmWpks-sdIxTy8GhyQsFY8x8nJXKQCCqXvDodhYSg3BtkJfKWozFm0GIP_jmrCQS9AAT6xJLWvcUYxUFwOfzwFb1vkWpzimm_S-9538Uu397HxWTmGWoI4Vt/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252823%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW52a5xVwOidAjpMu9lI3WxmWpks-sdIxTy8GhyQsFY8x8nJXKQCCqXvDodhYSg3BtkJfKWozFm0GIP_jmrCQS9AAT6xJLWvcUYxUFwOfzwFb1vkWpzimm_S-9538Uu397HxWTmGWoI4Vt/w300-h400/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252823%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One very tired but lucky puppy....<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thank you
so much!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Wooof!!!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkj8eBwNITMSSLTYU6laDdb2bdA6ebEGyAPq12VWRn4HhdCn6kxIzkryGoTzIh3POhh2p90pZQVd7v5dzq-UGX53NuMv4fRkM9IqIvRBu1H-eSZ7P2xLjgh3hozeghSrIwcXZAjMN2WYQ/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252816%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkj8eBwNITMSSLTYU6laDdb2bdA6ebEGyAPq12VWRn4HhdCn6kxIzkryGoTzIh3POhh2p90pZQVd7v5dzq-UGX53NuMv4fRkM9IqIvRBu1H-eSZ7P2xLjgh3hozeghSrIwcXZAjMN2WYQ/w400-h300/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252816%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3RPcfl_ffvuv_0nrd3-LuGBwJvP_Gtk28kr1uUyBuEYK0BAQVXRWZW8FE6VSNNXS9GF96abF8PbJcsJe7foH5baWM4Tj_4LQu0Hv7O5l8EuXqiCrH8qpwuh_WiX3fqu-4wuvrD38-zdRj/s2048/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252817%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3RPcfl_ffvuv_0nrd3-LuGBwJvP_Gtk28kr1uUyBuEYK0BAQVXRWZW8FE6VSNNXS9GF96abF8PbJcsJe7foH5baWM4Tj_4LQu0Hv7O5l8EuXqiCrH8qpwuh_WiX3fqu-4wuvrD38-zdRj/w300-h400/San+Martin+Jilotepeque+22-12-20+%252817%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-17184112622646763442020-11-10T09:22:00.007-06:002020-11-10T12:46:43.853-06:00A NeverEnding Disaster<p>Worldwide people
heaved a sigh of relief when the American elections were over, but for a lot of
people in Central America it’s the last thing on their minds. The sun’s out,
the storms reduced to a gentle breeze, but more than a week after Eta ravaged
Nicaragua, Honduras and Guatemala (and a short but not too bad comeback last
night), the disaster is far from over. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Although
Category 5 hurricane Eta was quickly downsized to a tropical storm when it made
land, the damage done is tremendous. Large areas are flooded, mudslides caused
many deaths, roads are destroyed and crops are ruined.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You’ve
heard it all before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And you’ll
hear it again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The vicious
cycle of poverty, corruption and corporate greed amplify whatever nature throws at us. Time and again it magnifies deep-rooted problems in these countries, only
soon to be forgotten again. Poor people will rebuild their houses with cheap
materials in risky areas, simply because they have no choice. Roads and bridges
will be rebuilt, often with materials of a quality inferior to what they were
budgeted for, with the difference disappearing in someone’s pockets. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Massive deforestation will be business as
usual, causing ever more catastrophic mudslides and flooding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s tempting
to close my eyes and Netflix the day away. It’s easy to ignore the search for
cadavers and the sense of hopelessness these people must feel at this exact moment
while I sip my morning coffee in the sun. For a little bit. Because I <i>can </i>imagine
what is going on. It’s been 22 years already, but I will never forget Hurricane
Mitch and its aftermath. The surge of adrenaline while evacuating people, the all
surrounding brown muddy water. The pain in people’s eyes seeing all their possessions
gone, just like that. The feeling of hopelessness, despair, loss. It clung
around people for days, weeks, months. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But there
were also moments of heart-warming solidarity, as there are now. Of tremendous physical
efforts to rescue and evacuate. The sheer hard physical labour of cleaning up
tons of mud in the days after. And then the process of healing and rebuilding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The amount
of international help Honduras received after hurricane Mitch was staggering. At
the time I was naïve enough to think that something good might come from this disaster,
that a better Honduras might re-emerge, with improved infrastructure, safer
communities, job opportunities, hope for the future. Of course, I was terribly
wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKB2hXTQpGh3L9isWqloUP7gKNJR4lfEJJb6Jw_pxMi4Jn59PgfiyJ01XyIJvvM50XBUKrfV8A1rX8nN-dJ9VCGYPjacZKQRm1MR8eYUdAjE9V7_scFxIMA0JTuBeZiWd-9mk9gRxnE6j2/s960/Copan+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKB2hXTQpGh3L9isWqloUP7gKNJR4lfEJJb6Jw_pxMi4Jn59PgfiyJ01XyIJvvM50XBUKrfV8A1rX8nN-dJ9VCGYPjacZKQRm1MR8eYUdAjE9V7_scFxIMA0JTuBeZiWd-9mk9gRxnE6j2/w400-h300/Copan+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Copán Valley 2020</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It hurts to
see places I’ve been, worked or lived in, being so devastated. Copán Ruinas in
western Honduras, my hometown for 17 years, looks very similar to when Mitch
turned the valley into a lake Thankfully no lives were lost this time, but
about 80% of the roads in and around Copán have been destroyed. 74 Families
lost their houses and the coffee production this year, if still salvable, won’t
be able to be cut or sold. And this just after the town was severely hit by
Covid. Many of my friends in Copán are working hard, in collaboration with the
municipality, to help those in need. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFFC82giDKkpQQ3glwTogGTmd7N793E8dXItYrGgP9IqEFGwweq5uw6Qw-PHVuu2VDeuNo0FZUB3dItSPpBFfVWgxU2Spry5-d-r0OAFwSygsEInSY-df5SPqInzi_9v6hq3p4wymUVlp/s960/Copan+HSL.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFFC82giDKkpQQ3glwTogGTmd7N793E8dXItYrGgP9IqEFGwweq5uw6Qw-PHVuu2VDeuNo0FZUB3dItSPpBFfVWgxU2Spry5-d-r0OAFwSygsEInSY-df5SPqInzi_9v6hq3p4wymUVlp/w300-h400/Copan+HSL.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Copán Ruinas, entrance to Hacienda San Lucas</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvPlU5-vZuSX0u4nVgurDJ3uK0MeQc_rx0zdRM7kLGir4MXb8xBlGaPF3sAslqUTb2uHpGMSEhN9iUx_snFfDPpgMSeZp2n0HiBGQVlJ5rz05p7NPpPgjEIncSlZREmGIFDn722_7YpKp/s960/Copan+Creek.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvPlU5-vZuSX0u4nVgurDJ3uK0MeQc_rx0zdRM7kLGir4MXb8xBlGaPF3sAslqUTb2uHpGMSEhN9iUx_snFfDPpgMSeZp2n0HiBGQVlJ5rz05p7NPpPgjEIncSlZREmGIFDn722_7YpKp/w400-h300/Copan+Creek.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Copán Ruinas, 2020</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKdf3buxNBtGOGH2i9QfLq2G5VMbXZUVT7IdLDG94LB6pamvU5PFSu3vU46ZZ0lMsSLRDJ2ktNXpi9t5kxZE4dnaqSJ4BIHGR2dfNOsrAfss0vtDMJkOa0HF2MyxCT0SACVCLXvLZ3q4q/s960/Copan+mudslide.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKdf3buxNBtGOGH2i9QfLq2G5VMbXZUVT7IdLDG94LB6pamvU5PFSu3vU46ZZ0lMsSLRDJ2ktNXpi9t5kxZE4dnaqSJ4BIHGR2dfNOsrAfss0vtDMJkOa0HF2MyxCT0SACVCLXvLZ3q4q/w400-h300/Copan+mudslide.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Up north in
Honduras, closer to the Caribbean coast, the damage is even worse. In El Progreso,
the children’s home of ProNiño, where I painted a series of murals a couple of
years ago, is now under water. Children and staff were evacuated on time,
but it will take a while before they can go back to start the process of
cleaning up.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGP8eYkjvNNxiRp-2idEVc3hjDRcgJRk73nOBPk2FeYgaiwZMwGdoBsWluy5ixoAP5kyD43kKhEBv8Mfla8-GmL8inT06wE8rVaC8x2GiRTrR2enTWt17kBGutu99GogP6E1yHWCZQZAer/s1024/El+Progreso+2015+082.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGP8eYkjvNNxiRp-2idEVc3hjDRcgJRk73nOBPk2FeYgaiwZMwGdoBsWluy5ixoAP5kyD43kKhEBv8Mfla8-GmL8inT06wE8rVaC8x2GiRTrR2enTWt17kBGutu99GogP6E1yHWCZQZAer/w400-h300/El+Progreso+2015+082.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>ProNiño , El Progreso, Honduras in 2015</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMI9E4lEzEF2l3kVcQ-BQKZ_QdoH-0BRm_wwC3vU3_65m8gnUvIkyYJO7SOUiXdPwW7PArQMwM71Xblx32t2yX2mTTOVw0aUsxxTufkXmD-eGumR07-QzmiEPPrBOjtWpNL4iFppbQmHt/s1024/Prongreso.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMI9E4lEzEF2l3kVcQ-BQKZ_QdoH-0BRm_wwC3vU3_65m8gnUvIkyYJO7SOUiXdPwW7PArQMwM71Xblx32t2yX2mTTOVw0aUsxxTufkXmD-eGumR07-QzmiEPPrBOjtWpNL4iFppbQmHt/w400-h300/Prongreso.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>ProNiño now</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In
Guatemala, the search for survivors, or more likely, cadavers, continues.
Entire communities were buried under tons of mud. The victim count will go up
in days to come. The disaster is not over yet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Among
thousands of pictures that show up in my newsfeed, I found this one from
Guatemala that speaks more than a thousand words. The three so far unidentified
bodies are of two children and one woman, in the catholic church of the hamlet
of Quejá in Alta Verapaz. (For more pictures click the link in the caption).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fWsqOs-qfHhRNV0CyTkXW3pVhU_fULXaPCcfjGC6KqI4sVBHR1-CSlqgukcXIVEwELCvxB7J_IBpyKOmxXWeXU7MoS5Mm3btqj6lAXyA7z9EyFS53au_i47DlzTc5C11K5YO9kltCm28/s926/Quija+Plaza+publica.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="926" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fWsqOs-qfHhRNV0CyTkXW3pVhU_fULXaPCcfjGC6KqI4sVBHR1-CSlqgukcXIVEwELCvxB7J_IBpyKOmxXWeXU7MoS5Mm3btqj6lAXyA7z9EyFS53au_i47DlzTc5C11K5YO9kltCm28/w400-h300/Quija+Plaza+publica.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo by Yeimi Alonzo, <a href="https://plazapublica.com.gt/content/la-tormenta-eta-borro-la-aldea-queja?fbclid=IwAR0TzrMdvulVW0WbkxQ3dTSBsCvq_9tU020zZ_cBbO_A0E3YFm7rO3gOUyk" target="_blank">Plaza Pública</a>. (At noon today it was announced that rescue efforts have stopped, due to the improbability to find any survivors and the dangers of more mudslides. 88 People are still missing in the village of Quejá, San Cristobal Verapaz.)</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">In the meantime,
I’m unexpectedly taking care of the tiniest of Eta victims: a little hummingbird
fledgling, upheaved by the strong winds, flew against my window last Friday.
Too small to fly, I’m taking care of her until she’s ready to be released.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3GXfpmkRmMbvnlzqQsNC73V2UZ0BtBG8LmZjjHz_F1TwosVxFyXD01p_Cao33_qakHgDBHgpj1E0nRP3u-Cyv0rPufw7NsvuXZ1o6YmEL-AUL98O_AOyYvnO8nP3cpcTfBUQuLxjDjkf/s2048/IMG_20201108_111920.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1610" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ3GXfpmkRmMbvnlzqQsNC73V2UZ0BtBG8LmZjjHz_F1TwosVxFyXD01p_Cao33_qakHgDBHgpj1E0nRP3u-Cyv0rPufw7NsvuXZ1o6YmEL-AUL98O_AOyYvnO8nP3cpcTfBUQuLxjDjkf/w315-h400/IMG_20201108_111920.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Funny, how
in the midst of all this bad news and this abominable turd of a year, this tiny,
feisty little bird has become my symbol of hope and perseverance. And I’ determined to keep it alive!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So yes, you’ve
heard it before and you’ll hear it again: the people in Central America need
your help. They really do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you can,
please consider donating to one of many organizations active right now. Below a
few NGOs that I know very well and can vouch for.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thank you
very much.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Be well. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Honduras:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.gofundme.com/f/hurricane-eta-relief-for-copan-ruinas?utm_source=customer&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all" target="_blank">Special Missions</a> (Please specify if you want your donation to go to Copán Ruinas)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://www.gofundme.com/f/hurricane-eta-relief-for-copan-ruinas?utm_source=customer&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all" target="_blank">GoFundMe</a>
action for relief in Copán Ruinas, organized by two ex-students of mine<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p> </o:p></span>Guatemala</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://casasito.org/?page_id=1474" target="_blank">CasaSito</a>, emergency
relief for their scholarship students in Alta Verapaz<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-for-the-families-affected-by-eta" target="_blank">GoFundme</a> by
my friend Alce Lai</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br />For people in Holland who want to help: <br /><br />Voor noodhulp in Guatemala: <a href="http://www.uno-mas.org/doneren/" target="_blank">Stichting Uno Más</a>, o.v.v. Noodhulp <br /> <br /><br />Kindertehuis ProNiño in El Progreso, Honduras: <br /><br />IBAN: NL11TRIO 0212487167 t.n.v. Homeless Child te Vlagtwedde
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-47224363529432743142020-09-29T13:26:00.004-06:002020-09-29T13:37:57.905-06:00Corona in Guatemala III<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5AokvkXejgsbErONpnGK-tQ4GOLDlC-gHl9J_cTouJrhZ4uBxRT4Jgq8ekJCKl4IVEdB0oakkioSdcpbxHdEkyu69Zercno6tbwAJJ7jBJ35dm0Yar4zlwh6qCAXRGVdPnrzA9cfoyUT/s2048/Antigua+24-9++%25284%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5AokvkXejgsbErONpnGK-tQ4GOLDlC-gHl9J_cTouJrhZ4uBxRT4Jgq8ekJCKl4IVEdB0oakkioSdcpbxHdEkyu69Zercno6tbwAJJ7jBJ35dm0Yar4zlwh6qCAXRGVdPnrzA9cfoyUT/w400-h300/Antigua+24-9++%25284%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Time's a funny thing. Still wrapping my
head around the fact that October is only a day away and that my last
“recent” update is actually from three months ago. So where are
we now, here in Guatemala?</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I have to admit, I had to look it up.
It's been weeks, months even since I follow the Covid situation in
Guatemala on a daily basis. But here are the numbers as of today:
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Guatemala occupies the <a href="http://www.worldometers.info/">42nd
place</a> with 90,968 cases and 3,238 deaths recorded. In comparison,
Holland, with a similar number of population, ranks the 32<sup>nd</sup>
place with 117,551 cases and 6,393 deaths. A significant difference
is that in Holland the number of tests per 1,000 inhabitants is 143
while in Guatemala it's 18. So well, what's in a number. But overall,
things don't seem to be going too badly. The number of daily new
cases is slowly declining and the hospitals are no longer saturated
with Covid patients. Have we flattened the curve? Or is this just the
calm before the storm of the second wave?</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">While schools are still closed (the new
school years starts in January, so that hasn't been much of an issue
yet), masks are obligatory in all public places and social distancing
is recommended. Seven and a half months after the state of emergency
was announced (which will end October 5th), we still have a curfew (from 9pm till 4pm) and dry law
from 7pm till 5am. Most public transportation is back in motion with
increased fares and many pictures on social media of failed social
distancing. The president has become a Covid case himself but appears
to be stable, despite the need to be hospitalized and his preexisting
medical conditions.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Restaurants with outdoor areas, as most
are in Guatemala, are open for business. The airport and borders
reopened on September 18<sup>th</sup>. Not quite business as usual,
but at least we can now leave or enter the country.
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6y8904mxzoTqKc-XCEeC1xtEg8hfAvU6eNzWEg3YUHAIMmUmpwmOrfGV1Su82TV2kHgC7qtJDOOOK_WtOCleo4KrJEqriaFHZygeAqnoAkB-fAiKQvGGbX1PTjAOrtb1gdwS5I2hTKeM/s2048/Antigua+24-9++%25288%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6y8904mxzoTqKc-XCEeC1xtEg8hfAvU6eNzWEg3YUHAIMmUmpwmOrfGV1Su82TV2kHgC7qtJDOOOK_WtOCleo4KrJEqriaFHZygeAqnoAkB-fAiKQvGGbX1PTjAOrtb1gdwS5I2hTKeM/w300-h400/Antigua+24-9++%25288%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In a few hours, the president will
announce the new measurements that will start October 1<sup>st</sup>.
Although 18 of the 22 provincial departments are still in red, it has
already been announced that as of October 1<sup>st</sup> bars, movie
theaters, recreational parks, public pools can be reopened. Events,
church gatherings and concerts are allowed with up to 100 people,
and with social distancing according to the scale of the departmental
traffic light system (10 square meters for those in the red, 1.5
square meters for green municipalities).</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">People are still waving their white
flags on many a corner, asking for food</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But as far as Covid goes, and compared
to the US and Europe, it seems we're not doing too badly here in
Guate.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSthgZ2EBj53j6ghA7Z1_g6oYAxW6OCgxzFGSIKr4KD-FO9fKiG74EtPmqtOUFJC6d7PqFwbvn5Eb1Lsl7wY_emdDk501SEXHZ6xJVhdtnzxvNivvWmbG20JEqh0wWXQfWejbEXLQz8g2/w300-h400/IMG_20200828_091635.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Quinceañera with matching mask" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quinceañera with matching mask</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As for me, now that the airport has
reopened, I can finally go home!!!</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And guess what?
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I have decided to stay.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Since I was planning on coming back in
January anyway, it doesn't make much sense to leave now. Especially
not when the dark days of winter are approaching in Europe. Here
there's sunshine, hopefully some walls to be painted and nice houses
with cats and dogs to stay in. I'll just stay put for now.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For some reason, emotionally this changes EVERYTHING! For the first time in eight months I'm not
vaguely planning on leaving next month. Finally, I'm here to stay, at
least till spring. That means I can start planning some projects and
stock up on things that I've been putting on hold. I've also found
the peace of mind to go for long walks into town, enjoying the absence
of tourists and people in general (not in the weekends, though!),
appreciating Antigua for the stunning place it is. Yes, it is a
little weird to decide to stay after all those months of focusing on
the possibility to leave. But it feels like the right decision and
I'm determined to enjoy my extended stay as much as I can. So... for
now and the next few months, greetings from Antigua Guatemala!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAtJVU1R4rtFlxoApSxm56WUWqQ-8J5MAjQSczSWdyafr9pqmGkD6qhOHQBhg1i-QQeDTm-PxBEK3JB0u6hSeKKX_9A_a9SeGsqbXVcjh5tnxEyYjwkokGBmes6f2C8xfVF8nV-UekuPT/s2048/IMG_20200928_093640.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAtJVU1R4rtFlxoApSxm56WUWqQ-8J5MAjQSczSWdyafr9pqmGkD6qhOHQBhg1i-QQeDTm-PxBEK3JB0u6hSeKKX_9A_a9SeGsqbXVcjh5tnxEyYjwkokGBmes6f2C8xfVF8nV-UekuPT/w400-h300/IMG_20200928_093640.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaoqUSiodW7LwSd-rnmgRs8ExyURskiYUipe1HR-ktQ3V2JEA_bEHQlB0N3h-BngnGU99uin2ZlreOwYDTpvDPKcT42dxnqgJds0Al_Y53jKGD8rI5ogB61K15bywUcxZdn9hGwdf0a_yb/s2048/IMG_20200926_082802.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaoqUSiodW7LwSd-rnmgRs8ExyURskiYUipe1HR-ktQ3V2JEA_bEHQlB0N3h-BngnGU99uin2ZlreOwYDTpvDPKcT42dxnqgJds0Al_Y53jKGD8rI5ogB61K15bywUcxZdn9hGwdf0a_yb/w400-h300/IMG_20200926_082802.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><br /><p></p>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-29065517926932463872020-07-07T10:33:00.002-06:002020-07-07T10:37:44.922-06:00Corona in Guatemala II<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGXr3hC_MC7CrvltfxiJrkV9DCNi0JJnUuVCps4DRusyhGXU-cztbAA3JnYXap_-_ycFpohSmlKAGBufIA0frw8UMPt7Ms8UuozJBfaBLgiLEYr7AS2km_WSm6bkDfqVSb4LQ5L-pbZk4/s1600/IMG_20200703_062045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGXr3hC_MC7CrvltfxiJrkV9DCNi0JJnUuVCps4DRusyhGXU-cztbAA3JnYXap_-_ycFpohSmlKAGBufIA0frw8UMPt7Ms8UuozJBfaBLgiLEYr7AS2km_WSm6bkDfqVSb4LQ5L-pbZk4/s400/IMG_20200703_062045.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antigua Guatemala, 6am</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today it has been 116 days
since the first COVID-19 case was detected in Guatemala.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Exactly a 113 days ago the
state of emergency was declared.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A solid 105 days of
curfew, first 4pm-4am, now 6pm-5am, as well as Sundays.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And 85 days of mandatory
masks wearing.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After a long period of a
slowly rising number of infections and deaths, the situation is now
changing, fast. As of yesterday the number are:</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Total number of cases:
23,972</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Deaths: 981</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57dax6FCWmLniSPuWo4SvHZDmH76iviCfaQIQuBeilfso5KRwt2b8y6G0r_tNrcnrWSzdEi995WbmFIJnnWnaq2Vy1sApbQgu1CAwIDXMYt74bUDqRY3KHD5TWbP0fCcwXdc1VFGpTVk6/s1600/IMG_20200703_062221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1134" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57dax6FCWmLniSPuWo4SvHZDmH76iviCfaQIQuBeilfso5KRwt2b8y6G0r_tNrcnrWSzdEi995WbmFIJnnWnaq2Vy1sApbQgu1CAwIDXMYt74bUDqRY3KHD5TWbP0fCcwXdc1VFGpTVk6/s400/IMG_20200703_062221.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antigua Guatemala, 6am</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Compared to Holland, a
country with more or less the same population and 50,000 COVID cases
(6,000 deaths), Guatemala seems to be not too bad off. But whereas
Holland is reopening, in Guatemala we haven't reached the peak yet.
And things might get much, much worse before they'll get better. For
about a week now, roughly 40-50% of all tests turn out to be
positive. But only 2,000 tests are administered per day, often much
less, so these numbers are not very telling on a population of 17
million people. Except that they're BAD. But the real number of
infections is likely much, much higher.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So what does that mean for
daily life I Guatemala? Well, life goes on. Sort of.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I remember once listening
to an item on the radio about civil obedience. Someone gave the
example of a lone pedestrian he once saw in South Korea on a deserted
street in the middle of the night. Despite the total lack of traffic,
the pedestrian didn't cross the street until the light turned green.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The very next morning I
noticed that a huge sign had been painted on a wall at the bus
terminal, saying it was forbidden to urinate there. Right below the
huge letters stood a guy pissing.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That pretty much of sums
up the difference between Asia and Latin America.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PgPpBuXDnzd9AYa_AYfA797sVMUz-PkGS3FDoAab8fYe19CqNYlziGgWuXJ-SZBE5HMV6AG-UyyEvMN4yum_j2anvQmImYKBXwCmvgaXylV4lVbFTKh1m-ov2eI3DSgdx8E63a0KkZ_P/s1600/IMG_20200703_061914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PgPpBuXDnzd9AYa_AYfA797sVMUz-PkGS3FDoAab8fYe19CqNYlziGgWuXJ-SZBE5HMV6AG-UyyEvMN4yum_j2anvQmImYKBXwCmvgaXylV4lVbFTKh1m-ov2eI3DSgdx8E63a0KkZ_P/s400/IMG_20200703_061914.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antigua Guatemala, 6am</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The challenges Guatemala
faces (a pandemic on top of an infrastructure of severe poverty, a
poorly functioning health system, inequality, corruption etc.) aside,
the restrictions imposed by the government are mostly considered an
inconvenience that just need a bit of tweaking and twerking. It's
like trying to block the way to a colony of ants. Whatever object you
put in their way, they'll crawl over, around or under to get to their
destiny. Guatemalans are incredibly resilient and creative in their
ways to make a living. Before the words mask and disinfecting gel
were even uttered, they were for sale on every street corner. No
public transportation? Every guy who owns a motorcycle now offers
rides for a fee. Restricted circulation of cars? No problem, we'll
carpool!</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When people ask me how
things are in Guatemala and if the government is doing a good job, I
find it hard to answer. In theory yes. We probably have way more
restrictions here than in the US.. Schools, restaurants and other
public institutions have been closed. Public transportation has been
shut down since the beginning and interdepartmental travelling is
prohibited. Even Easter was cancelled! And there is of course the
curfew, mandatory masks and social distancing. It has changed the
look of the country. Most people take the restrictions seriously.
It's rare to see someone <span style="font-style: normal;">without a
mask on the streets. If</span> you go to La Bodegona, the famous
supermarket in Antigua, your temperature is taken and you're asked to
disinfect your hands with gel. Only a certain number of people are
allowed in (and it still is always crowded, except at 6am which is
now my favourite time for shopping). Most of the times there's and
employee disinfecting shopping carts and baskets. The cashiers not
only wear mask and gloves, but also a face shield and they work from
behind a partition. Every so often a siren sounds throughout the
store reminding employees it's time to disinfect their hands. A
serious effort has been made to protect employees and clients.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ndBvFqjW5naZrB09Pt8LvgaSqIQpp_upzeRd3XcWtX4l6QYEKn05psIrwQHyA2gHHHfFVEMsqrztf6cOXndCaB2OKjTqxwG3sOLUdRNdx69JZZ5ueM0T21GnxOrM9D8vvD5sLXtERCc5/s1600/IMG_20200703_063714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ndBvFqjW5naZrB09Pt8LvgaSqIQpp_upzeRd3XcWtX4l6QYEKn05psIrwQHyA2gHHHfFVEMsqrztf6cOXndCaB2OKjTqxwG3sOLUdRNdx69JZZ5ueM0T21GnxOrM9D8vvD5sLXtERCc5/s400/IMG_20200703_063714.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still plenty of toilet paper in La Bodegona! And you get a plastic fork for free!<br />
For more on La Bodegona and crazy things taped togethers, click <a href="https://carinsteen.blogspot.com/2020/01/where-you-can-expect-unexpected-ode-to.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But that's not always the
case everywhere. In many small neighbourhood stores, no precautions
are being taken at all. And pandemic or not, if you want a haircut,
your nails done, a massage or a tattoo, no problem! There's plenty of
traffic to and from the capital, including from people who have
properties in Antigua and who come down in the weekends to party.
Social distancing <i>is </i>being practiced on the streets up to a
certain point. The Central Park has been closed off and is now the
sole territory of pigeons. The already long lines for banks are now
even longer due to the marked positions, although never as far as the
recommended 6 feet or 1,5 – 2 meter. Other than that, social
distancing in reality means that you refrain from getting together in
public. Behind doors, birthday parties, meetings and lunches in
private homes pretty much take place as if closed doors could protect
you from getting infected.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the meantime, every day
I see more obituaries on social media. Nurses, policemen, firemen,
doctors, acquaintances of acquaintances. It really is coming closer.
<br />
<br />
If you'd like to help out Guatemalan families in need (meals or food packages), please contact <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/category/Cause/Sumate-Antigua-114765636932013/" target="_blank">Sumate Antigua</a> or <a href="https://www.facebook.com/rescateantigua/" target="_blank">Antigua al Rescate</a>. </div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please be safe.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-17398276063019675752020-04-13T13:46:00.001-06:002020-04-13T16:34:51.894-06:00Corona in Guatemala<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div>
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Daily free Corona Mini Art paintings for someone somewhere on this planet!</div>
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Day 1-8 For more: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/carin.steen.artist">https://www.facebook.com/pg/carin.steen.artis</a></div>
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The plan was all set out
for Sunday, March 29<sup>th</sup>. I would have had my suitcase
packed for my trip back to Spain later that day, but first I would
get up before dawn to walk to San Bartolomé Becerra, the small town
on the outskirts of Antigua where I used to live. Here, on the fifth
Sunday of lent, one of Antigua's largest procession leaves the church
after mass at 5 am. No less than 90 carriers are needed to carry the
platform with a baroque statue of Jesus bearing the cross. A total of
7,000 bearers called <i>cucuruchos</i> and 85 <i>turnos</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
make up the logistics. Signing up starts way back in November and
often involves hours of waiting in line. But people don't mind the
line, nor the inscription fee. Participating is considered a great
honour for many Guatemalans. </span>
<br />
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">There
is something magical about those nights before the main processions.
Streets are closed off and whole families stay up all night to make
the famous and fabulous sawdust carpets. Others sell coffee,
sandwiches or any other kind of food imaginable. Or rent out their
bathrooms in that wonderful entrepreneurial spirit of Guatemalans
making a buck out of any event. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Thousands
of people, very young, adolescents, middle-aged and the elderly, fill
the streets that are more crowded than any time during the day. The atmosphere
is magical. The surrealness of the early hour combined with the smell
of incense and delicious food, the colourful carpets no one would
ever dare to step on and the anticipation the procession to come...
It is truly special and for many people here a deeply spiritual
event. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">But
that was before Corona. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
year Easter was cancelled, something no one could ever have foreseen.
Not only did Antigua miss out on the revenue about a million visitors
would have brought in, the fact that the town's main religious event
had to be celebrated in solitude has been a big blow to many. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A FREE colouring page for you to download or share!<br />
If you'd like one in a higher resolution, please email me at carinsteen at yahoo.com.</td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">On
the bright side, Guatemala as a nation has reacted incredibly well in
this crisis. The brand new president Alejandro Giammattei has stepped
up as a real leader, making unpopular but brave decisions. Even
before the first case was detected (March 14), all flights from
Europe were stopped short. On Monday the 16</span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;">th</span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;">,
the last flights from North America were allowed in and the country
went under lock-down. Social distancing was highly recommended,
schools were closed and public transportation suspended. On March
22</span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;">,
a 4pm - 4am curfew was added, prohibiting anyone without a valid
reason out on the streets. The police is actively patrolling the
streets and being caught will land your butt in jail with a hefty
fine to pay. All stores that remain open have modified their business
hours and the bigger stores have carried out a number of measures to
protect the customers and employees, such as an obligation to wear a
face mask, keeping distance in line, limiting the number of customers
and having disinfectant gel available at the entrance and other
strategic places. La Bodegona, the one and only famous supermarket in
town, has even placed a bin outside with basic necessities from which
those in need can take and to which those who can, can donate. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Wearing
a face mask is obligatory as of today. A lot has been said about the
usefulness of wearing a mask, but I guess if everyone does, it
probably helps. And it doesn't hurt, if used properly. Most people
were wearing masks anyway, but now you can and will be fined if you
don't. I just went out to run an errand and was struck by how much
the scene has changes in such a short time. The traffic is as light
as it was when I lived here about 25 years ago. Parking is no longer
a problem, neither is crossing the street. The lines in front of the
banks are still there and actually longer than ever because of the
distance between people. And yes, except for one, everybody was
wearing a mask. And no, there is no shortage of masks. Within days
after the lock-down, street vendors were selling homemade masks on
every corner. Now you can get them in about every store, of any
design possible. As well as disinfecting gel or anything else for that
matter, even toilet paper! The only thing not available for a week
was alcohol, during the whole Easter holiday, normally </span><i>the</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
time of the year to go to the beach or river and have a drink (that
is, those who don't spend Easter in Antigua). But this year the
beaches were closed and the sale of alcohol strictly forbidden.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">So
now the numbers. As of yesterday April 12</span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;">th</span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;">,
there were 131 active cases, 19 recovered and 5 deceased, making the
total of 156. And that is, compared to other countries, not bad at
all. Of course it is impossible to say if this is the result of
measures taken, which are stricter and taken sooner than those in
many European countries. Or whether the number will stay this low.
Because one thing is very clear here in Guatemala: social distancing
and quarantining is a privilege. Social distancing is not possible when you live in a shack with an entire family. Many people here live from day to
day and will starve to death before dying of Covid 19. And not
everybody sticks to the rules. Many markets in small towns have been
operating as usual -up until now- and there are always those
individuals who challenge authorities. Families with a Covid infected
members have received death threats. In El Peten, a couple that owned
a store was shot dead because they refused to sell alcohol. And about
500 families thought the rules didn't apply to them when they decided
to spend a week at the beach anyway (they were sent back). As in any
country, there has been opposition against the measures taken, but
all in all, the overwhelming majority of the people is acting in a
very responsible and solidarity way. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">But.
Guatemala is a developing country. Two emergency hospitals have been
built, but as I understand, there are only about a hundred
ventilators in the whole country. Poverty here is tremendous under
normal circumstance. Now, with so many people laid off... What if
food becomes scarce and prices surge? And how to wash your hands if
there is no water? How to keep your distance when you live in a slum?
What about the planes full of deported Guatemalans that the USA keeps
sending, some of the deported confirmed Covid cases? What about
people illegally crossing the border with Mexico, where the virus
hasn't been taken as seriously by the president as it has in
Guatemala? What if...???</span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">So
many ifs, but I guess only time will tell. I do hope we can keep up
those numbers low here in Guatemala. I also think that this country
might come out of this crisis stronger and better than some other
“developed” countries Well, let's see. As for now, I'm stuck here
in Guatemala, and quite happy about it. And funnily, what I miss
most, now that everyone is wearing a mask, is seeing people's smiles.</span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Stay safe, stay home. </span></div>
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Daily free Corona Mini Art paintings for someone somewhere on this planet!</div>
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Day 1-8 For more: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/carin.steen.artist">https://www.facebook.com/pg/carin.steen.artist</a></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-17501763723052700052020-01-31T06:51:00.000-06:002020-01-31T06:51:00.056-06:00Where You Can Expect the Unexpected – An Ode to la Bodegona
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<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's fascinating how
distance creates an appreciation for things we tend to take for
granted. Not just the big things, even more so those daily details
we're barely aware of until they're not there anymore. Oh, daily life
in a Guatemalan neighbourhood... The early morning crack of the whip
announcing the herd of goats with their fresher than fresh milk. The
scarp collector (<i>“Chatarraaaaaaaa!!!!!</i>”), the fish seller
(fresh filet and shrimps every Friday), the cutler's pan flute (also
to be heard where I live in Spain!) and the cobbler's weekly visit to
the neighbourhood. The Sunday morning rush of people in their best
clothes hurrying off to church and the peace and quiet in as soon as
mass starts. Small gems of life that I have come to treasure.</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course there's plenty I
don't miss at all. Fireworks about 300 days out of the year? No
thanks, not for me. The colourful chicken busses? Love them. But
their driving is breaknecking and the exhaustion fumes are brutal.
The weather (“Eternal Spring”) is pretty damn perfect, but I
could do without the regular earth tremors. Not to mention the
garbage you see just everywhere, which is.... No, don't get me
started!</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now that I'm travelling
back to Antigua next week, something I <i>am</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
looking forward to, is a visit to the local supermarket La Bodegona.
I happen to seriously dislike supermarkets in general, but La
Bodegona is different. It is not just a supermarket, it's an
</span><i>experience. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Granted,
you better make sure you you have time on your hands to fully
appreciate that experience. If you're in for a quick purchase, you're
at the wrong address.</span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Me and
La Bodegona, we're going way back, from the late nineties when I used
to travel from Copán Ruinas (Honduras) to Antigua to renew my visa
(way before the whole C4 thing). A visit to La Bodegona was always on
the agenda. Compared to Copán, Antigua was the First World and a
real supermarket close to heaven on earth.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now,
Supermarket Store Layout Design, Brand Marketing and Retail
Strategies are acknowledged scientific approaches, seriously applied
in most supermarkets, even in Central America. But not in La
Bodegona.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Starting
with the layout of the store, it consists of two big halls between
two streets, connected by a smaller hall, for lack of a better
description. Two entrances/exits with cash-registers and merchandise
in between. And that's where all comparisons with regular
supermarkets end. It's more like visiting Harry Potter's school of
magic with its whimsical displays, disappearing isles and unexpected
combination of goods than what you'd expect from a store. The isles
are narrow (while many Guatemalans tend to be WIDE) and the
psychology behind the sorting and stacking of goods is completely
baffling. By brand? No, not the case. By type of food? Well, sort of,
but not completely. There is sort of a dairy section, but then
there's this another fridge in the meat section that contains dairy
too. And a few veggies. And fresh parsley.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
One
week the eggs are next to the candles. And then they aren't. The
brand of oatmeal you have been using for years, every day?
Miraculously gone never to reappear again.
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Is
stuff stocked by supplier maybe, according to a plan only known to
the initiated? Maybe. I should ask, there are ALWAYS plenty of
suppliers' stock clerks around. They tend to know where their own
product is located only, so maybe that is the secret after all. In
the mean time, if you need something, look for an employee with the
Bodegona logo on their ever changing outfits (more about that later
on), whom are numerous and omnipresent but as absent as a tuc-tuc
when you need one. If you happen to find one, they're usually very
friendly and helpful, although sometimes with that bored look of
having to -yet again- answer a really stupid question. Dried plums?
In the meat section, duh...</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Branding
strategy exists in having people standing all over the store (but
preferably in the connecting hall, where space is scarcest and the
crowds the biggest. Mostly on Saturday afternoons, of course)
offering clients little bites or swigs of whatever. Guacamole from a
bag, wine, all kinds of very pink cold cuts... The promoters are
pretty feisty and don't take no for an answer easily. Worst is when
people right in front of you decide to sample everything and you're
stuck between sanitary pads, carrots and the nuts display. But this
can be prevented if your agenda allows it. A friends of mine does her
shopping early Sunday mornings (as early as 7am!) and that way she
avoids crowds as well as promoters and store clerks. It's an idea...</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
rather unique and much more sympathetic way to promote business is
the way La Bodegona dresses up for each and every special event. And
big time too! Not just a few Christmas streamers and a jingle here
and there for the season, but bigger than life decorations and even
“real” snow! Not just for Christmas either, think Valentine's
Day, Mother's Day, Easter, Summer, Father's Day... Huge displays,
some a storey high, hang from the ceiling. Hearts! Fish! Neck ties!
Suns! It might be me, but they seem to get bigger every year. And
decoration is not limited to the store itself! The employees dress up
in lederhosen in October (because of the German Oktoberfest) and
Hawaiian shirts during Guatemalan summer. Superheroes, polar bears,
Santa, sexy elves, all can be found in La Bodegona in due time...</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But
maybe best of all are the”<i>atados”, </i>the special offers,
tied together with meters of tape. Not because of the free stuff you
get, but the most wonderful and mystifying combinations. A bottle of
whiskey with a plastic spoon. Toilet paper with a cup. I wonder if
there's a full time employee at the Bodegona coming up with this
stuff. I'm not the only one fascinated either, there's a group on
Facebook called “Shit Taped Together at the Bodegona”. Check it
out!</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So
yes, soon I'll free up some time in my schedule and venture into the
store for a much missed fix of The Bodegona Experience.</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-83079152933498991902019-10-04T11:09:00.000-06:002019-10-04T13:54:38.082-06:00Doggies in Heaven<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRrzcDmFi8JsPI7YPwUG9GbjgD6c8I_PnMIm9Wl6IaDt-CX3YXR5xVvncTXmsw9aSNw3L2AYGg-XNWVQD8fpskA9bXptfqHbuLKAK9wWFvM02rQAJTpqrnqLGPRA0CmB69e1i0YZy0ElYW/s1600/La+Lucha+35+x+35cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRrzcDmFi8JsPI7YPwUG9GbjgD6c8I_PnMIm9Wl6IaDt-CX3YXR5xVvncTXmsw9aSNw3L2AYGg-XNWVQD8fpskA9bXptfqHbuLKAK9wWFvM02rQAJTpqrnqLGPRA0CmB69e1i0YZy0ElYW/s320/La+Lucha+35+x+35cm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><i>Luca (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</i></span></td></tr>
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Today is World Animal Day. It is also exactly two years ago
I buried my dog Luca on a beautiful mountain overlooking the valley of Antigua
Guatemala. It was grey and rainy that day, quite fittingly, but just when we covered
her grave with dirt, the sun came through as if paying its last honours. A
little later, just after we purchased a much needed bottle of wine, the skies
broke open into a torrential downpour. Also quite fitting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCP6ysMCGQ94RZ8Xy9GnAGnRU2UR5N7Zz9D0-Xaj21ICbL-StXNdK2fgujQ6l8PrFUqZwGl5rB3ltvsO7glAzuFf40PbQJ4o5WdkFHZMu-Noa00R5U0gdu5ttpKwobyvOZHM7be_XnjN_/s1600/Small+Monster+36+x+55cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="730" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCP6ysMCGQ94RZ8Xy9GnAGnRU2UR5N7Zz9D0-Xaj21ICbL-StXNdK2fgujQ6l8PrFUqZwGl5rB3ltvsO7glAzuFf40PbQJ4o5WdkFHZMu-Noa00R5U0gdu5ttpKwobyvOZHM7be_XnjN_/s320/Small+Monster+36+x+55cm.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Monster (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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As sad as it was to burry my dog, it was also beautiful and
harmonious. Luca had been with me for a long 15 and a half years. I met her the
day she was born and she died in my arms. In between she had a wonderful life
and I’m happy I was there for the beginning, middle and end. But World Animal
Day is now forever the day that Luca died.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBEQAVgoOcPZ5GuKLgaPQNbt0pjq5x4JmU8u22U_Mt-u_XYFoeGmZJM-TfgWPOoQ-HtPs_YqpDdyzuOx_jUzmkAxpo7KJNdL55lwIk6ef-dfpecrRhneO1RRqgj5mBg9jDEHMxiGGIhx1/s1600/Small+Ganja+65+x+50cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="998" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBEQAVgoOcPZ5GuKLgaPQNbt0pjq5x4JmU8u22U_Mt-u_XYFoeGmZJM-TfgWPOoQ-HtPs_YqpDdyzuOx_jUzmkAxpo7KJNdL55lwIk6ef-dfpecrRhneO1RRqgj5mBg9jDEHMxiGGIhx1/s320/Small+Ganja+65+x+50cm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Ganja (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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I usually couldn’t care less about what International Day of
What it happens to be today, but World Animal Day has always been special, ever since I was
a little girl. I was one of those animal nerds, who rather crawled into the
rabbit cage than playing a game with other kids. World Animal Day was almost as
good as my birthday. At school we did animal-related activities and some teachers
even let us bring our pets to school. Which might actually not be the best of
ideas, stressing those poor kittens, hamsters and Guinea pigs out for
educational and recreational purposes. Even stupider was the idea of a
teacher at a school in my neighbourhood in Guatemala to build a cardboard arc
of Noah and telling her kindergarten students to bring a live animal, to
celebrate the love of Noah for animals. So every kid grabbed a random puppy or
kitten, always plenty of those around in Guatemala and brought it to school whether
the poor thing was ready to be separated from its momma or not. Those kittens
and pups, all unvaccinated of course, spent the whole day cuddled up together
in a cardboard boat. When it was time to leave each kid was given one animal
to take home. I really wonder how many of those animals are still alive today.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrrBA4u7uZ0okdqe7zezVjBAmMgT8ktfPyu2DAV02zcnIkX1iBabHLEu4CT7TYTPYQDWsLz99VVyuhawX0lCPPNbc9lpDP9ZZKJvCXgYBdb6y-mXDYkdCjYQo9Db2K2Z7eSvcmhkba8vf/s1600/Noah++Acrylics+on+paper+16+5cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgrrBA4u7uZ0okdqe7zezVjBAmMgT8ktfPyu2DAV02zcnIkX1iBabHLEu4CT7TYTPYQDWsLz99VVyuhawX0lCPPNbc9lpDP9ZZKJvCXgYBdb6y-mXDYkdCjYQo9Db2K2Z7eSvcmhkba8vf/s320/Noah++Acrylics+on+paper+16+5cm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Noah (Guatemala, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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So that’s how I got Noah. My neighbours were not pleased at
all when their 5 year old daughter came home with a puppy. She was only 3-4 weeks old, way
too young of course to be separated from her mom. Big brother went to look for
the mom and siblings but couldn’t find them. And that’s how she ended up in my home-Noah turned out to be the craziest and funniest pup I’ve ever met. Unfortunately, she died when she
was only 13 months old, probably of a brain aneurysm. That really sucked an
there was nothing beautiful or harmonious about it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcZfJ99NqY_jRFSCWCZNwjtVYyVtK2FHw402-N1j5sEevtulEpj4Gl8hjqELYMTcJRLqHio0bkne5cdnfYYzgAVyDfn9VOhs4sQOklkyI1-CFeFXIOgm1ToK1enRQUP_m7I9D1GbCKBkF/s1600/Small+Gaviota+50+x+65cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcZfJ99NqY_jRFSCWCZNwjtVYyVtK2FHw402-N1j5sEevtulEpj4Gl8hjqELYMTcJRLqHio0bkne5cdnfYYzgAVyDfn9VOhs4sQOklkyI1-CFeFXIOgm1ToK1enRQUP_m7I9D1GbCKBkF/s320/Small+Gaviota+50+x+65cm.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Gaviota (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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By the way, I always thought World Animal Day is celebrated
on October 4th because it’s Francis of Assisi’s day, patron saint of animals.
But as it turns out, it´s an initiative started in Germany in 1925 by cynologist
Heinrich Zimmerman. And a cynologist is someone who studies dogs. Who knew! Thanks
Google. (Now I think I want to be a cynologist, later when I grow up.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbptdvupR4rJhYB7yNgTkd48nInR82NR5c5iTLjkdpIxVJmYsibShFZ14nTFs2oERTrFvRtMh-_q1iFz351xoEe3yL_JNgdP3-KzJ3GLy1j6sL8ZrmQSi-StuFAMe8PSWR30zVs7BH7do/s1600/Small+Tres+50+x+65cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbptdvupR4rJhYB7yNgTkd48nInR82NR5c5iTLjkdpIxVJmYsibShFZ14nTFs2oERTrFvRtMh-_q1iFz351xoEe3yL_JNgdP3-KzJ3GLy1j6sL8ZrmQSi-StuFAMe8PSWR30zVs7BH7do/s320/Small+Tres+50+x+65cm.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Tres (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<br />
Anyway, going through the dog portraits I have painted over
the last few years, it was sad to realize that so many have already passed the
rainbow bridge. So here a little tribute to all those fantastic dogs, our
buddies and besties. Cheers to you all, dear doggies, I hope you’re having a
ball in heaven! (Pun intended.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YVW_ml0FPHJNXuCMZqLuodeQEkMi97ib0rgKN7DBQ_bQCFVc1pRMeTvDhf1Ky4FN-Fk_jmdMlaqnIuil0WM38Ce8op1J5HnLLhQSEl-yR0EM-TXmDva0Gwnfoe38urk5SnevSrasm0ob/s1600/Small+Lupita+50+x+65cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YVW_ml0FPHJNXuCMZqLuodeQEkMi97ib0rgKN7DBQ_bQCFVc1pRMeTvDhf1Ky4FN-Fk_jmdMlaqnIuil0WM38Ce8op1J5HnLLhQSEl-yR0EM-TXmDva0Gwnfoe38urk5SnevSrasm0ob/s320/Small+Lupita+50+x+65cm.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Lupita (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<br />
And in case you´d like a portrait of your own dog, check out the Shop section on this blog!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikj7JNThoA4vocaZoLwrNTK_F8iPNpeAgKak3FQfGpTjXZJ4lQX5O5Pg7LHHzJkikksV1OehtKqoBiudElwmMfSuHhyykrmxWoYnS7K__9F3QyvwMt7xGNOGdFAhoVS_5GjJGtghFjdRR0/s1600/Small+Murcy+The+Dog+Wonder+30+x+39.5cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikj7JNThoA4vocaZoLwrNTK_F8iPNpeAgKak3FQfGpTjXZJ4lQX5O5Pg7LHHzJkikksV1OehtKqoBiudElwmMfSuHhyykrmxWoYnS7K__9F3QyvwMt7xGNOGdFAhoVS_5GjJGtghFjdRR0/s320/Small+Murcy+The+Dog+Wonder+30+x+39.5cm.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Murci (Guatemala, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QVwtHl9c9JcJKdkzNYilFkLRB4jVLoEYRgCXzt9bM6WL2LVGZcDdhyphenhyphenJEQGyt-D4qv4Z4X9n1-4Y7nse-rvAda2hMEDaqbOdQxN21DlbgSWSrzp6dBiUKUWRsDvA31jB2oUpqPHdW-gfP/s1600/Small+Bambi+55+x+75cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="751" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QVwtHl9c9JcJKdkzNYilFkLRB4jVLoEYRgCXzt9bM6WL2LVGZcDdhyphenhyphenJEQGyt-D4qv4Z4X9n1-4Y7nse-rvAda2hMEDaqbOdQxN21DlbgSWSrzp6dBiUKUWRsDvA31jB2oUpqPHdW-gfP/s320/Small+Bambi+55+x+75cm.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Bambi (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8cTati5SxXKsxyCICvcSBZdp8cGRJzyIZhEn2WDq5Hjhyphenhyphenna-Nuf7uGFfCDhR-_0yAHbK7_waFa5eH9sE2t6Q-FAbwhaVChGtlGAPf-99S6eSrkEV3skYWLdylTD5U3ItXyCft9uQe7Gfq/s1600/Roxie16x20+inch+March+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1281" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8cTati5SxXKsxyCICvcSBZdp8cGRJzyIZhEn2WDq5Hjhyphenhyphenna-Nuf7uGFfCDhR-_0yAHbK7_waFa5eH9sE2t6Q-FAbwhaVChGtlGAPf-99S6eSrkEV3skYWLdylTD5U3ItXyCft9uQe7Gfq/s320/Roxie16x20+inch+March+2018.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Roxie (USA, painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4i9VNeazEKKkFugZWJuXy0Wi3KAtN_bYSUQvV4_Qu3eNUOdLMkP8PuvF2B5f8wqiBBfzCvLWGeD51WSG_32U7evmBvKs7YYCX09MeHFB6oWh7rLS1X-bLoNtim3-io9QjUfaysniNq0-/s1600/Small+Bombero+55+x+75cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="751" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4i9VNeazEKKkFugZWJuXy0Wi3KAtN_bYSUQvV4_Qu3eNUOdLMkP8PuvF2B5f8wqiBBfzCvLWGeD51WSG_32U7evmBvKs7YYCX09MeHFB6oWh7rLS1X-bLoNtim3-io9QjUfaysniNq0-/s320/Small+Bombero+55+x+75cm.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Bombero (Honduras, painting by Carin Steen)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXJkeWa9mNE13o9d4OtstustvNzdSfT58Ed1_rgibc5Wxw2JhY6rjdETwPANYnLR6MICm6zPExMenJiTjG2CpqZk6h-75_QPSYa8xfNEZA2UczSZyf5mV8PnilZmDyKzKH7N-EqZQR0G8/s1600/26-2-17+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDXJkeWa9mNE13o9d4OtstustvNzdSfT58Ed1_rgibc5Wxw2JhY6rjdETwPANYnLR6MICm6zPExMenJiTjG2CpqZk6h-75_QPSYa8xfNEZA2UczSZyf5mV8PnilZmDyKzKH7N-EqZQR0G8/s320/26-2-17+009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Hazel in Heaven (Guatemala, painting by Carin Steen)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1ShnQJR1ZwCCt0X7W_ViD3bhX3mwGDYgGLdBiFv1pPb1f2yFm1B3YFoZqWOg9ljN31lJmVKhtL6vd-mX0V4JZuJdyEzx90U4_8oj498SKaXMn-hk0ew3CY2WfZ9anifeFNQJRU_P2NHZ/s1600/Mural+UPA+September+2017+%252827%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1ShnQJR1ZwCCt0X7W_ViD3bhX3mwGDYgGLdBiFv1pPb1f2yFm1B3YFoZqWOg9ljN31lJmVKhtL6vd-mX0V4JZuJdyEzx90U4_8oj498SKaXMn-hk0ew3CY2WfZ9anifeFNQJRU_P2NHZ/s320/Mural+UPA+September+2017+%252827%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Unidos para los Animales shelter, Guatemala (and not all deceased yet, thankfully!)<br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-55102820636629754112019-09-27T03:58:00.000-06:002019-09-27T04:02:54.885-06:00Guatemala`s Plastic Ban<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ox8SfUB-ah8YBszJqxFkO0lPx-8kXFeEd5g2Dj6ES7BDUxXo4_CBg6jcRxQPW17a_aSmmz7GgPqlGcfk4-jK0qqYKYDCvUfeH0tKTQrd4Mqjp7ySixSEEv021R3u2cdqiPp0rMYHInX6/s1600/Trash+I+.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ox8SfUB-ah8YBszJqxFkO0lPx-8kXFeEd5g2Dj6ES7BDUxXo4_CBg6jcRxQPW17a_aSmmz7GgPqlGcfk4-jK0qqYKYDCvUfeH0tKTQrd4Mqjp7ySixSEEv021R3u2cdqiPp0rMYHInX6/s400/Trash+I+.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Guatemalan Landscape I (Painting by Carin Steen)</span></i></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">n the fisrt day of 2019's Global Climate Strikes, Guatemala’s government announced it will ban
all single-use plastic bags and disposable utensils. The country will have two
years to find alternatives for plastic cups and straws. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Great news!
But is it?</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Everyone
who lives in Guatemala has been stuck at least one behind one of those (in)famous
chicken busses and knows about its big black clouds of exhaustion fumes. Mining
companies dump their waste wherever they bloody like it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gorgeous Lake Atitlan is an open sewer.
The pollution of the Motagua River not only poses a serious risk to public health,
but is also destroying the Mesoamerican Reef. So is a plastic ban really going
to make a difference?</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The problem
is that there are too many problems. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">One of them
is people´s attitude. Of course children learn at school where trash should go
and to take care of the environment. But it`s a sort of a theoretical knowledge
that isn`t often applied. Or thought through. Example: Last May I was painting
a mural at a school while the children celebrated National Tree Day. Besides
the regular national anthem, prayer and many speeches (including a looong one
by the director about all the obstacles she had overcome in order to get the
school some computers), the celebration mainly consisted of each grade
presenting a huge tree made of paper. Made of PAPER!!! And to make matters
worse, while the festivities were going on, some workmen were cutting down a
big tree on the schoolyard. And no one even blinked. <br />
People <i>know. </i>But people don´t <i>act.</i></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Another
problem. Trash collection. In Antigua Guatemala, trash collection is a private affair.
You pay one of the “companies” to dispose of your trash. On specific days guys
knock on your door and haul your crap to a lorry from which the trash is dumped
at the municipal garbage heap. Or so you hope. Who checks where the trash
really goes? Not that I doubt those guys, the thing is, there is just no
control. As there is no control of who pays for garbage collection and who
doesn´t. In the small town I used to live there were plenty of people who <i>didn´t
</i>and dumped their trash at the creek. Or behind my house. But to be fair, in
the town I used to live in Honduras, garbage collection was serviced by the
municipality, there was no way <i>not</i> to pay, but people still threw their
trash on the streets anyway. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGY4-99y8Ugy1Jdrr0Ih1DAf6QvOLTo8nMTl9hi55kZqsfNtU7tondFSzB_ceKFurcnfVb52UvKbwZaXN5BbVR-aKXRhh8FNdF8oSgtGqWssiy1EBfoQDr3i_spZ-9o0QQsFhwc4ztz8O/s1600/Trash+II+.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGY4-99y8Ugy1Jdrr0Ih1DAf6QvOLTo8nMTl9hi55kZqsfNtU7tondFSzB_ceKFurcnfVb52UvKbwZaXN5BbVR-aKXRhh8FNdF8oSgtGqWssiy1EBfoQDr3i_spZ-9o0QQsFhwc4ztz8O/s320/Trash+II+.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Guatemalan Landscape II (Painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></span>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Of course
there wouldn’t be as much trash if there wasn`t so much single-use plastic. And
the poorer people are, ironically enough, the more plastic. If you walk into any
tiny neighbourhood store, the amount of plastic packaging is simply appalling. Besides
some eggs, tomatoes and onions, everything else is covered in plastic and most
of it individually wrapped. Because people are poor. It is less money (not
cheaper) to buy a sachet of shampoo than a whole bottle (and no, those fantastic
packaging-free shampoo tablets are NOT widely available to the poor!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cookies, drinks, oil, sauces, chips, candy, everything
comes in mini amounts with maxi packaging, so you think you get something worth
your money. While wat you really do is buying trash, of course. But hat
argument doesn’t fly when you only have a few cents in your pocket, just enough
to buy some crisps and a soda. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For years,
in my work with kids in Central America, I’ve addressed the trash problem in
any possible way I could think of but it seems to be a lost fight. Garbage
slogans and songs got forgotten, bins got stolen, signs got ruined and
pollution continued. And I still don`t know why. Of course, if you go to small
mountain villages, it wasn`t all too long ago that trash wasn`t a problem at
all. You threw everything, all organic, out through the window and it got taken
care of by dogs, pigs, chickens or bugs. The transformation from pure organic
waste to an avalanche of single-use plastic went much faster than the disposal
of it, not to mention recycling.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Funnily
enough, if you ask a kid, or anyone, for that matter, whether she/he prefers a
clean environment over a littered one, the answer is always yes. But oh so
little is being done about it. Although, I must say I was thrilled to see that
this year some schools in Central America instead of marching for Independent
Day, cleaned their community or planted trees. Isn’t taking care of your
country <i>real</i> patriotism? Please people keep that in mind next Semana
Santa when you flock to coast and rivers and leave literally tons of your CRAP
on shores and beaches! Not fun at all! And you know what, it <i>can</i> be
done! Spending much time on the beach in Northern Spain this summer, I’m
baffled every time I find the beach squeaky clean in the early mornings, knowing
that just hours earlier hundreds of people spent their day there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every morning. It CAN be done! Really, not difficult
at all. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In August last
year, Antigua Guatemala announced its new law to prohibit single-use plastic, a
law that went in effect on February 10. As much as I applauded it, I was very sceptical.
It’s a great initiative, but to see it implemented is another thing. There`s
also a law that forbids animal abuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
one that says you can`t kill people, but that one isn´t taken very seriously
either. But I must say, I have actually seen quite a difference.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">At the
market the regular bags were quickly replaced by biodegradable ones. That is a
step forward, although of course not a solution. By the way, I strongly mistrust
some of those bags that look just the same to me, but with an “ECO” label
printed on them. Is there any control out there? But now that the plastic ban
will be implemented nationwide, things can only approve. Plastic won´t be able
to be imported from other towns any longer and hopefully there will be more
variety in alternative packaging as well as better prices. People are already coming
up with solutions that are probably as ancient as the world anyway: French fries
in a cabbage leaf, cheese wrapped in banana leaves and a return of brown Kraft
paper. Nothing new under the sun. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I thought
that the plastic ban would mostly be applied in the visible tourist industry in
central Antigua. But to my surprise and delight, it has trickled through all
layers of society and now even in the smallest shops you don`t get a bag any
more. Want some tortillas? Bring a napkin. Eggs? Basket. You know, just like it
used to be not so very long ago. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if
your walk around in my neighbourhood and see the amount of trash scattered
around, you realise this could really have an impact.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But enough
talk. Let`s try to make some real changes. Forget for now about reusing and
recycling. Let`s start with some serious reducing. Deal?</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLoZucYfZWGnMjK2NUSQgyCl5jn8AzjoExeEaoKerh1F6nQ4iilmGjIdNfsah77J2LLbY0fKsRYN60WpsxNp_G1r2z6gAjyBEe3Se7aI5uYjcygsDu4QFcb8FJdo1S45ObjqQ_fXtiOfN3/s1600/Trash+III+.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLoZucYfZWGnMjK2NUSQgyCl5jn8AzjoExeEaoKerh1F6nQ4iilmGjIdNfsah77J2LLbY0fKsRYN60WpsxNp_G1r2z6gAjyBEe3Se7aI5uYjcygsDu4QFcb8FJdo1S45ObjqQ_fXtiOfN3/s400/Trash+III+.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Guatemalan Landscape III (Painting by Carin Steen)</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-20737130960613590322019-09-13T06:38:00.004-06:002019-09-13T06:43:32.800-06:00Half-Countryside-ness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh_58geh3SQQ2wcRGr5vY8spapvU-wfgsFU_Ut-EIDJxHuduUS3QZimI9BS_9IhRuGgdTQeWRrhMiJRtREyxKWkKcwImRjCzljETu9SaIgoo44F6BsxOS1D_VyPIEyvfItKYpsIwxYFoZL/s1600/WP_20190909_17_02_30_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh_58geh3SQQ2wcRGr5vY8spapvU-wfgsFU_Ut-EIDJxHuduUS3QZimI9BS_9IhRuGgdTQeWRrhMiJRtREyxKWkKcwImRjCzljETu9SaIgoo44F6BsxOS1D_VyPIEyvfItKYpsIwxYFoZL/s400/WP_20190909_17_02_30_Pro.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
There’s this word in Dutch that often pops up in my head and that I love: halflandelijkheid. It means something like “half-countrysideness” and refers, quite obviously, to places in between urban and rural areas. The word was invented by the poet Simon Vestdijk who used it in his poem Zelfkant (“Self-Side) in 1931. Badly translated, the first strophe goes something like this:<br />
<br />
What I love most is half-countrysideness:<br />Where woozy meadow winds play with clotheslines<br />Full of laundry; industrial sites where
Between miserable grass a lorry rides.<br />
<br />
(Ik houd het meest van de halfland'lijkheid:<br />Van vage weidewinden die met lijnen<br />Vol waschgoed spelen; van fabrieksterreinen<br />Waar tusschen arm'lijk gras de lorrie rijdt.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaYVbIAry5ArSZa887KMoMGsvqiqVTjDuwmLjIZvEPES_KHUokIPPZTDEZuv9z1Lj6kQI0H6ux0dO9B1fr7B7-_DSKSV_RYlSbuZ8ahnu4x7cURkjMAu4ASwZj9osqpjHVeRHbN4Ja8-4/s1600/WP_20190909_17_15_22_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaYVbIAry5ArSZa887KMoMGsvqiqVTjDuwmLjIZvEPES_KHUokIPPZTDEZuv9z1Lj6kQI0H6ux0dO9B1fr7B7-_DSKSV_RYlSbuZ8ahnu4x7cURkjMAu4ASwZj9osqpjHVeRHbN4Ja8-4/s400/WP_20190909_17_15_22_Pro.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A lifetime ago, when I was a young art student who knew everything about everything, we got the assignment to “do something” with the theme of half-countrysideness. Even then I was already intrigued by this word and its implication. I set off for an abandoned train depot near my house, the Oostelijk Havengebied in Amsterdam, for those in the know, and spent many happy hours among forgotten railway carriages covered in rust and graffiti. The rails where overgrown with grass, the environment quiet and still despite the short distance from grand central station. I made sketches, I painted and took many pictures. And in the end, I burned everything in a self-invented ceremony to honour the half-countrysideness. Or something like it. I can’t remember exactly except that at the time I thought it was pretty cool and sophisticated. The place doesn’t exist anymore. Humans have won and turned one of the last spots of nothingness in the city into a fancy neighbourhood.<br />
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A couple of days ago the weather here in the north of Spain was too miserable to go to the beach but not miserable enough to stay in. A perfect day to explore the trail I suspected to exist leading from my small village to the nearest town. I did find the trail and it was quite nice. There were some goats grazing around freely as well as a horse and a few cows minding their own business, as was I. However, when I turned around a corner of some blackberry bushes, I found a big fat bull lying right in the middle of the trail. The bull was lazily chewing some grass and seemed very mellow. I guess I could have walked around him without a fuzz but I’ve seen a few too many bull-related incidents on TV lately (quite normal in Spain, where people run with bills for fun), so I decided to calmly retrace my steps. Which led me to an area just outside of Llanes that I hadn’t explored yet. It was a perfect example of “halflandelijkheid” where human interventions had invaded the countryside but where pure neglect and force of nature had given the latter the upper hand.<br />
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<br />
I love those areas that are neither inhabited nor completely forgotten, with small human interventions that seem to get along great with the plants and bugs that consider the space theirs. Which made me ponder half-countrysideness in Guatemala and Honduras and realized there’s very little of it. It’s countryside OR urbanization, even on the edges of towns where urbanizations stops when there is absolutely no physical way to build yet another level or expansion to the existing shacks. It made me think that half-countrysideness is, rather than a sign of deterioration, a bit of a luxury, available only to those who can afford to forget or neglect. And that makes me end this entry with the depressing realisation that yes, everywhere in the world and for whatever reason, half-countrysideness is in danger of extinction. What a shame.<br />
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<br />Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-41485611210743837722019-09-09T07:15:00.001-06:002019-09-09T07:15:33.684-06:00Talking about the Weather
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZILc7AO5sV1VMxwImvbo3nz3eoPa-D3sMR0NmXngUUeWmc6YiAAG98Yw119r1IGia16m_yfe-ztNP9kh6-KMFJ_08IN63brglTlcInolOXumUwwIe-DVUwmoSB-APUieXwxipMeSGICac/s1600/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZILc7AO5sV1VMxwImvbo3nz3eoPa-D3sMR0NmXngUUeWmc6YiAAG98Yw119r1IGia16m_yfe-ztNP9kh6-KMFJ_08IN63brglTlcInolOXumUwwIe-DVUwmoSB-APUieXwxipMeSGICac/s400/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Asturias beach in September</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Guatemala is the land of eternal spring, they say. And yup, besides
the occasional downpour, the weather is pretty cool. In the Antigua area the
days are filled with sunshine that might get a bit too much around noon but is otherwise
reminiscent of spring in bloom. The nights cool off substantially and the rainy
season is obviously (much!) wetter than the dry period, but other than that the
weather is pretty constant. No need for different summer or winter wardrobes,
an extra layer when cold will do. There’s also little difference between summer
and winter time. In the summer, dusk starts around 6.40pm and at 7pm it’s pitch
dark. In the winter that’s 6pm. So, all in all (not taken in account the noticeable
effects of climate change), life just calmly goes on without dramatic changes
between seasons. That feeling of loss at the end of summer… The falling of leaves
and shortening of days that remind you that all will come to an end. Nope, not
in Guatemala. Day is day and night is night. Green leaves and flowers year-round.
You can harvest lettuce from your own garden any month of the year. Day after
day is pretty much the same and that does bring a sense of calm. It also made
me always forget everybody’s birthday back home because I strongly associate
those with different seasons. No wonder I’d forget my mother’s birthday in
December while drinking coffee on my rooftop terrace dressed in shorts and a tank
top. (But that was before Facebook started to remind us of our loved ones’ B-days,
thank you very much.)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz13ip4GXUZrlCVPhvlaDggilSazC7Ii-ubN76-Lzr6exQZOAVAX5oTS-fZ67V5nI3HK3UIVKVXf9xbvMa_xX8tPgjcGrX6Z35qN0AjeyfIDx5FWRDiJGgxkMsj1jJHoDPY4eaZbTR-_Ta/s1600/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz13ip4GXUZrlCVPhvlaDggilSazC7Ii-ubN76-Lzr6exQZOAVAX5oTS-fZ67V5nI3HK3UIVKVXf9xbvMa_xX8tPgjcGrX6Z35qN0AjeyfIDx5FWRDiJGgxkMsj1jJHoDPY4eaZbTR-_Ta/s400/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25284%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Spanish Bougainvillea</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After more than two decades in Central America I just settled
in the North of Spain (which is very different from the rest of Spain,
climate-wise and all) and one of the most fantastic things I’ve experienced in
the last two months is SUMMER!!!!! I had totally forgotten how absolutely amazingly
wonderful real summers are! And I mean REAL summers, of course, that start its
days with crisp blue skies and corn yellow sunshine. Summer days that seem to
last forever and allow you to go to the beach in the EVENING!!! Not a cooling
down, dusky sort of evening, but sitting on the beach at 9pm with your feet in
the ocean and an ice-cream in your hand kind of evening! Swimming in the sunset
at 10pm!!! Loving it!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJkqKKCquiRI3i-JVrlVeXdf9r2tYd8ZRuN8TFbEse6MOxZ_b0o3qe7occGOVo1qfM3HNy59tlN9BopPbmGfJCiLUOLVB74kNtjsMAPGpLZNsePUynCh3d1YF35DOGns2aniIf4DRpfB1/s1600/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJkqKKCquiRI3i-JVrlVeXdf9r2tYd8ZRuN8TFbEse6MOxZ_b0o3qe7occGOVo1qfM3HNy59tlN9BopPbmGfJCiLUOLVB74kNtjsMAPGpLZNsePUynCh3d1YF35DOGns2aniIf4DRpfB1/s400/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25285%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
But that is all coming to an end. Almost. Summer hasn’t made
up its mind yet. Every time you think it’s over and done with, summer comes
back with a few splendid days. The ocean is still pretty warm and as long as
you stay out of the shade, you can easily pretend that nothing has changed. But
as soon as you enter the shade, the chill creeps into your bones, Even on the
beach, the gentle sun might caress your face, but a chilly draft bites your butt.
And then the smells… Sun warmed walls and wafts of ripe fruit no longer there…
The not unpleasant smell of wet, rotting leaves has already taken over the
smell of sunscreen. Yellowing leaves and reddening apples announce fall. And
yes, there is that sense of loss… I cherish every ray of sunshine; I spend
every minute I can outdoors and still go to the beach for my daily swim. I soak
up the very last bit of summer, unwilling to let go. I really, really don’t
want summer to end.<br />
<br />
<br />
But to be honest, I’m actually also very much looking forward
to what autumn has to bring and can’t wait for it to start!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7w17PXbC0iZMh39YyUI1ETFPTvqDbzo5bafm3YFOMpUnSQ0am2gSo5dd7ihsieJlCYVCl8Lp12OQGx5kgYNcJGKCsueOP8d5yF2N-D28WJx6lL_HPScA9-pVo_xnzRG-a97IDH4Lh0S3n/s1600/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7w17PXbC0iZMh39YyUI1ETFPTvqDbzo5bafm3YFOMpUnSQ0am2gSo5dd7ihsieJlCYVCl8Lp12OQGx5kgYNcJGKCsueOP8d5yF2N-D28WJx6lL_HPScA9-pVo_xnzRG-a97IDH4Lh0S3n/s400/San+Martin+2-9-19+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZS0_DBhpNBwAycEvEgAvRf_wx67V6pEC0m9QG4nN75PtVM8RD47t8GXp419XZF60OTaG6o9alBuHIXcZ0dq2o2_H3u5t5PQQRno1ROmYWASKaLmHgLv-w1h5-i3sFFp4LGLINqogegBKH/s1600/San+Martin+2-9-19+%252818%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZS0_DBhpNBwAycEvEgAvRf_wx67V6pEC0m9QG4nN75PtVM8RD47t8GXp419XZF60OTaG6o9alBuHIXcZ0dq2o2_H3u5t5PQQRno1ROmYWASKaLmHgLv-w1h5-i3sFFp4LGLINqogegBKH/s400/San+Martin+2-9-19+%252818%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-57183696076884382802019-08-13T12:54:00.001-06:002019-08-13T12:55:53.018-06:00The Chicken Bus Experience<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiza9YZv0aidzkaMRcapqijWFDBLc0ekx3nuDQ7Omltm0pZtfncfLT8dg6Lb5mxs1x6CnQvTrRl819veFQymyQGUfWKMWEAAN5vyFlRQMx0hmBKFNeY3n3yY8bwpzuBhyphenhyphen1i5azmUir0BBxU/s1600/Busses+19-6+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiza9YZv0aidzkaMRcapqijWFDBLc0ekx3nuDQ7Omltm0pZtfncfLT8dg6Lb5mxs1x6CnQvTrRl819veFQymyQGUfWKMWEAAN5vyFlRQMx0hmBKFNeY3n3yY8bwpzuBhyphenhyphen1i5azmUir0BBxU/s400/Busses+19-6+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There is no
public transportation today from Antigua to the capital in Guatemala. Yet
another bus driver was shot by gangs that charge transportation companies excessive
fees in order to be allowed to ride the roads. Not the first assault (fortunately
the driver survived this time), but all public transportation is now on hold
while demanding from the government measures to guarantee safety in public
transportation.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I couldn’t
agree more but also see the irony here. Sure, the extortions are a massive
problem, but it is not the only issue on the road. Anyone who has ever travelled
the roads in Guatemala knows that many bus drivers are suicidal maniacs who put
the lives of the passengers in their overcrowded busses in peril. As colourful
and fantastically decorated those chicken busses are, as soon as they hit the
roads they turn into lethal beasts. In their hurry to haul in as many as paying
customers, the <i>ayudantes</i> basically drag people into the busses, quite
often doubling the maximum number of 52 passengers, as a forgotten sign over
the drivers head mentions, a forgotten relic from when the bus was yellow and
used to haul schoolchildren, two per bench, in grey but quiet suburbs. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Chicken busses,
I love them as much as I hate them. As big and fast and scary as they are on
the roads, especially when the bus driver starts racing a bus from a rival
company, they are absolutely fascinating. Riding a chicken bus while, often quite
literally, hanging on for dear life, is an experience that assaults all your
senses at once. The smells may not always be the best (the aroma of food sold by
vendors squirming through the isle is by far preferable over some more human
odours); the music simply deafening; the touch factor a little too close for my
taste (don’t forget to hold on to that hand rail with all your might!) and the
visual impact not more than a colourful blurs; it all adds up to being totally emerged
in the chicken bus experience. If you haven’t ridden a chicken bus, you haven’t
lived Guatemala…</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The very
best are of course the busses’ make-over, both inside and out. The more work,
the better, although it’s all for looks and little is done to make things more
comfortable for the passengers. The springs are poking through the seats? Can
wait. The whole bench is bend so you keep gliding off? Not the driver’s
problem. A new dashboard sticker on the market? YES!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Many busses
have girls’ names. It’s not always clear what the driver’s relation is to the
person the bus is named after. A bus on route to my neighbourhood is called
Angela, featuring the name in big read letters over the windshield. Underneath
it says: <i>Explosión de Amor.</i> Let’s assume Angela is the legal wife or
girlfriend in this case, not the driver’s little girl.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It is also very
important to ask for God’s blessing in loudly coloured stickers and to decorate
the area around the driver with significant cultural icons, mostly Playboy’s
bunny, the silhouette of a topless girl and Jesus Christ. Stickers are printed
to fit the surface, not to respect the original image, hence the sometimes weirdly
warped eyes of Our Lord staring at you. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Many busses
now have TV screens up front with a typical mix of music videos (with girls as barely
dressed as the chrome ones that decorate the bus) or extremely violent movies. The
music is ear-splitting and can somehow always be turned up a notch. Nobody is
ever bothered by the distorted sound, not even babies that tend to do the whole
chicken bus experience while sleeping anyway.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I think my very
favourite chicken busses are the ones from the town I used to live to the
terminal in Antigua. The whole route takes no longer than five minutes. The busses
are never full (except at the end of a school day) and it beats me how eight
different busses can make a living of this route, charging people Q1.50
($0.20). Students only pay Q1, after a short but fierce war when the fare went
up from Q1 to Q1.50. Not that expensive, but a 50% increase nonetheless and it
adds up when you have several kids taking the bus to school every day. In the
end the war came to a peaceful end when the compromise was made to keep the
rate for students at Q1. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The busses from
San Bartolo to the terminal and back are not the most beautiful ones, but they
are the dearest to me, I guess because they are so much part of the community.
No bus would ever leave when someone started running a whole block away (well,
what Guatemalans call “running” anyway), holding up the bus for a couple of
minutes. Every person getting on gets a heartfelt <i>Buenos días</i> from the
driver and the rest of the passengers. And best of all, when the buss arrives at
its destination, a whole five minutes later, the drivers says: <i>Servidos!</i>
And then you get up, pay the driver and get off with well wishes to and fro. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And after a
day in town the bus is waiting for you at its regular spot. Always and every
day.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWexnHSLOgrC7uH1aia_QUg_zXicN4ZjIjRWAZNIKKx90I2UuzzIqXaHtG-VJc1nv6tUlz-1T6FVVhw8NgA-hZQHMMymbLuR_Ug9UgEEqjt1fTA-mqZ1TjXBNp1Z0fbVyM8Sv53xymH8X/s1600/Busses+19-6+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWexnHSLOgrC7uH1aia_QUg_zXicN4ZjIjRWAZNIKKx90I2UuzzIqXaHtG-VJc1nv6tUlz-1T6FVVhw8NgA-hZQHMMymbLuR_Ug9UgEEqjt1fTA-mqZ1TjXBNp1Z0fbVyM8Sv53xymH8X/s400/Busses+19-6+%25282%2529.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-63887974184457727902019-05-04T13:22:00.001-06:002019-08-13T12:56:16.305-06:00Cycles of Life<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4USX5eLqu_gn53zSz2AfeOR-F9lpbjaGpTAwyBlKjCZvAWjSCoq0A5y454jBMb5MDrqLJzUmE3MNveK-XHy1WbjcLrSJcFwIn4WZbvYZeqrkr5PGMmmMAvuOX9o97L35o3wMBldo1Abms/s1600/Panza+Verde+10-4-19+%252823%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4USX5eLqu_gn53zSz2AfeOR-F9lpbjaGpTAwyBlKjCZvAWjSCoq0A5y454jBMb5MDrqLJzUmE3MNveK-XHy1WbjcLrSJcFwIn4WZbvYZeqrkr5PGMmmMAvuOX9o97L35o3wMBldo1Abms/s400/Panza+Verde+10-4-19+%252823%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Why an exhibition
of round paintings?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Well, why not?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Just wanted to do
something a little different this time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Not half as happy
as you normally paint, commented a friend. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">True. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Nothing like my
colourful portraits of cute puppies. These paintings are based on events I read
about in the press and no, that is not something to be happy about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WTF was mostly my reaction, followed by
disgust, anger and sometimes desperation. Here, judge for yourself…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBQWs2DuNKmkd3h8rxVxmtPVlIBZjVcUdqq384_6b0-3HGbgdd2O7wAskY_FfgmIDIcBNc9nNATjlJgXE4kyj6-M29CMMh5C6ku2Y9Oif3YL_Nt5tCWitgA-FnxPGt-wqTY4KzuDGdHQA/s1600/Me+Too+Acrylica+on+board+59cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFBQWs2DuNKmkd3h8rxVxmtPVlIBZjVcUdqq384_6b0-3HGbgdd2O7wAskY_FfgmIDIcBNc9nNATjlJgXE4kyj6-M29CMMh5C6ku2Y9Oif3YL_Nt5tCWitgA-FnxPGt-wqTY4KzuDGdHQA/s320/Me+Too+Acrylica+on+board+59cm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Not One Less… (59cm)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Hardly a day goes
by without a woman being brutally murdered in Guatemala. In 2018 there were 228 reported
victims. It seems 209 is going to be even worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQyiwm9P2l9wdYSdVmt4o0mqjZ17iqRr-UHiBL3YFf-3uyfxDIYkfT0n3WP0Re4vlWskvN7y0bNJki4BwXfqLiaeAd7sSkkacdsA1AsEKVtrZVfSKlgWgPlljZ-68FhmOHcEtYl7bTvlU/s1600/Super+Heroe+Acrylics+on+metal+56cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQyiwm9P2l9wdYSdVmt4o0mqjZ17iqRr-UHiBL3YFf-3uyfxDIYkfT0n3WP0Re4vlWskvN7y0bNJki4BwXfqLiaeAd7sSkkacdsA1AsEKVtrZVfSKlgWgPlljZ-68FhmOHcEtYl7bTvlU/s200/Super+Heroe+Acrylics+on+metal+56cm.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCOn4mz3aqQN4rZJdlDhMTQMycgqCV99TmypzSpJBb6SIkJnTc0vARjqZUZzoc5M3iZ0g_SqTLg6EUhaNdAFxJbG1wO3NxOD5fKe7kpj4IW8UL4F6Uc9-Y8YeUN6vzs-NtWDt2fBS4-WIp/s1600/survivor+Yoselin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCOn4mz3aqQN4rZJdlDhMTQMycgqCV99TmypzSpJBb6SIkJnTc0vARjqZUZzoc5M3iZ0g_SqTLg6EUhaNdAFxJbG1wO3NxOD5fKe7kpj4IW8UL4F6Uc9-Y8YeUN6vzs-NtWDt2fBS4-WIp/s200/survivor+Yoselin.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBp-gEnygeo7nHuDEBquyzQys5wPmG5tsUBPph-VKINeJFeTZ7THIidYla7YNNYsiArOjzxwLyxsbbnK7hRbda8jDQCGvpAdmzv1iSiKGYAcjEJkHEypW85ZHW5Hvs6dIVuAIDlH15NV2l/s1600/Survivor+II+Acrylics+on+board+34+5cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBp-gEnygeo7nHuDEBquyzQys5wPmG5tsUBPph-VKINeJFeTZ7THIidYla7YNNYsiArOjzxwLyxsbbnK7hRbda8jDQCGvpAdmzv1iSiKGYAcjEJkHEypW85ZHW5Hvs6dIVuAIDlH15NV2l/s200/Survivor+II+Acrylics+on+board+34+5cm.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Survivor Series (65cm, 56cm, 34.5cm. Double portrait
Milagros: 39.5cm)</span></b>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">On June 3<sup>rd</sup>
of 2018 the Fuego volcano erupted and covered several communities under a thick
layer of ashes and other debris. To this day there are still people buried at
what was named Zone 0. Other people (and animals) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> survive. These children were some of the kids I worked with at
the shelter. The dog Milagros eerily had “Ayuda” (help) written on her side. We
never knew whether help was asked for her or her owners. Milagros (“Miracles”,
as I named her) was very sick but made it against all odds en is now living the
life in the USA.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7nOXv7xVS19wUmjOS_SrcD12HW37jsaKbEi902iCNaIS0diq4fXvz21nWNKaAOQIYa3m7AtMFjUSCdYPSzqPSEtkDLO1KLmjHBwGHIhyI833WjX7hU5Q0Z3vorUL7wKL3Km_40aYkDBF/s1600/Milgaros+II+41cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7nOXv7xVS19wUmjOS_SrcD12HW37jsaKbEi902iCNaIS0diq4fXvz21nWNKaAOQIYa3m7AtMFjUSCdYPSzqPSEtkDLO1KLmjHBwGHIhyI833WjX7hU5Q0Z3vorUL7wKL3Km_40aYkDBF/s200/Milgaros+II+41cm.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizw5Y0hyphenhyphenP6L7ynY4O_6SU0sn0nIJp9LQPDS4Gxub1xSWQIHcIhstucAchAHxrHukOE6AIGCI1s3OQaHbM5fTdDlM9YczDlNrJ4pozrLuOlrwZzhbL0QEv7aDkOmgUXl1zokQtUnYtp6Dhe/s1600/Milagros+I+41cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizw5Y0hyphenhyphenP6L7ynY4O_6SU0sn0nIJp9LQPDS4Gxub1xSWQIHcIhstucAchAHxrHukOE6AIGCI1s3OQaHbM5fTdDlM9YczDlNrJ4pozrLuOlrwZzhbL0QEv7aDkOmgUXl1zokQtUnYtp6Dhe/s200/Milagros+I+41cm.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNoDOpQKCTcVzUiM60Vd8sUX58MVnRhDtxpiba_dAKsXEYDA7zRCTYF76bIuLL_1ke4Lo6dCuIQ69ZnelCtel66iuzXDdrDw-VaVPgnpvJ3AMroX50_vhRsGIIihL7YhpRXUt08NMuHE8/s1600/Ghost+Town+I+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNoDOpQKCTcVzUiM60Vd8sUX58MVnRhDtxpiba_dAKsXEYDA7zRCTYF76bIuLL_1ke4Lo6dCuIQ69ZnelCtel66iuzXDdrDw-VaVPgnpvJ3AMroX50_vhRsGIIihL7YhpRXUt08NMuHE8/s200/Ghost+Town+I+.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EOM05jTcSMbs-EShCTSDyXdiZCW6p3LiwP4tD45GQSKpXVHEK4_2GzigNyCmAcuDwijZmovFfG-B_JVa8R8-cxW4gtXv3QnPwTlq_Okl5ixUnL1VIKjGSZIt9-BQALQy04r7fsUtmBDo/s1600/Ghost+Town+II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EOM05jTcSMbs-EShCTSDyXdiZCW6p3LiwP4tD45GQSKpXVHEK4_2GzigNyCmAcuDwijZmovFfG-B_JVa8R8-cxW4gtXv3QnPwTlq_Okl5ixUnL1VIKjGSZIt9-BQALQy04r7fsUtmBDo/s200/Ghost+Town+II.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Ghost Towns (41 and 20cm)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">There are ghost
towns and there are ghost towns… The first one is deserted and completely
unliveable as is San Miguel Los Lotes after the volcano eruption (although
reconstruction of parts of the community is under way).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Another sort of
ghost town is a community you invent, such as El Paxtal, so the government will
invest in a state of the art highway to this non-existing community. That’s what
you do if you’re a congress woman and you happen to own a spa in that place. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqbixkXD9-w9wh0egPie2d7yPa6GG1kDr3QG3SB33aUTdyLex0ci8CAkelzek3bfDudSIWTo2camrTH1HcVvDnIY5_ARH2FMf8m_-UDWovB8r65vVkl5vGBAbb7pMZyL1i_ihdlpIeD_2/s1600/Golden+Balls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqbixkXD9-w9wh0egPie2d7yPa6GG1kDr3QG3SB33aUTdyLex0ci8CAkelzek3bfDudSIWTo2camrTH1HcVvDnIY5_ARH2FMf8m_-UDWovB8r65vVkl5vGBAbb7pMZyL1i_ihdlpIeD_2/s320/Golden+Balls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Golden Balls (50cm)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">February 2018. The Board of Veterinarians decides to raise the price of
castrations for cats and dogs to Q950. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In a country where there is a huge overpopulation of dogs and cats and
where people barley can afford to feed them, this is completely ludicrous. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86VKh2eieCHzwA43il7N4zDToJKblCaM5wdzgQFQmGbRp-4_4c3G1QH66h43K0EOfepSYyhx0lZCml5nqqt0zTj7_wcjTqrbvfrPKdavn3yMswtcKGuF8HJKq10sf61v8b_EU1mJv6H0o/s1600/Trash+II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86VKh2eieCHzwA43il7N4zDToJKblCaM5wdzgQFQmGbRp-4_4c3G1QH66h43K0EOfepSYyhx0lZCml5nqqt0zTj7_wcjTqrbvfrPKdavn3yMswtcKGuF8HJKq10sf61v8b_EU1mJv6H0o/s200/Trash+II.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREabYPFWsCdgwpxIsMIKz_s3RqV19Mo2P5VjgwE0syB44SoKeQsD7QT-ABZfWQjH4B6Ugjds-YDqYB8BqJ4IyXOZDmiAZlC_zWfTBjhcQ5VV1mT_z-VjW7hUBCjcbC79pR0uT4kuUhj7N/s1600/Trash+III.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREabYPFWsCdgwpxIsMIKz_s3RqV19Mo2P5VjgwE0syB44SoKeQsD7QT-ABZfWQjH4B6Ugjds-YDqYB8BqJ4IyXOZDmiAZlC_zWfTBjhcQ5VV1mT_z-VjW7hUBCjcbC79pR0uT4kuUhj7N/s200/Trash+III.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxw6mX1NglQX2yUfbfMxeToGS8IPgxozy6uBdRTxbPu6waPFLnV4_zmzpOu3iSMAAQkyUwY4n5a8OSogrRWkocJpb8gpLKtEg6tNww04WD6dNFhOaa9AxCkr-79V2RTIU0erROdnw3PL36/s1600/Trash+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxw6mX1NglQX2yUfbfMxeToGS8IPgxozy6uBdRTxbPu6waPFLnV4_zmzpOu3iSMAAQkyUwY4n5a8OSogrRWkocJpb8gpLKtEg6tNww04WD6dNFhOaa9AxCkr-79V2RTIU0erROdnw3PL36/s200/Trash+I.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Guatemalan
Landscapes (41cm, 35cm, 21cm)</span></b>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Guatemala</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> is a
fantastic country with incredible natural resources. However, if you look
around it’s mostly trash you see. I would really like to see patriotism being
expressed though a better care of this beautiful land…</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITKcTeD7t-z1DpOjyYN_6x7J2XYxvtyhdLj5rial6BoMbIUwo0NUsy3e9QQNdPPwxKWX6kjJK-qDXNqAaSznn3iB1hJ4Ws4hjuu7PRPMBMlZ2OabifhEj_iNMFW3uwQnbvt86B35h7uZJ/s1600/Murderers+and+Rapists.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITKcTeD7t-z1DpOjyYN_6x7J2XYxvtyhdLj5rial6BoMbIUwo0NUsy3e9QQNdPPwxKWX6kjJK-qDXNqAaSznn3iB1hJ4Ws4hjuu7PRPMBMlZ2OabifhEj_iNMFW3uwQnbvt86B35h7uZJ/s320/Murderers+and+Rapists.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“Rapists and Murderers” (34.5cm (without frame), ink
and watercolour, )</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="hascaption"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Rosendo Noviega, a 38-year-old migrant
from Guatemala, part of a
caravan of thousands from Central America en route to the United States, holds his daughter Belinda Izabel
as he walks along the highway to Juchitan from Santiago
Niltepec, Mexico, October 30, 2018. An
estimated 2,300 children are travelling with the migrant caravan headed north
to the U.S.-Mexico border, UNICEF said, adding that they needed protection and
access to essential services like healthcare, clean water and sanitation.</span></i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
<span class="hascaption">REUTERS/Ueslei Marcelino</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="hascaption"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Someone else said the migrants were “murderers and rapists”. </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeArBRCP5wDhJeL5WXE1-kzJ84SNz1VQMVOcIYJVXNaANN0uiin79K4AzuQN61o1AoCILtGKdbO7ihVyqzoDdqByPKf3gTlEIAyYa0jmcLKYKBFFCvJe5NQxoqq6u72A-n8wdTMIWSgCn8/s1600/Bones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeArBRCP5wDhJeL5WXE1-kzJ84SNz1VQMVOcIYJVXNaANN0uiin79K4AzuQN61o1AoCILtGKdbO7ihVyqzoDdqByPKf3gTlEIAyYa0jmcLKYKBFFCvJe5NQxoqq6u72A-n8wdTMIWSgCn8/s320/Bones.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Bones of Memory (50cm)</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mass graves from the civil war are still being found and forensic
scientists relentlessly work to identify the victims. On June 24 of 2018, 172
Victims of the civil war are finally officially buried in San Juan
Comalapa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYkIz6HgGqUGyyw7iFcXkjsJl0sIDTdIgEO4Cq559aivrYOfbxNA3EJi4w5cSmFSwMDg__QFZV2_T4Sfrmm_58y0s-fq0GUTQbAc3tDuKMY6DSGb_Qm1KBvQf3L2ONMQ0uPxuToNYhZrY/s1600/Hogar+Seguro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYkIz6HgGqUGyyw7iFcXkjsJl0sIDTdIgEO4Cq559aivrYOfbxNA3EJi4w5cSmFSwMDg__QFZV2_T4Sfrmm_58y0s-fq0GUTQbAc3tDuKMY6DSGb_Qm1KBvQf3L2ONMQ0uPxuToNYhZrY/s320/Hogar+Seguro.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="ES-HN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: ES-HN;">Hogar Seguro /Safe House (75cm)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">At first glance
quite a happy, colourful painting of a bunch of butterflies in a shadowbox.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">However, each
butterfly carries the name of one of the 41 girls who lost their lives sat the
Virgen de la Asunción Safe Home in San José Pinula, Guatemala. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">This government-run
children’s home had been under investigation for multiple reports of abuse of
the children. In March of 2017 a group of adolescents decided to escape the
home. They were hunted down as if they were dangerous criminals. While the boys
were sent back to their dorms, the girls were locked in a classroom without
water or access to a bathroom. After long hours, the girls lit up some
mattresses in order to get the attention of the two police officers guarding
the padlocked door. The fire got out of hand; the door wasn’t opened until it
was much too late. 41 girls lost their lives, another 15 were badly injured. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTG002AN6tyc-Ahou3J9eAZCijLB_L7VRvYK3hqKFDLlmrmPFyF4HGXRTerB4SPvoUo8-XHdCZ67WT_vt-c0zjiVWPa4AoUZefPo7689_m0UiLprZa8dRxKm0oCz848wKxk7Hd0F-Nmfii/s1600/Ciclo+de+la+VidaGoache+on+paper+27cm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTG002AN6tyc-Ahou3J9eAZCijLB_L7VRvYK3hqKFDLlmrmPFyF4HGXRTerB4SPvoUo8-XHdCZ67WT_vt-c0zjiVWPa4AoUZefPo7689_m0UiLprZa8dRxKm0oCz848wKxk7Hd0F-Nmfii/s200/Ciclo+de+la+VidaGoache+on+paper+27cm.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhldQu_MmiwDCvWZGEY2HEahtqTB2p0xkIXvSt8S2Sj0H_N-EI5owyud0F4q-a-EOf71HdeQKTpwsQ-zlUSDIBt62DJzWMDfOotaCTOjfYCcdujz6WfcJonlHJVr4Kcbz43s0jyDFnK8kvd/s1600/Paisaje.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhldQu_MmiwDCvWZGEY2HEahtqTB2p0xkIXvSt8S2Sj0H_N-EI5owyud0F4q-a-EOf71HdeQKTpwsQ-zlUSDIBt62DJzWMDfOotaCTOjfYCcdujz6WfcJonlHJVr4Kcbz43s0jyDFnK8kvd/s200/Paisaje.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Cycle of Life (Gouache 27cm) / Survivor of Life (46cm)</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">And those two
beautiful ladies have just seen it all…</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">This show is on
till May 6th, 2019 at Galería Mesón Panza Verde, 5a Avenida Sur, Antigua Guatemala. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">All works are for
sale except for Survivor: Superhero and Golden Balls. All materials are
acrylic, unless otherwise mentioned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">For more
information, please contact the artist at carinsteen at yahoo.com</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dUjqK6dBbfarkmqfFWQY9kpH3Qnj8RHRsidqXwDzy3HAs5JmZ4SDAsNdSXW494Vf6WzpBfX98MpIWO8hj5ttg0ZvyWiWRmB1tYB5RkfvcQ_1ZdZv70scUQF2yCNkt2_fOZyjE3Jcmcvz/s1600/Panza+Verde+10-4-19+%252826%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dUjqK6dBbfarkmqfFWQY9kpH3Qnj8RHRsidqXwDzy3HAs5JmZ4SDAsNdSXW494Vf6WzpBfX98MpIWO8hj5ttg0ZvyWiWRmB1tYB5RkfvcQ_1ZdZv70scUQF2yCNkt2_fOZyjE3Jcmcvz/s400/Panza+Verde+10-4-19+%252826%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-77804828679285728242019-03-01T09:43:00.000-06:002019-03-01T09:43:02.836-06:00The Story Behind the Painting: The Volcano Eruption Superhero<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHai4Er8tFhq1FTsFyhcVe75zmFj8xeiXz0KefjfG-xR-Ar5DMLOKNaBF8nJ6i8_CrrkmscXnCywTBdJmIcbDwzFXat8q7K3pG5Sa55VsoG2apAjzrEpNgF0W-MOeLZHrXZ3jCYg2iAEFT/s1600/Superhero.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1590" data-original-width="1600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHai4Er8tFhq1FTsFyhcVe75zmFj8xeiXz0KefjfG-xR-Ar5DMLOKNaBF8nJ6i8_CrrkmscXnCywTBdJmIcbDwzFXat8q7K3pG5Sa55VsoG2apAjzrEpNgF0W-MOeLZHrXZ3jCYg2iAEFT/s320/Superhero.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Superhero, acrylics on metal, 56cm diameter</i></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">It
was less than a week after the Fuego volcano erupted and it was still chaos. People
who left or lost their homes were accommodated in schools and churches. Rucks full
of donations kept arriving in causing so much congestion in the centre of
Alotenango that it was decided to cordon off the whole town for traffic. Many
solidary souls wanted to give directly to the victims while the municipality
tried to keep control by storing the goods away and closing the shelters. Still,
there were tons of people around, doctors, nurses, psychologist, church groups
and others. Some helping, some gawking, but in general too many in too small a
space.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">And
then there was us. Swept along the emotional wave of wanting to do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">something</i> we had worked our way into the
shelter to offer some art activities and story telling to the children. Not such
a bad idea, since so far the only distractions for the kids had been one piñata
after the other and loads and loads of candy.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">That
first experience (we went back a total of 25 times) was surreal. While in Zone
0 fire fighters and residents were still looking for the remains of their loved
ones (and wouldn’t stop for many months to come), life in the shelter was,
little by little, taking shape. Children played hide and seek behind a pile of coffins
stacked high up in a corner. Some boys were paying football with the balls they
had just been given, dodging women hanging their laundry and making their way
to the improvised showers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Over
a cacophony of sounds of too many people in too small a space, the sombre
sounds of funeral marches wear still audible. However, most kids were completely
oblivious to their surrounding and happily absorbed in their art work. All
except one. A little boy with a superhero mask and cape was running around as
if the world belonged to him. He ran through corridors, jumped up and down on
benches, barely missed a pregnant woman, evaded a man carrying donations before
ducking under a table. Nobody told him off or even seemed to notice. Surrounded
by many he was all by himself in his own world, very busy saving it. Watching
him was like a movie scene in which the world slowed down while the superhero flashed
around. I asked the boy if I could take a picture which was allowed. But only
for a split second before he was off again, to save the world that needs so
much saving. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMMGvrs8xaGSMBxZj_ANLcDXBoYha4o6OZ32GL-_fxLY0mvkhXuhB7S31gXkpnMnPcjhg9ymXquuSqdLNVR1VDJNWeet0FslNbimYNcieUusxhV4ztJURQ4zcrstly72iSTkvfU9gJPVo/s1600/Alberque+Alotenango+8-6-18+128.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMMGvrs8xaGSMBxZj_ANLcDXBoYha4o6OZ32GL-_fxLY0mvkhXuhB7S31gXkpnMnPcjhg9ymXquuSqdLNVR1VDJNWeet0FslNbimYNcieUusxhV4ztJURQ4zcrstly72iSTkvfU9gJPVo/s400/Alberque+Alotenango+8-6-18+128.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">For
more information on our first visit to the shelter, please visit: <a href="http://www.muralarteguate.org/2018/06/art-workshops-at-alotenango-shelter.html">http://www.muralarteguate.org/2018/06/art-workshops-at-alotenango-shelter.html</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-44491927844249405622018-12-24T10:30:00.001-06:002019-08-13T12:56:46.570-06:00Christmas in Guatemala<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY8ahyphenhyphen7WfUVElFt87uqwaaBM2jZbfUaKWFJUoBtOvgVexKpxtzUT_QLyBmIiq_dEF80aJLu0dGjgB3Nt0RzdlkbsGQtAkkX-TYsRnLB4I0nCKmgpZKZ4QQRkzaGu9sB32i1B5siLkDeHn/s1600/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY8ahyphenhyphen7WfUVElFt87uqwaaBM2jZbfUaKWFJUoBtOvgVexKpxtzUT_QLyBmIiq_dEF80aJLu0dGjgB3Nt0RzdlkbsGQtAkkX-TYsRnLB4I0nCKmgpZKZ4QQRkzaGu9sB32i1B5siLkDeHn/s400/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Twas
the night before Christmas, but twasn’t as quiet as a mouse in Guatemala. It
rarely ever is, but in the days leading up to Christmas, things get even louder
and louder. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">For
weeks already there have been processions and celebrations in my neighbourhood.
There’s the daily children’s procession with kids carrying a brightly lit
statue of the Virgin Mary, preceded by children playing, if you can call it
that, turtle shells and singing songs. There’s the popular tradition of the
mobile disco with different dance groups such as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Abuelitos</i> (dancers dressed up as old people), the Monsters (which
speaks for itself)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>the transvestites
and the Wild Beasts, the latter seeming to consist of a bit of everything. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">This
year we even had real drama on the streets with a theatrical confrontation between
angels and demons. Then there are of course the “normal” processions. And last
night Santa visited too. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHF5Yqi3HPLDMYbV42kOv0uaEoBnwkTUr8kdesFlSjaFFfcTC_D6wFgtzoFe8eCdaIM9O4o6twd_D-Z6xuoGVw1M70VcU7L8tESt8bLV5hBIMGcMheXVu09KCZHZoCsn0Zi5BemLeT0dXb/s1600/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25284%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHF5Yqi3HPLDMYbV42kOv0uaEoBnwkTUr8kdesFlSjaFFfcTC_D6wFgtzoFe8eCdaIM9O4o6twd_D-Z6xuoGVw1M70VcU7L8tESt8bLV5hBIMGcMheXVu09KCZHZoCsn0Zi5BemLeT0dXb/s400/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25284%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Employees
receive an extra salary this month and many stores gladly help them spend it by
offering great discounts and having huge speakers in the doorway. Because, as
every one knows in Latin America, the more
noise you make the more you sell. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
market, a busy beehive on any day, is almost impossible to visit right before
Christmas. Half of the people try to make a bit of money while the other half haggles
for the best deal. Ambulant vendors sell everything imaginable, from underwear
and Christmas decorations to curtains, remote controls and selfie-sticks. The
vendors who have a permanent stands fight the ambulant ones with foot and nail
to get them off their turf while the municipal police try to stop the stand
owners from invading the public space with their merchandise. It’s a lost
battle for al parties involved. Only the pickpockets thrive. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAP0hUDJCCLyQRzK3QOLeJHUB_q0HxhGhof6hE8vdGdQzmhS-ISpzf_8Rhh9NPlR4hEgoXOXjbVo2zjG6Kkh-DOsvZ7P6X9GP-q-F0ptGLo9WSje4-bVdhelbTKfOTm1-k_IW9TPON0oOF/s1600/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAP0hUDJCCLyQRzK3QOLeJHUB_q0HxhGhof6hE8vdGdQzmhS-ISpzf_8Rhh9NPlR4hEgoXOXjbVo2zjG6Kkh-DOsvZ7P6X9GP-q-F0ptGLo9WSje4-bVdhelbTKfOTm1-k_IW9TPON0oOF/s400/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
yearly Christmas market is an explosion of colour and sound, offering
everything for a traditional Christmas. I love the backdrops for the nativity
scenes, hand painted on drab coloured cardboard that gives them a gorgeous
vintage look. There is moss, sawdust in every colour, cribs, complete
three-story stables, pinecones, glittery streamers, bells and whistles… Lights,
lights, Christmas lights everywhere, flickering and beeping their high-pitched
Christmas tunes all at ones. And maybe best of all, hundreds, no thousands of
small ceramic figurines for the nativity scene. Colourful men playing the
marimba and maracas, pastors with sheep, chickens, geese, dancers, horse,
infants, kings and many, many more. I thought it would be a nice idea to buy
small ceramic dogs for my dog-loving friends, but it turned out dogs never
attended the nativity scene. Apparently chickens, geese, marimba players and
even one zebra <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> attend, but dogs,
no. It let to some hysterical conversations with the vendors but in the end I
went home empty handed. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaAjGBKby9HxX_zsn_fWaHLgmNi26ziaJN6DCYuQ3uk19V1FcRMsbuOxXJWROmGefcjyp09aTwnafAMglyMtSPrazwZ9wkkSgMM9NMP-Qkc_JN4ssDYc3uFxFta_CBIF49_QB5zjg7GC_/s1600/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaAjGBKby9HxX_zsn_fWaHLgmNi26ziaJN6DCYuQ3uk19V1FcRMsbuOxXJWROmGefcjyp09aTwnafAMglyMtSPrazwZ9wkkSgMM9NMP-Qkc_JN4ssDYc3uFxFta_CBIF49_QB5zjg7GC_/s400/Mercado+Navidad+2018+%25281%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Tonight
there will be mass and family visits. Lots of tamales, music drinking and to
top it off, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lots</i> of fireworks at midnight.
And that’s basically it. Tomorrow at noon another round of fireworks, but
besides a few kids in their new clothes scavenging for recyclable firecrackers,
there’ll be hardly anybody on the streets. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">That’s
Christmas in Guatemala.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">So
for now, as they say here: Ho-Ho-Ho, Feliz Navidad!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwvZj5TcjNWQQdcS9I3fyXEYBnlBTiE_ehrRJodoVHO2T4AiRs6Xb3IQS-Pp-oMf9D96TECAoBzQp3ZB8RKgly_gDdVQVZWrGroshsM8BcrhrbMs96OFfYpoioDPDfEM62spyfJOzV3Tp/s1600/Mercado+Navidad+2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwvZj5TcjNWQQdcS9I3fyXEYBnlBTiE_ehrRJodoVHO2T4AiRs6Xb3IQS-Pp-oMf9D96TECAoBzQp3ZB8RKgly_gDdVQVZWrGroshsM8BcrhrbMs96OFfYpoioDPDfEM62spyfJOzV3Tp/s400/Mercado+Navidad+2018.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-73477389214888281452018-11-03T09:19:00.000-06:002018-11-05T07:45:22.079-06:00Remembering the Dead in Full Colour<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">Death where I
come from is cold, sterile and colourless. It’s not even daunting black, but a
solid dull grey. Death scares us because we can’t control it. It keeps its own
schedule, disregarding our needs, feelings and conveniences. In the worst case
Death is devastating; at best it’s uncomfortable. That’s Death in the First World, where the living are still waiting for an
app to be invented on how to deal with it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">Not in Central America. Here Death is High Definition Full
Colour. It’s noisy, fragrant and very much alive. Death is bright orange
against sky-blue. Death is Mariachi music and delicious food. Death is being
together, sharing and remembering. Death is a part of Life and nobody around
these parts is silly enough to forget so.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAWQon8Fy1rh_3fk8cxF8RqAHh_QRChvklt43jke_shAmxPwcS7rfTE7AzvcYCnJnGoyn_BifuBJ30JbToy5F_6o_MjvFCtwVsQFsXeFNP2tzOgX54acMeTvJ9lkps117mutYP5wZJX3T/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAWQon8Fy1rh_3fk8cxF8RqAHh_QRChvklt43jke_shAmxPwcS7rfTE7AzvcYCnJnGoyn_BifuBJ30JbToy5F_6o_MjvFCtwVsQFsXeFNP2tzOgX54acMeTvJ9lkps117mutYP5wZJX3T/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+082.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">The multisensory
experience of Death accumulates on November 1, All Saints Day, and bursts out
into a circus of colours, smells and flavours. The streets leading to the
cemeteries are lined up with stands selling sweets, toys, souvenirs and pizza.
Women sell flowers, pine needles and wreaths made of colourful paper flowers
dipped in wax. At the entrance of the cemetery a dozen of men are offering
their surfaces, armed with buckets and ladders. Do you want me to clean your
tomb? Maybe a fresh layer of paint?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
just a few <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quetzalitos </i>your
grandfather’s eternal resting place is as good as new.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4-U_w762ZJCbcClBvh2NrmAS_0USxwSskwGEvY8-uCZCNXwNIZsmIjaNX1K1PvtD2oNp-BMjp1NNL2jVXDT14Kdt9P-9XdByAKT7o9YOfJGBoS_Q_dXoRCAaRc6saoritD_ZTyAYsS7I/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4-U_w762ZJCbcClBvh2NrmAS_0USxwSskwGEvY8-uCZCNXwNIZsmIjaNX1K1PvtD2oNp-BMjp1NNL2jVXDT14Kdt9P-9XdByAKT7o9YOfJGBoS_Q_dXoRCAaRc6saoritD_ZTyAYsS7I/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+083.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">All Saints Day is
not a sombre day of mourning. It’s a family outing, a reencounter with those
on the other side. Graves, tombs or burial vaults are being cleaned and
decorated before the family sits down for a meal, often the favourite food or
drink of the deceased. Children run around traditionally playing with kites and
nobody cares that they climb on tombs or stumble over graves. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">There is social
and racial hierarchy in Death too. Antigua
Guatemala has a gorgeous cemetery, completely white in
ancient colonial style. The paths and gardens are well maintained, the luscious
tombs of the rich and simple burial vaults of the rest of the people all
freshly painted an eye blinding white that makes the multi-coloured wreaths and
flowers stand out even more. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglan8akyK_gi3cUe7i8Z7A9GtiVo2P2w4QKU6RyVXo3bUs_0JrrWrj3UcD1LeWYIEr0ci542PnYXQQD5eSoJ5MjZuGjKUW6EwHa77jJT9VeIDx9wYTtouyfEXupiiqDv1qjvC_C3wSnPfu/s1600/Dia+de+los+Muertos+2-11-14+%252812%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglan8akyK_gi3cUe7i8Z7A9GtiVo2P2w4QKU6RyVXo3bUs_0JrrWrj3UcD1LeWYIEr0ci542PnYXQQD5eSoJ5MjZuGjKUW6EwHa77jJT9VeIDx9wYTtouyfEXupiiqDv1qjvC_C3wSnPfu/s400/Dia+de+los+Muertos+2-11-14+%252812%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Antigua Cemetery</i></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">You know you’re
at an indigenous or at least mixed cemetery when the tombs are of simpler
design but making up for it with vivid colours. There are no tombs, not even
vaults for the poorest of the poor. They are laid to rest under a mound of
dirt, a cross at the head with the deceased’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDm-R41JWXrynGRidpOqnMiHtnTtktvLtWM2jwsJ2xp0onP4HehsFGHU0PQoXGvTcjMQEd8lixVzvlzj3DIlaDeASKiB-zskETnkUWTUAZpcRsg7kkG8X2bHUMb0cmsJKV39_kXuM-LD0P/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDm-R41JWXrynGRidpOqnMiHtnTtktvLtWM2jwsJ2xp0onP4HehsFGHU0PQoXGvTcjMQEd8lixVzvlzj3DIlaDeASKiB-zskETnkUWTUAZpcRsg7kkG8X2bHUMb0cmsJKV39_kXuM-LD0P/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+069.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sumpango Cemetery</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">This year I was
thrilled to visit the cemetery
of Sumpango. The area
with the simplest graves was the best visited and by far the most impressive.
Colours so bright and numerous, there can’t be names for them all. Mariachis
played mournful ballads in the shadow of a tree right in the middle of the
graves. Hundreds of Maya men and women in their most beautiful outfits lovingly
covered the mounds of dirt with pine needles and marigolds, traditionally the
flowers that with their bright colour and pungent fragrance guide the spirits
along their visit this day. The air was dense with the smoke of burned incense.
A scruffy dog scavenging for leftovers, lured by the smell of food everywhere.
Babies comfortably dozing off on their mamas’ backs undisturbed by the heat,
noise and presence of the living dead. What a fantastic, delicious sensory
overload. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexk9nZZJMgVlnDkTkKioVYu6n_rEnBtY5SUy5TlCqxxOy1PJrI63agWcA6whorfu2rOAP8BguIx9-YoIvyWGPqlDZ9lPykzAHtRhONnUTwQrPyfacJwE_3nvpEALmDpfCnDYZ8nbI-rki/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexk9nZZJMgVlnDkTkKioVYu6n_rEnBtY5SUy5TlCqxxOy1PJrI63agWcA6whorfu2rOAP8BguIx9-YoIvyWGPqlDZ9lPykzAHtRhONnUTwQrPyfacJwE_3nvpEALmDpfCnDYZ8nbI-rki/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+074.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";"><i>Sumpango Cemetery</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">Oh, and then, of
course, the gigantic kites! Nothing is more spectacular than the kites in
Sumpango or Santiago.
They seem to be getting bigger and bigger every year, some over 35 meters in
diameter! And not just one, but dozens of them, dangerously swaggering against
bamboo poles. And yes, sometimes they do tip over. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZO9zNB2LxhosJygCT2SKuAdYan2SrNeqlx-W6mhDMcClvBmj08VoUFYcff0UJQ68gDhuxWZ1oT-UxDs4B-0LzilJOs-HHrPB-ZzasLx702Nq2CdkBMwnaLOCpLOuvu_8Lt5jfqDpNqoy/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZO9zNB2LxhosJygCT2SKuAdYan2SrNeqlx-W6mhDMcClvBmj08VoUFYcff0UJQ68gDhuxWZ1oT-UxDs4B-0LzilJOs-HHrPB-ZzasLx702Nq2CdkBMwnaLOCpLOuvu_8Lt5jfqDpNqoy/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">Thousands of
people gather at the field near the town of Sumpango for this yearly festival, thousands
more trying to make a little money selling ice cream, cold beers, yarn for kite
flying or renting out bathrooms. Nobody with a few coins in his or her pocket
will go hungry today. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbOW2XJf95pXeoytN3Igs1rSP7Hh_NuGG7B5_p83VE91hyuqX-aPx3h1-L1B81ASzGcQ23tYhPj4cPemm7vUsFFbOoV72NIwULqL9uCwBvF-LZLr9X5MtkZI-8ebQZtHeDQPt5xaMEOc4/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbOW2XJf95pXeoytN3Igs1rSP7Hh_NuGG7B5_p83VE91hyuqX-aPx3h1-L1B81ASzGcQ23tYhPj4cPemm7vUsFFbOoV72NIwULqL9uCwBvF-LZLr9X5MtkZI-8ebQZtHeDQPt5xaMEOc4/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+017.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">Kites of all
kinds and sizes are up in the air. Simmering heat, but smiling faces
everywhere. And colour. If there is a paradise for colours, then this is it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";">Day of the Dead
is my very favourite holiday. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcflKg6VIHvYRuvvoPpyy6eAOGazGpr_POIc8i1EawTjanJ-Poma0sjUhYyyqnVqtwcACzUx5sPgPp77HkFTC12C96ndVLCUvQXfT6GQzLbp9XBEOJlxbY-FPHCh7uC6CzloR4D9XCB9zd/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcflKg6VIHvYRuvvoPpyy6eAOGazGpr_POIc8i1EawTjanJ-Poma0sjUhYyyqnVqtwcACzUx5sPgPp77HkFTC12C96ndVLCUvQXfT6GQzLbp9XBEOJlxbY-FPHCh7uC6CzloR4D9XCB9zd/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+043.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4YjdfxgUkxcWZqe37bsD7pm-Pn1UDH2KYVeSoWRbJ-U7LhCi1Q-YSVdpzXt7COEpliHsVbfIod8H6NhLw9kIXxyFJJTgXNNlvhNKt5F0xO56e9_St9dtLAEZwV8WnMiaIdV-_6JsYrHa/s1600/Sumpango+1-11-18+081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4YjdfxgUkxcWZqe37bsD7pm-Pn1UDH2KYVeSoWRbJ-U7LhCi1Q-YSVdpzXt7COEpliHsVbfIod8H6NhLw9kIXxyFJJTgXNNlvhNKt5F0xO56e9_St9dtLAEZwV8WnMiaIdV-_6JsYrHa/s400/Sumpango+1-11-18+081.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial";"><i>Sumpango Cemetery</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-65337005828151132762018-11-02T15:26:00.000-06:002018-11-02T19:46:51.974-06:00A 66 Hour Short Trip<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4dSHMjzMDYIkhMFV8ar-Le9LH-VTGSWCLGEfTjRQ_L_Dshu5IROTUMJsqjk4SUZvFcN9SrG9jVeiEJHVoOoD1USA0MhdVMn2Qif_-NTYZ9_nIEx9_DG8t3RANt7D4rANesyo_2TJ-wcl/s1600/IMG_6337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4dSHMjzMDYIkhMFV8ar-Le9LH-VTGSWCLGEfTjRQ_L_Dshu5IROTUMJsqjk4SUZvFcN9SrG9jVeiEJHVoOoD1USA0MhdVMn2Qif_-NTYZ9_nIEx9_DG8t3RANt7D4rANesyo_2TJ-wcl/s400/IMG_6337.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The very last leg...</span></span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</xml><![endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">My
recent trip from Amsterdam to Guatemala was going to be a long one, but then
again, a 24 hour layover in London
was actually something to look forward to. And it didn’t disappoint. The hours
spent strolling in the National Art Gallery
were a delight and there is nothing wrong with walking along the Thames, Regent
Street and Hyde Park on a beautiful autumn
afternoon. Getting used again to hopping on The Tube was exciting and only took me nanoseconds,
the sounds and smells exactly as I remembered them. </span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">East Hounslow</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">, the dodgy suburb where my dodgy
hostel was located, was a pleasant surprise with an intriguing mix between
Indians and Poles. And fortunately much more affordable than Central London.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
left the dodgy but otherwise perfect hostel after a good night’s sleep and left
early for Heathrow airport. I wanted to have some of time to spare because
I anticipated long lines for security and endless walks along futuristic
corridors. But for once the lines where nonexistent and the departure hall was
either right next to the entrance or the airport was not half as big as I
remembered. Anyway, exactly 30 minutes after I left the hostel, I sat down at
the food court with an overpriced cup of bad coffee. Only two more hours to go.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
trip to Miami was as smooth as can be and even
clearing migration in the US
was not as stressful or time-consuming as usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived at the gate for my flight to Guatemala a
little early, but not too early to get bored. A short wait, boarding, two more
hours in the air and I’d be home again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Everybody
was waiting patiently for the boarding call except for one <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gringo</i>
(yes, a bit of a derogative name, but much deserved) who was already lining up way before the airline employees occupied the counter. He was screaming
and yelling into his phone that it was HIS money and that they should do
something about it NOW and that he wouldn’t accept this kind of treatment and
on and on. I crossed my fingers not to be seated next to him and felt genuinely
sorry for the person on the other end of the line. Whether that person had
sequestered large amounts of Gringo’s money or not, the treatment received in
return definitely made the alleged crime not worth it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Boarding
started and -sigh of relief- Gringo wasn’t seated anywhere near me. The flight
was only two hours, but such pouring-out of negative energy could seriously
spoil an otherwise perfect trip, even from across the isle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Departure
time was approaching, just a quick check-up on the brakes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Departure
time passed, brakes needed just a little bit of maintenance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">An
hour after departure time and it was getting really, really hot in the plane. Brakes
needed a bit more work.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">An
hour and a half after departure time we were told to get off the plane and head
to another gate. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Three hours late we were boarding again. Same crew, different plane.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">All
well, although this international flight doesn’t offer entertainment or
refreshments. But it is only a two hour flight after all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">But
when we flew over Guatemala City, another
surprise: due to bad weather, the airport was closed, so we’d fly on to San Pedro Sula in Honduras.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Once
in San Pedro Sula
we waited for about an hour in the very hot plane before a decision was made on
how to proceed. In the meantime, I had no way no contact the neighbour I had
hired to pick me up at the airport to drive me to Antigua.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Finally,
and it was almost midnight by then, we got word from the captain. We were
heading back to Guatemala City.
We just needed to fuel up and then we were ready to go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">But.
They over fuelled the plane. The captain tried to explain several times what
had happened but the PA system was malfunctioning and after three times he gave
up, just announced: “This flight has now officially been cancelled. “</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">We
were all herded off the plane, including some rightfully cranky babies, a guy
with two corgi puppies in a crate and oh-no, a very grumpy Gringo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">San
Pedro Sula’s airport is not very exciting at best of times (I’ve flown so
many times to and from SAP that unfortunately I know it intimately), let alone
at 1am under those circumstances. Actually, we had no idea what our
circumstances were at the time. But first we had to pass through migration. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Everybody,
all of us 200+ passengers, were weaving lines in front of an unmanned migration
station. Everyone was pretty tired and subdued except for Gringo, a head taller
than most of us, again yelling into his phone about<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>how this all sucked big time, how he was sure
he’d be put up in a shit hole of a hotel and how someone was going to pay for
it. We, the other passengers looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and
rolled our eyes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Soon
a migration officer showed up, then another and finally and thankfully a third and
fourth. Considering that scanning a passport, taking photos and scanning thumbs
and fingers on both hands takes about three minutes minimum per person,
go do the math. And this was without the interrogation. When it was my turn,
the guy actually asked me what the purpose of my trip was, rather routinely I
guess, and when I gave him a questioning and very tired look, he apologized and
let me through. I was glad to see that the guy with the puppies got through
too, because his dogs’ paperwork was for Guatemala,
not Honduras,
which of course is a whole different ballpark.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Now it was 1.30am and I was lining up at an AA counter (yes, this was an American
Airlines flight). Having lived in Honduras for a long time, I
marvelled at the fact that they actually managed to get some people together to
help out with this logistic nightmare. Having to impromptu accommodate 200+
cranky people in the middle of the night can’t be a fun responsibility. The irony too was that I have a few real good friends living in San Pedro Sula, but 1.30am was hardly the time to call them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">About
an hour and a half later it was my turn at the hotel-voucher-counter. I had already asked the girl behind
me, who had been sitting next to me on the flight, if she minded sharing a room
if necessary. She said that was fine. But when it was our turn at the counter,
there were no more hotel rooms available. Patience please, they were working on
it… And indeed, ten minutes later they did have arranged more rooms, but
doubles only. No problem, I said, I can share with her, and pointed at my
fellow passenger. But she started making a fuss, insisting that we should each
get a room. There were still around 80 people behind
us in line, all needing a bed,so I thought it was rather odd and selfish, but the
girl insisted. But there was another girl standing next to me and she had no
problem sharing a room. So off we went into a shuttle and me and my new friend
Madison had a huge room with two queen sized beds and a noisy airco all to
ourselves. At 3am I finally lay down in a horizontal position and had the
nicest, if not the longest sleep in years…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Breakfast
was fabulous, I had forgotten how sweet and luscious Honduran watermelons are, how
tasty the refried beans and plantains, all of it with lots of cream of course… </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Off
to the airport where we would leave somewhere around noon. There was no
official departure time, as long as there was a twelve hour rest period for the
crew between leaving the plane and starting a new shift. And no need to
announce anything officially anyway, this was sort of our own private flight. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Time
at airport flew by due to the fact that two good friends from Honduras
happened to be there too. Also, Gringo caused yet another scandal by
screaming at a nonplussed airport employee because the previous night, when he
had received his suitcase, he had found his laptop completely smashed up. By
one of her colleagues. And on purpose too, apparently.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Gringo
got a bright orange vest on which meant he got priority treatment, whatever
that means, and everybody else seemed to be fine with it, whatever to keep
Gringo quiet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Besides Gringo's grumpiness, the
ambience was great. The weather was picture perfect and everybody felt rested,
well fed and happy to continue the trip soon. We all had bonded over this whole ordeal. Everyone
was chatting with their neighbours as if they were old friends. The toddlers on
the plane had become best buddies and were running around playfully, being watched by
all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">When
it was time to board, again, we greeted the crew as old friends too. The
captain made a joke that he would take us to any destination, at no extra cost.
And two hours later, we indeed landed in Guatemala
City. A burst of applause filled the plane. Not
standing of course, the seat-belt sign was still on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">And
that was the end of my trip. Well, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">almost…</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Since
I had lost my private transportation I had arranged for the previous night
(which I would have to pay anyway) and it was still early in the afternoon, I
decided to take a shuttle home for only $10. No problem, I was told, the only
thing was that I’d have to wait for 3 other passengers in order to make the
trip worthwhile for them. No problem for me, I could wait. Had become rather
good at it lately. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Except
that, upon leaving the airport, it turned out that so far the only other
passenger was Gringo. Oh no!!!!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">After
about half an hour of waiting and no new customers, the shuttle driver offered
me to drive the two of us to Antigua for $18 each, because $36 was the very
minimum he needed to make the trip worthwhile. I thought that was not a bad
deal at all and said yes, but warned him that Gringo might not be as open to the
proposal. And indeed, when the kid politely asked him, Gringo started to yell
and scream, yet again, that he was not to be taken advantage of. He took his
bag out of the van and hurried away, looking for a taxi. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">A
few minutes later he yelled to me from across the street. He had found a taxi
that would take both of us for $ 35.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
said no, thank you very much. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Half
an hour later a real nice girl from Brazil showed up for a ride and we
took the $18 each offer. For once there was hardly any traffic on the road through the capital and
I made it home within the hour. Home! Finally! And childishly I found great satisfaction
in that fact that Gringo had to pay the whole $35 cab fee by himself. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 140.25pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-36072904222976877402014-10-21T20:29:00.000-06:002014-10-21T20:36:29.271-06:00A Market Full of Magic<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2XZ2OUMo6tX8LTyQG6Ut88Fg3ELIjQN07vVYid-dmGdBtze56YEYzJJlxKXpYJ8qrb2RaQHqHcZJ_vqnrztdSPt95-3RBGe-aSrBGw4ZF6fdGnYpWoVMJv-fj_0wHX8B8l4uXit5hNl1/s1600/Market+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2XZ2OUMo6tX8LTyQG6Ut88Fg3ELIjQN07vVYid-dmGdBtze56YEYzJJlxKXpYJ8qrb2RaQHqHcZJ_vqnrztdSPt95-3RBGe-aSrBGw4ZF6fdGnYpWoVMJv-fj_0wHX8B8l4uXit5hNl1/s1600/Market+001.jpg" height="190" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">It took me a while,
but I have finally figured out where the main entrance to the market is here in
Antigua Guatemala.
Or at least the place that people refer to when they speak of the entrance of
the market, because in fact, it doesn’t exist. The “Main Entrance” is basically
a street going <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">around </i>the market.
Around the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">back </i>of the market, depending
on which side you consider the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">front</i>
of the market.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Anyway, if you
start at the busy Alameda Santa Lucía and have the luck to find a traffic
controller who holds up his stop sign just long enough to hold the busy traffic
for you to cross the road, you’ll get into that narrow street, a continuation
of 3a Calle Poniente, with market stalls on both sides, and there you are, at
the Main Entrance of the Market. If you keep on walking, that street veers to
the right. On your left, the market turns into the bus terminal, the two only
separated by a thin line of wooden shops of all kinds and flavours. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">This open air market
street is interesting enough with a wide variety of produce, plastics, clothes,
toys, fabrics, tools, phones and ambulant vendors loudly advertising their
ware. DVD dealers (of illegal copies, of course) try to outdo each other by
cranking up the volume of their TVs way beyond distortion. Women loudly promote
their fruits and vegetables, little girls mimicking their mothers in the same
detached and mechanic voice. Buses, only a wooden partition and some mangos
away, honk to announce their arrival and departure. This street is loud, busy
and a little crazy like all markets everywhere in the world. But this is not even
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i> market…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">From this, well,
let’s call it “Main Street”,
there are several entrances to the right into the real thing. These entrances
are not well displayed or logically located, so entering is either a case of
know-how or serendipitous luck. I can tell you there’s one on the far end
between the bananas and papayas. Usually it is, because it seems these entries change
as often as the stairways at Hogwarts, which is totally my own imagination, but
that doesn’t make it less mystifying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Whenever I walk
from the Main Street
through a narrow corridor into the roofed-in market, it seems you enter a world
of silence. Not that there are no sounds, quite the contrary. But as opposed to
outside, where the noise of selling and buying seem to echo off the asphalted
street, inside the market sounds are being absorbed by simple wooden
structures, sacks full of cereals or herbs, heaps of today’s fresh fruit, fabrics
in fantastic colour combinations, wooden kitchen utensils, clay pots, plastic
woven shopping bags and brightly painted saints with their love and good luck
potions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Not a square centimetre
is unoccupied here, not an inch without some sort of product. Vendors with
stalls have their merchandise stacked up all the way against the zinc lamina
roof. Women with baskets occupy the already narrow pass ways and ambulant
vendors make passing through sometimes next to impossible, not to speak of those
heavily burdened men and women supplying the stalls or just moving huge amounts
of goods from one place to the other. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">When I first
entered that magic world of the Antigua
market, I didn’t think I’d ever find my around. I quickly found a section with
great vegetables, but just as quickly I lost it and it took me weeks to find it
again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">But by now I can
at least identify some sectors of the market and their own specific ambiences. Not
that a clothing section means it only sells clothing, it just means is sells <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mostly </i>clothing, along with anything
else. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Least interesting
I find the indoor section close to the Main Entrance (whether it exists or not)
with its new cloths, fancy sport shoes and salespeople more interested in the
current soap opera on a tiny TV screen among the merchandise than in actually
selling something. Way more intriguing is the food court, the meat sellers (not
for the fainthearted or vegetarians), the fruit and vegetable section and oh,
the flowers, both fresh and dried, clean cut or neatly arranged for weddings or
funerals. The smells, the colours, the sounds, the textures, each visit is a
feast for the senses…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">When you enter
the true heart of the market, if feels like travelling back in time. That
wrinkled old Maya lady over there in a corner, selling dried herbs, she might
have been sitting there for hundreds of years. That woman there pouring<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> atol</i> in a gourd cup, she has been doing
that since the beginning of time. Those tiny dried fish, the sweet smell of
ripe fruit, grains I don’t recognize and huge stacks of dried chile… Time stood
still in this part of the market.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">As always I find
it hard to leave this labyrinth of colours, this maze of things familiar and unknown,
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to return to the world of tuk-tuks and cell
phones. But on market days (Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays), the transition is
less harsh, because there’s an extra bit of outdoor market where (mostly) Maya women sell
their fruits, vegetables and flowers under colourful umbrellas, in a world
where Spanish is not the first language. More of the magic, but in the blazing
sun and under the watchful eye of the Agua volcano. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">What a world! I’ve
never enjoyed shopping so much. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-16469811801884745322014-09-30T20:16:00.002-06:002014-10-21T20:33:41.278-06:00The Circus Was In Town <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziYg3JNdUlcBQGGTYF9qtyr_fCehusZQ8mBiQraoy2Nc8CBSUU7QHtlu1nlCMKufVSVoByGN3DuZOTRrtx1HD6vnSd9QuVfvsz8ye1m0G0OyP-1WMEXc1OsM9N4QlP6aWFb1ZmXySKIKx/s1600/P1010055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziYg3JNdUlcBQGGTYF9qtyr_fCehusZQ8mBiQraoy2Nc8CBSUU7QHtlu1nlCMKufVSVoByGN3DuZOTRrtx1HD6vnSd9QuVfvsz8ye1m0G0OyP-1WMEXc1OsM9N4QlP6aWFb1ZmXySKIKx/s1600/P1010055.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">For weeks the big
blue tent occupied a huge chunk of parking space behind the bus terminal in Antigua Guatemala. And
just when I had decided to go, of course the tent was swiftly broken up, loaded
into an impressive amount of unlikely vehicles and gone, just like that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">I love the
circus. I think the last time I visited one was in Copán a year or maybe two
ago. It was tiny, the tent made of Tigo and Claro* leftover vinyls and besides
a scruffy dog, two chickens and an even scruffier goat, there were no animals.
Because, explained a bubbly and charismatic teenager who turned out to be the
star of the show, the circus had a policy against the mistreatment of animals.
Lack of resources seemed more likely, but indeed, the dog, goat and two chickens
scavenging for popcorn under the bleachers appeared to be happy enough. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">I’m probably not
the only person in the world who dreamed as a kid to run off with the circus.
But few were might have been as prepared as I was. My biggest dream was to work
with the tigers and lions but I was realistic enough to realize that that was a
job probably not given to an inexperienced nine-year old. So I practiced
juggling and tightrope walking instead. I learned quickly (the hard way) that
juggling wasn’t my thing and the tightrope, well, that might have worked out if
only I had been able to practice on a real steel cable, not a piece of rope
attached to a table and the living room couch. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">So becoming a clown
was about the only option. Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> I
could do, I figured. And in my mind I prepared scripts, designed costumes and
received a standing applause after the audience fell off their seats crying
with laughter. I saw myself travelling the world in a colourful circus wagon,
becoming everybody’s friend while keeping my expression reserved, marking that
distinguished distance between the happy clown and the sad but wise person
behind the mask. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Unfortunately (or
fortunately, who’s to say), no circus caravan ever crossed my way and thus I
stayed put, for the time being. But that circus itch never went completely
away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">About ten or
twelve years ago we were having a meeting at my place in Copán Ruinas about
some sort of community project when all of a sudden we heard this roar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“It sounds like a
lion,” I said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">“Don’t be crazy,
it must be a cow in heat,” a colleague answered. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">But it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> a lion… That night a circus had set
up business in the field across the creek, right next to my house. I found out
when I went walking the dogs the next morning. How exciting!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">That night I
rounded up some kids (never a lack of those and a great excuse to go to the
circus) and there we went. Since I was paying for a whole bunch we didn’t take
the more expensive seats (white plastic chairs) in the arena, but placed our
butts on scarce planks on rackety bleachers. And the show began…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">The guy with the
python was impressive and also incredibly handsome. The clowns were very vulgar
and totally unsuitable for a young audience, but that made them even funnier…
The lions… Look, there was “my” lion! They came into the arena without a cage,
without a leash or any other attire to refrain them from eating some juicy kids
in the front row (and how happy I was to sit high up on the bleachers!). Then
there was this round thing, almost like a hamster wheel, that circled up and
down. The acrobats went inside first and then started running the wheel on the
outside. Every time the wheel went up, they had to duck so they wouldn’t touch
the roof. Scary I thought, what if… Because of course there was no safety net. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Even in the
small, shabby circuses, things are way harder than they look and I think the
artists deserve a tremendous respect. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Especially</i>
in the small circuses, where the clown is also the acrobat on the tightrope,
the musician, the driver, the lion tamer and the one who sells the tickets. And
sometimes things do go terribly wrong…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">I wasn’t there
when it happened, but a few days into the show, one of the acrobats didn’t duck
when he hit the roof and he fell all the way down. He was taken to the hospital
and while he was recovering the circus stayed put. First for days, then for
weeks that slowly turned into months. And I woke up every day to the roar of
the lion. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">In a small town
as Copán Ruinas you can sell only so many tickets, so when everybody not overly
evangelical had seen the show, the tickets became cheaper, just to keep the
show going on. The show itself also became more routine, the jokes more vulgar,
the performances less inspired. I would see Handsome Snake Guy at the market,
Grumpy Circus Director at the auto repair shop and the Lovely albeit quite
chubby Lady Acrobat at the creek, doing laundry. Little by little the glow, the
glitter, the illusion of the circus was fading away. But not for me. The more
human I saw them, the more magic they became to me. And that old circus itch
was bothering me again, although now I was old enough to see myself travelling
in an old beaten-up Ford, not in that colourful cart. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">But one day I
woke up and the circus was gone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">Just like that,
gone, leaving only a yellow patch of grass and some trash behind. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">They hadn’t
warned me, they vanished into the night the way they had come.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">So yet again I
missed my chance to run off with the circus. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial;">*Local cell phone companies</span></i></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-32166829487191600502014-09-13T20:53:00.002-06:002014-10-02T20:46:37.707-06:00The Mystery of the Vanished Maya Glyphs<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(Or: Miracles <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Do</i> Happen in Honduras)</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqeoAWtD2b2FKn8fFopfn8XHONt6xO_SAAxgCaryDI-oN0LYjFJ370AvyeFvaCwTUq-pGdRJuxKE35k1kafa6PasDYVqticz3gu224uvlb82Dox2-VArlrTg-_aaxhMDwIcq9PnANc3il/s1600/Glyphs+Sandra+Romero+Marzo+2012+small.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqeoAWtD2b2FKn8fFopfn8XHONt6xO_SAAxgCaryDI-oN0LYjFJ370AvyeFvaCwTUq-pGdRJuxKE35k1kafa6PasDYVqticz3gu224uvlb82Dox2-VArlrTg-_aaxhMDwIcq9PnANc3il/s1600/Glyphs+Sandra+Romero+Marzo+2012+small.gif" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">The Missing Maya Glyphs</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In March of 2012 I painted a series of Maya Tzolk’in calendar glyphs for
a friend of mine who lives in Costa
Rica. After emailing back and forth about
colours, size and dates, we agreed on six glyphs representing the birthdays of
herself, her husband, their wedding date and their three kids in colours that
fitted the paintings’ future surroundings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I happily went to work and my friend was pleased with the picture of the
results I emailed her. There was no need to send the paintings to Costa Rica, because she was planning a trip to Honduras soon, even
though she probably wouldn’t be able to make it to Copán Ruinas. No problem, I
wrapped the six canvases neatly up, wrote both her and my contact details on
the front and was ready to send it off by bus to the capital where she could
pick it up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But in the end she came to Copán anyway, so I hand delivered her the
package. Much safer, we both thought. She didn’t even want to open the package
since it was such a nice and tight fit. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My friend left Copán soon after, back to the capital to catch her flight
back home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And that’s when things went terribly wrong.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Minutes before boarding the plane, my friend made a last pit stop to the
bathroom. She had the paintings with her as carry on luggage (so nothing would
happen to them) and placed them on the water reservoir behind her while using
the toilet. That’s when she heard a last boarding call for her flight. She
quickly finished her business and ran to catch her plane.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It wasn’t until the plane was about to take off that she realized that
she had left the paintings in the bathroom…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As soon as she got home she called the airport in Tegucigalpa. Alas, no report of a found
package. Next she wrote to me, to confess she had lost the paintings, which
made me laugh more than anything else, because her recount of the incident was
hilarious.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Despite it being slightly funny, it was also a big loss so my friend
never gave up. She had never even <i>seen</i> the paintings! She kept on calling and emailing different offices at the
airport in Honduras,
with no results. She called a many-times-removed-cousin who happened to work at
the airport, but the woman in question was just as unsuccessful in her efforts
to retrieve the paintings. My friend updated me almost daily on the progress,
which was still nil and made us wonder…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where the hell were those paintings???</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Had the package been considered suspicious and maybe destroyed in a
controlled explosion by a group of disposal experts? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Unlikely. Which idiot of a terrorist would write his or her address on
it? And security in Honduras
is just not as secure as it is in the US.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Had it been lost I the Lost & Found department?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Had a cleaning lady found the package and taken it home? Maybe. It that
case it was quite likely that my canvases of ancient Maya glyphs were now
hanging upside down in someone’s toilet or being used a placemats. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Had another passenger taken the package with him or her and after
opening it thinking the paintings were worth a fortune? (Unfortunately they’re not.
A small fortune, yes, but not quite worth hanging onto a bunch of highly
customized date glyphs made for someone else.)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Had somebody maybe thought the package was part of a drug exchange
deal??? Unlikely. Too flat, too big.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Was it all a scheme on my part in order to re-do the paintings and make
more money??? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Interesting option, but I wouldn’t know how to pull that off. I mean,
how do you make someone forget something at the right time and place???</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Many scenarios crossed our minds and were exchanged per email, but that
didn’t change the fact that the paintings had vanished into thin air. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We waited for weeks and then for months. Finally my friend decided she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> want those paintings on her walls,
so she asked me to make a new series.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And so I did. You see, it was a lucrative deal for me after all, even
though I gave her a big “Disappointment for Reasons of Disappearing Discount”
on top of the “Friendship Discount” she had already gotten in the first place.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This time we didn’t take any risks. The new paintings were handed over
personally and attached to my friends wrists with a pair of handcuffs. Well, so
to speak. And yes, this time they did make it to Costa Rica…Happy ending for my Maya
Glyphs and a satisfied customer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">End of story.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, not quite!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yesterday morning my friend got an email from Interairports (whatever
that maybe. Maybe a place in between airports where long lost items are
stored?) Anyway, the sender said he had paintings from Carin Steen addressed to
my friend right there in his office and to email him back for more information.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Can you belief that, after two and a half years???</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So in two weeks time my friend is coming back to Honduras and
will pick up the paintings personally. That is, if she’s not required to pay a
huge ransom, fine, deposit fee or bribe. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For now I keep my fingers crossed. I’ll really belief this miracle the
moment my friend will mail me a picture of her having the paintings in her
hands. And then she will have two sets of basically the same paintings. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her reaction? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yippie!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Mine?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I still wonder where those paintings have been all this time…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-53544121611151151552014-08-30T16:41:00.003-06:002014-08-30T17:09:51.611-06:00Road Blocks<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OI_sLvRPbInhBGgFnhGVDsa9zXo3S1jqRFO5jAS5OKGwX4gI23NriiE4YMc1yq9D_j-nlu8fM8O9zMBBUHp9bgOEi1VIizO_maUEk-Tn7KWqGibuKKd13TKl8jixva8xDN_-jlr5MsH2/s1600/Triangle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OI_sLvRPbInhBGgFnhGVDsa9zXo3S1jqRFO5jAS5OKGwX4gI23NriiE4YMc1yq9D_j-nlu8fM8O9zMBBUHp9bgOEi1VIizO_maUEk-Tn7KWqGibuKKd13TKl8jixva8xDN_-jlr5MsH2/s1600/Triangle.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Honduran joke: How do you know when a driver is drunk? - When he drives in a straight line...</span></i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Being a foreigner while risking the roads in Central
America can be both an advantage and a disadvantage. When
traveling in groups, usually with a driver or guide, there’s hardly ever a
problem. Driving your own car can be a challenge, because a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chele</i> (pale faced person) means there
might be some money to get. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Personally I have never experienced any problem because I don’t drive.
The worst that ever happened to me using public transportation (besides the bus
breaking down, roadblocks because of strikes, floodings or yelling evangelical
missionaries in the vehicle), was when our bus was stopped and a huge bag of
marihuana was found right above my seat. Everybody had to leave the bus while
both police and militaries searched the bus. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The police officer in charge asked
whose seat that particular one was, and I confessed it was mine. So the weed
was mine? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, of course it wasn’t. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well, but it must be, if it is above your
seat?! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do I look so stupid that if I wanted smuggle in a bag of weed I would actually
store it above my seat??? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No. That argument made actually sense to the officer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Next I saw a
humble old lady <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recognized from one of
the front seats discretely put some money in the officer’s hand and that was
it. We were all, minus the marihuana of course, allowed to continue our
travels. I saw one of the military guys arguing with the police officer when we
drove off, but that was not of my concern. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But driving your own or hired car as a foreigner can be challenging or
at least lead to some frustrating, dramatic but often funny stories. A <i>gringo</i> friend
called me once, howling with laughter when he was on his way to the vet in San Pedro Sula. This was
before he got tinted windows, so as usual he was stopped by the police. When
all the paperwork appeared to be in order, the policeman noticed the two dogs
in the back. So he requested the passports for the dogs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Passports for dogs???</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yes, the officer said deadpan. All dogs in Honduras are required to have
passports. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then my friend remembered he carried the dogs’ vaccination booklets,
since he was on the way to have them inoculated anyway. And the booklets happened
to be roughly the same size as a passport. So he took them out and politely
showed them to the policeman who awkwardly studied them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Next time, make sure the dogs’ pictures are on it, was his comment, and
my friend was allowed to drive on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Not so long ago, that same friend went to the vet in Chiquimula,
Guatemala, much closer by
than San Pedro Sula for people and pets in Copán Ruinas, Honduras. The border had never been
a problem, but my friend got stopped not far over the border anyway. He
graciously showed the car insurance, driver license and of course the “pet
passports”. This time it was the driver license that caused the problem. It was
issued in Honduras and
clearly said “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">licencia internacional</i>”,
but according to the police officer, it wasn’t valid in Guatemala. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course it is, argued my friend, here it says <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">internacional!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No. that won’t work, according to the officer. Because international
means: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">within</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the country.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, it doesn’t. It means “within nations”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No, it doesn’t.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This time it was my friend who was lost for words. In the end he didn’t
have to pay a fine, but from now on he will always travel with dog passports <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> a dictionary. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay, just one more, even though this is an old one, but still so
accurate from what I hear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">An American friend of mine drove her little Toyota
all the way down from Washington
State to Copán Ruinas to
teach at the local bilingual school. In the weekends she enjoyed taking road
trips except for the fact that she got stopped at every single police post
along the way. Usually they couldn’t find anything wrong with her paperwork or
the car itself, but then she would have to open her trunk and tadaaah!!! A fine
for not having a warning triangle. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now, it’s probably true that in Honduras you are obliged by law to
have a warning triangle in your car. Not that I have ever seen one in the many
years I traveled thousands of miles in Honduras and beyond, even though there
are plenty occasions to use one. There’re enough of flat tires or horrendous
accidents. But if so, people just cut a big branch from a nearby tree and place
it at a short distance behind the vehicle. But a triangle? Never seen one. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But to get back to my Toyota friend, she got so sick and tired of the inquiries
that one time coming back through San Pedro Sula she bought no less than three
warning triangles. And of course she got stopped yet again on the way back to
Copán.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But before the officer could ask for her paperwork she held up her hand,
got out of her car, opened her trunk and took out one triangle after the other.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You see, she said in her bad Spanish, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES;">Triangulo</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">, </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES;">triangulo</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">, </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES;">triangulo</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">!!!</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She put them back in the trunk, got into her car and drove off, leaving
the officer speechless.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost six months ago I made the move from Honduras
to Guatemala.
I loaded up a van with tons of stuff. There were two old mattresses and a bunch
of paintings on top of the roof and inside my assorted house ware, tools, art
supplies, two cats and a dog. I was pretty nervous when crossing the border
(because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything </i>can happen), but
leaving Honduras
was no problem. We got stopped while entering Guatemala and a border official
asked me to open the van. He took a look inside and then called his supervisor
over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You better have a look here, there’s a lot of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stuff!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I explained I was moving to Guatemala and the stuff was mine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh, okay. But where were the permits for the animals??? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I know there <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> no permits
for animals, but I just played along. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oh, those animals are not mine. We’re just going to drop them off at the
vet in Chiquimula. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Okay then, have a safe trip!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Oooffffff…….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">About half an hour into Guatemala
we stumbled onto a big truck with a flat tire. We were warned, because about a
hundred yards before the parked vehicle was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">warning triangle</i>! And apparently it had just been run over because
it was shattered into countless bright red pieces scattered all over the road.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now at least I know why people don’t use warning triangles around here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-62445163348734985902014-08-21T09:17:00.001-06:002014-08-21T09:18:24.000-06:00My People: The Story behind the Paintings
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiA13_RhfMSTIrn6MAISQSB748I9wFl-PjS952hXlZ3OqvlCOMEtQUMRtTLFMZVnhLOjhwc1cUCzPbkBNmBaZVTyinyGfNwU6-reY88Y6WkC879XLa-VhbzOrfDZDz67v5rWug5gvNTkeF/s1600/MC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiA13_RhfMSTIrn6MAISQSB748I9wFl-PjS952hXlZ3OqvlCOMEtQUMRtTLFMZVnhLOjhwc1cUCzPbkBNmBaZVTyinyGfNwU6-reY88Y6WkC879XLa-VhbzOrfDZDz67v5rWug5gvNTkeF/s1600/MC.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Last
March I moved from <st1:country-region w:st="on">Honduras</st1:country-region>
to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Guatemala</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
a change that was as hard as it was exciting. It wasn’t easy to leave Copán, a
town I had called home for the last seventeen years, a town that had become an
inerasable part of my life. Although making a living as an artist hadn’t been
easy for the last two years or so, life was still easy and comfortable in a town
where I knew everybody and everybody knew me. A cash flow problem was never an
issue because I had credit in the local <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pulpería</i>,
on the market, in the pharmacy, with my land lord, doctor and favourite
restaurants. I never had to look for assignments, because people came looking
for me. But moving to a new country of course meant to start all over and
having to prove myself as an artist again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What
hurt me most when I left Copán was not to leave my best friends behind, we’ll
be in touch, no doubt, but those dozens, maybe even hundreds of people I had
some sort of relationship with, even without knowing each other well. Such as
Don Mingo, the owner of a herd of cows I encountered on many an early morning
hike. We always said hello, but that was it, day after day, year after year.
The day before I left I stopped him in his car because I wanted to tell him
that I was leaving for good and just to say goodbye. He gave me a big hug and
had tears in his eyes. And so did I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The
old toothless lady who sold me bread every day, my dog’s best friend, was
another constant in my life even though I didn’t know her name. Another one of
the very few people I actually said goodbye to. Then there’s Doña Berta from
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pulpería</i>; the old man from the
mountains who always tried to sell me crystals, not understanding that a person
only needs that many pieces of rock. There were the town’s drunks, a bit of a
ghastly sight maybe, but always polite. My favourite encounter with them was
when I asked them to let me through one day while they were occupying the
stairway leading to the park. Very politely they stood up and let me pass. “Have
a good day, Tanya!” said one. Another drunk punched him in the shoulder.
“That’s not Tanya, you idiot! That’s Cathy!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">So
many people, so many familiar faces, so many “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">buenos días</i>” and “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">qué tal</i>”’s.
Will they miss me as I miss them???<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The
move to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Guatemala</st1:place></st1:country-region>
was unexpectedly smooth. I quickly settled into my new home in a small village
just outside of <st1:place w:st="on">Antigua</st1:place>, not that different
from any <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">barrio </i>in Copán. I quickly
became a regular in the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> pulpería</i> and
yes, just as in Copán, I stumble in there every morning I my pyjamas, wearing
my inelegant rubber flip-flops (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Suaves
Chapinas)</i>, just as I did in Copán. A custom I didn’t think I would ever
repeat in more sophisticated <st1:place w:st="on">Antigua</st1:place>. Well,
apparently you can get the girl out of Copán, but not Copán out of the girl…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What
amazed me in my new neighbourhood was how many people I “recognized”. There was
that same sympathetic shop girl, although here she sells bread and not tomatoes
as the one in Copán. There’s the old lady going her way in the old ways; the
neighbourhood kids who swarm around me as if I were a magnet and of course a
whole assortment of local drunks. And dogs, plenty of dogs. Even chickens,
roosters and an occasional horse. No wonder I feel so at home here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">As
soon as I got settled, I set to work, mostly visiting shops, galleries and
restaurants with my port folio. Not unsuccessfully, because soon I was hired to
do some painting here and there and my paintings and products are for sale at
several locations. Not a bad start, but not quite good enough yet for a steady
income. And here, no money really means no money…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">At
the same time I started to work on a new series of paintings for a future
exhibition. I had no idea where yet, but in order to find a gallery that would
be interested, I of course first had to show some work. The World Cup was a
perfect excuse to stay home, work on my new pieces while with half an eye
following the games. My idea was to paint a series of portraits of the new
people in my life, some known to me, others just passers-by, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mi gente, </i>my people nonetheless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The
opportunity to exhibit came much sooner than I had expected. One day I went to
a film presentation in a new gallery (I quickly learned to go to all openings
and cultural events, great for contacts and often a free glass of wine) and I
left my card with one of the owners. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">To
my surprise they called me two days later, asking if they could come by my
studio. Sure, I said, and an hour later they were there, in my tiny and
hopefully temporary “studio” that also doubles as office, living room and
dining room. Not undone by my not-so-professional workplace, they did like my
art. They literally took all my paintings off the wall to exhibit in their
gallery and were enthused about the idea to have an opening with my new work.
How much time would I need? Optimistically and quite unrealistically I
answered: three weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">So
the date was set and I started to work my butt off. The paintings were coming
along fine, but what worried me was how to frame the works on an extremely
tight budget. I decided to buy the cheapest board as possible, have glass cut
and use little aluminium sort of hooks to fasten the glass, all by myself and a
little help from my neighbour Paul. Well, my scheme didn’t work out. So I
invented a new system with a sort of paperclips. That sort of worked out, at
least for the smaller paintings. By then I had broken no less than seven out of
nine glass plates and I was down to my very last <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quetzal</i>. I was so desperate that I even sent a message to the
gallery owners to cancel my show. “Don’t worry,” one of them wrote back, “I’ll
be there in ten minutes and have a look.” He did and came up with a simple and
creative solution that made the sun shine again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">To
make a long story short, on Saturday August 9<sup>th</sup> I had my opening in
Mayan Creations Arts & Crafts Gallery. And it was great! There were plenty
of people despite the heavy rain and I even sold some work. I wouldn’t have
been able to do it all without the help the gallery owners Juan Pablo and Luis
Pedro and of course my great new friends Ana María and Chrissy, who
single-handedly managed the whole bar and wonderful snacks of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">spech kuche</i> and home-smoked shark with cream
cheese. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I’m
indefinitely grateful to all the people who have given me opportunities here in
my new world and those who have offered me their friendship and support. Today,
exactly five months after moving here, I’m proud and happy to already have my
first solo exhibition and one assignment after the other coming in. <st1:place w:st="on">Antigua</st1:place> truly begins to heel as home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Thank
you, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mi gente</i>…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">My
art work is on exhibit till September 8, 2014 at Mayan Creations Arts &
Crafts Gallery 4a Avenida Norte #22, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Antigua
Guatemala</st1:place></st1:city>. If you missed the opening, no worries,
because we’re planning a closing ceremony too. Why the heck not? Especially if
there’s free wine… </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-60423287173995761532014-07-15T15:20:00.001-06:002014-07-15T15:24:13.327-06:00La Dolorosita: The Story Behind the Painting<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bF7MJ1i0NrQ1wav7y8zQLajEj90HRYk0SS9Jtiy4C9B06cQd3ZOjv2u4WneYGwWbFeI4FNfF4B8NFOgcIHT1kqFxcfu1aT1OSqDfzWVSaTV98vWsfHzHh9GCa2JEHSiNZUU_CHIP7vux/s1600/Ni%C3%B1a+Procesi%C3%B3n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bF7MJ1i0NrQ1wav7y8zQLajEj90HRYk0SS9Jtiy4C9B06cQd3ZOjv2u4WneYGwWbFeI4FNfF4B8NFOgcIHT1kqFxcfu1aT1OSqDfzWVSaTV98vWsfHzHh9GCa2JEHSiNZUU_CHIP7vux/s1600/Ni%C3%B1a+Procesi%C3%B3n.jpg" height="400" width="313" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">La Dolorosita,gouache on watercolour paper, 55 x 70cm</span></span></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Sunrise</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"> wouldn’t be there for
another half hour, but already the sky was streaked with purples and reds. The
ringing of church bells carried loud and clear through the crispy early morning
air. Despite the ungodly hour, the sound of shuffling feet echoed off the sleepy
walls in my street. So it was happening indeed…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
had been living in Guatemala
for less then three weeks and was excited to be able to be present for Semana
Santa for the first time in my life. Not that Easter was anywhere near yet, it
was only April 6<sup>th</sup>, but processions were already in full swing in Antigua. One of the biggest processions would be the one
of San Bartolo, the village I happen to live. It’s not much of a village
although it has the cutest mini-central park with its typical white church and
public <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pila </i>(washbasin). I’d read in
the newspaper that around 100,000 people were expected to participate in the
procession, which I laughed off as misprint. No way 100,000 people would fit in
the whole of San Bartolo!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
woke up the friend who was visiting me that weekend and we quickly got dressed.
Armed with nothing but our cameras and keys we left home. The first rays of
sunshine made it over the mountains in the East of the valley. My street was
busier than ever with people streaming out of alleys, front doors and
backyards, all huddled up against the morning chill before joining the steady
flow of people heading towards the church. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">When
we turned around the corner we could barely believe it: hundreds of people
poured into the narrow street that led to the church, carefully avoiding the
colourful sawdust carpets in the middle. Apparently the central park was
already filled up, because people stopped half way down the street, politely
lining up. Whole families were present and surprisingly, many adolescents too.
I saw people carrying stools, iceboxes and toilet paper rolls. Well prepared
for an event I myself barely know what to expect of. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Instead
of getting stuck in the long line in front of the church, my friend and I
decided to go against the stream and try to make it to the main road that leads
to Antigua. It took a while, but we made it.
More sawdust carpets followed, one after the other, every one even more
colourful and stunning than the previous. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Although
the road was much wider, it wasn’t easy to continue walking towards Antigua with the hundreds, thousands of people going the opposite
way. But it was our first procession and at the time we still insisted on
seeing each and every sawdust carpet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">About
an hour later we had progressed maybe a mile when we realised that we were
totally unprepared. The sun was getting fiercer by the minute and we had no
water with us, much less money to buy some coffee or delicious smelling
pastries that were offered alongside the road. Luckily enough I had lived long
enough in the community to know about a back road, so we decided to walk around
the multitude and go back home to pick up what we had earlier forgotten.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">An
hour and about 4 miles later, we where back on the main road, halfway between Antigua and San Bartolo. We had been afraid we might miss
the procession, but there was no need, Crossing the sawdust carpets, swinging
sideways and back, praying and singing, the procession proceeded very, very slowly.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">By
then I was convinced that the number of a 100,000 people might indeed not be
exaggerated. Thousands lined the 2 mile road, thousands more followed the
procession, not to mention the street vendors and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cuchurucos,</i> the men in purple who were taking turns carrying the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anda (</i>altar). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">First
came the Romans, proclaiming the crucifixion of Jesus, followed by a band of
more scarily realistic looking Roman soldiers. Then some altar boys carrying
incense burners that filled the street with acrid smoke. Finally, finally, the
big <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anda</i> came into view, moving
sluggishly forward and sideways on the sad melody of a funeral march. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cuchurucos </i>seemed to be in trance,
suffering even, below the heavy load. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">One
mesmerizing image immediately caught my eye. One of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cuchurucos</i> held hands with a little girl, I assume his daughter.
She was dressed in a white dress sharply contrasted against the deep purple,
with the traditional veil of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Las Doloras</i>,
the female version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Los Cuchurucos.</i>
I aimed my camera and saw her looking right into my lens. Click! I hoped my
auto focus had done its work, because this could be a good one…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlztDJj7tloBQRKxVHuRyrfoDdXDN1jqEaZX6OZhxsud3BO4rcrIybRyUyEC8NYaBWb0DfeQAX3CN4X1uA6g6aZanNIgRETzNGzx6YIEQNB7bwBv1Xy1nnY_KnaeQPZXk6EXG3YeC_pRK/s1600/San+Bartolom%C3%A9+Procesi%C3%B3n+6-4-14+153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirlztDJj7tloBQRKxVHuRyrfoDdXDN1jqEaZX6OZhxsud3BO4rcrIybRyUyEC8NYaBWb0DfeQAX3CN4X1uA6g6aZanNIgRETzNGzx6YIEQNB7bwBv1Xy1nnY_KnaeQPZXk6EXG3YeC_pRK/s1600/San+Bartolom%C3%A9+Procesi%C3%B3n+6-4-14+153.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">Later,
when going through hundreds of pictures of a few hours of procession, I found
out that the girl not only looked straight into the lens, she also had one
finger delightfully in her nose. Great serendipitous moment! I knew then that
one day I’d do something with that picture. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">And
I did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">And
by the way, it’s for sale… </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"></span></div>
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<![endif]-->Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5158895602640727152.post-21494963187705086202014-07-04T06:38:00.001-06:002014-07-04T06:38:35.987-06:00Orange in Guatemala<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDXrWoPdXhHJasljmWqIKmiL6NHioC2R7cntqtDaAsZ7L53Ump1UhN94AM19lv0XYGm1dyH3c_uKj85-pe61Pe5Cg5kqsRTPeis66PaJ8E8z8qMT_iuxbPhVkY3529dWSEypBttnet-Cz/s1600/Orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDXrWoPdXhHJasljmWqIKmiL6NHioC2R7cntqtDaAsZ7L53Ump1UhN94AM19lv0XYGm1dyH3c_uKj85-pe61Pe5Cg5kqsRTPeis66PaJ8E8z8qMT_iuxbPhVkY3529dWSEypBttnet-Cz/s1600/Orange.jpg" height="275" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You
want a bag for that?” the guy at the counter asks routinely without making eye
contact. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Nah,
thanks, I’m good.” I answer, not overly polite either. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You
from the US?”
he asks while packing my groceries anyway. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Nope.
Holland”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Ah!
Holland!” The
guy looks up with a big smile and sparkling eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“They
play really well this Cup!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
there I made yet another best friend solely based on football and my
nationality. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where
were they last Sunday when I needed them?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Holland</span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> – Mexico. It was the first match I
was going to watch in public and I was looking forward to it. None of my orange
garments survived my last move, which was okay. It was after all my first game
out, all by myself and, -what if we lose??? So I subtly opted for a pair of
jeans with a red and white border (the Dutch flag, from my upside-down point of
view) and a pair of sneakers you can call sort of orange. I avoided the most
popular sports bar (too loud, too big, too Mexican) and went instead to a
family run restaurant with great breakfasts. It was, after all, a Sunday and
only 10am.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Leaving
home to watch the game turned out to be a good decision, because as it happened
there was no cable service in the whole of Antigua.
But Guatemalans are as creative as Copanecos when it comes to wanting to watch
a game (oh, the many times we climbed mountains, crossed municipal and even
international borders whenever there was no electricity or cable signal…). In
this case the problem was solved with two good old-fashioned antennas quickly
bought at the hardware store and attached with tape to both widescreen
super-duper HD flat screens. I don’t know why we couldn’t watch the live
internet broadcast that was on for a few minutes, although I admit it looked
more like a video game than real football and made me feel like pushing a
button and blowing Ochoa’s head off. But after some fussing and fondling with
the antennas for the first ten minutes of the game, we were ready to go,
watching Mexico
getting the overhand on a screen as snowy as my own little TV at home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
problem was…. I turned out to be the only Dutch citizen in the whole place.
Worse, I seemed to be the only person rooting for Holland in a restaurant that was quickly
filling up with Guatemalan families supporting anything Latin rather than
cheese-heads. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At
half time I considered going to a place a bit more orangey, but what if other
bars were without cable <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>antennas?
So I stayed put and changed coffee for beer. Even when the cable signal finally
came back in the 51<sup>st</sup> minute and the screen suddenly turned a
crisply clear green. But with a 0-1 hanging over our heads, I wasn’t going
anywhere. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well,
for those of you who watched the game, you know how it ended, and for those who
don’t care, you probably know too, so no need to describe the rest of the
agony. I was sure we were going to lose… I was already thinking of replacing my
crazy supporter profile pic on Facebook for a mourning Mexican <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">llorona.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
all of a sudden the game was over and Holland
had won. Not very gracefully in my opinion, but we were through! And how weird
to cheer for that among a crowd of disappointed Latinos who saw yet another
Latin country make way for those Europeans… Yes, I too felt bad for Mexico. But not
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> bad…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I
didn’t linger much (I’m such a good sport, I don’t glee) and rode my bike back
home, feeling oddly detached from Guatemala and the rest of the
planet. All of a sudden loud honks sounded from behind and a cheering blur of
red, white blue and orange flew by on a scooter. It took me a second to realize
it was Alejandro, a Guatemalan from my neighbourhood who’s married to a Dutch
woman and hence a fierce supporter of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">La
Naranja Mecánica</i>. His neon orange fluffy clogs brought a big smile to my
face. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For
tomorrow I’m better prepared. I’m going to watch the game in company of quite a
group of Dutch ex-pats and beforehand I’ll go by a Dutch friend to dress up
with some of the orange stuff she has accumulated over the years. Hats, crowns,
scarves, shirts, wigs and more stuff that’s been multiplying in a far corner of
her storage room, surviving spring cleanings and yard sales. After all, you
can’t really donate a bunch of orange wigs to the poor, homeless or needy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Can’t
wait… The pre-fun has already started!</span></div>
Carin Steenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16861147737101486587noreply@blogger.com0