Orange in Guatemala

“You want a bag for that?” the guy at the counter asks routinely without making eye contact.

“Nah, thanks, I’m good.” I answer, not overly polite either.

“You from the US?” he asks while packing my groceries anyway.

“Nope. Holland”

“Ah! Holland!” The guy looks up with a big smile and sparkling eyes.

“They play really well this Cup!”

And there I made yet another best friend solely based on football and my nationality.

Where were they last Sunday when I needed them?

Holland – 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.

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.

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.

At half time I considered going to a place a bit more orangey, but what if other bars were without cable and antennas? So I stayed put and changed coffee for beer. Even when the cable signal finally came back in the 51^st minute and the screen suddenly turned a crisply clear green. But with a 0-1 hanging over our heads, I wasn’t going anywhere.

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 llorona.

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 that bad…

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 La Naranja Mecánica. His neon orange fluffy clogs brought a big smile to my face.

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.

Can’t wait… The pre-fun has already started!

Solitary Soccer

And there we are again! The World Cup is in full swing with tons of goals, many surprises and my favourite team qualified for the next round. I couldn’t be happier! I transformed my office / studio into a multimedia control centre so now I can paint, post on Facebook and watch the games at the same time! Ha! I sing the Honduran national anthem out loud (position 1, hand on heart) and mumble along with the Dutch one (yes, seventeen years in Honduras has left its imprints). I yell, swear, scream trilingual and upset my pets. Brazil 2014, I’m all for it!

I do miss my football buddies. I’m pretty much settled since I moved from Copán, Honduras, to Antigua Guatemala three months ago. I’ve met a lot of amazing people and of course there are plenty of terrific bars and restaurants here to watch the games, but I haven’t found “my” scene yet. I also miss getting congratulated on the street for one of Holland’s achievements (as if I had anything to do with Van Persie’s dive) and the group of fellow supporters that root for Orange or at least pretend to do so when I’m around. Yes, watching football with friends in a bar is a lot more fun. But then again, it is also much more expensive. And I get a lot more work done watching the games at home, drinking tea instead of beer.

Watching the Cup in Guatemala is quite a different experience from living it in Honduras. Not that the Guatemalans don’t live for football, they absolutely do. Even out on the street you don’t have to miss a beat. Every restaurant, bar store or market stall has a TV turned on, and if not, peoples’ cheers or swearing will keep you informed. But Guatemala is not one of the happy 32, and thus there’s not one team to nationally root for. Instead, people’s favourite teams are as diverse as the number of countries, with a slight and understandable preference for Central American countries such as Costa Rica and Honduras. That preference will shift soon depending on the outcome of the next few rounds, but staying home as close as possible is the norm. People might hate Brazil now, but if Brazil will have to face, let’s say, Holland, in the finals, then Latin America goes first. Understandable.

I support Honduras, of course, because I feel so connected to the country after living there for so long. I never expected Honduras to win the Cup (or even the first round, but that would be a mean thing to say), but “my” team is, of course, Holland. Amazing, as little patriotic as I am, watching those Dutchmen fly over the field gives me goosebumps. Even sitting here all by myself at home surrounded by nothing but cats and dogs.

Gotta go…Game is starting….

Football Identity

So Honduras has qualified for the 2014 Brazil World Cup and the football craziness has been replaced by just as noisy political campaigns for the upcoming elections. But let’s not talk about politics and return to football instead…

There’s no denying that football unites people. After the recent qualifications even political differences were temporarily put aside and everybody joined in the celebrations. Being Dutch, that’s no news for me. An orange wave spills over my home land as soon as the national team is up for an important game. I can’t help but get excited here in Honduras when I hear the (mispronounced) names of the Dutch players announced, or the first notes of our national anthem. I don’t feel particularly Dutch, am not necessarily proud of serendipitously being born as a citizen of the Netherlands and couldn’t care less if you insult my country or fellow Netherlanders. I’ve been living more than half of my adult life in Honduras and even know the entire national anthem by heart, whereas I can only mumble the first two phrases of the Dutch one. However, as soon as La Naranja Mecánica is about to kick off, my heart starts racing and I’m a hundred percent Dutch again! So why is it that I don’t identify with blond, blue-eyed girls dancing on wooden shoes, Edam cheese and not even the Great Masters of the Dutch Renaissance, but I do with eleven guys dressed in orange, running after a ball?

A couple of years ago there was an interesting discussion going on in IS, a magazine published by the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs, about cultural identity. The question was in how far people adapt to their adoptive country and how much they identify with it. One of the readers sent in a letter in which he summed it up nicely, saying he had been living in China for 25 years, had a Chinese wife, Chinese kids and a Chinese job. He eats Chinese, thinks, talks and dreams in Mandarin, but oooohhh when there’s Dutch football on TV: Hollaaaaaaaaaand!!!

I really have no idea where this collective craziness comes from that turns even the most intellectual academics in silly morons with orange hats and face paint, but it exceeds borders and even continents (except for the US of course, where strangely enough our football has never been a big thing. But they have their own football. And baseball of course). But as intense as it is, it’s also not very long lasting. Especially when our national team loses, we tend to quickly forget about the whole thing, or turn all together against a collective enemy. (Usually the Germans for the Dutch and Mexico for all other Central American countries.) That way the bond of being “one” lingers a little longer, but eventually it dissolves in thin air. Until it is ignited again by the next World Cup or Champions League.

Honduras is unfortunately a country with few heroes or role models, in neither past nor present. Whereas Nicaragua has its share of revolutionary heroes; Guatemala a Nobel prize winner in Rogobert Manchú; Venezuela an (in)famous reappearing dead president; Argentina the Pope and Messi; and Colombia has Shakira, Honduran citizens never made it to the realms of fame and eternal illustriousness. Maybe that’s why Honduras goes so crazy when the national team is doing well for a change. Every Honduran, men, women, children, rich and poor, including a bunch of ex-pats, get over-excited and proudly discuss the game as if it were they themselves running into a sweat for an hour and a half. It makes people proud to be Honduran. And whether that’s a good or bad thing, well, that’s a whole different discussion…

Bottom-line is, I’m very excited that both Honduras and Holland are qualified for the World Cup and can’t wait for it to start. But what if Honduras will have to face Holland??? I can’t tell you now which team I’d support… I mean.. I wish…. No, I can’t decide! I guess it will be the moment my true identity will be revealed…

A National Holiday to Fight Off the Hangover

Yesterday it was eerily quiet in Honduras… Public offices were closed and students found the doors of their schools shut.

Honduras’ national football team had qualified for the World Cup the night before. So president Pepe Lobo declared October 16^th a holiday in order to celebrate the victory.

I myself am a great football fan and have, of course, watched all the classification games and yes, I‘ve joined in the celebrations too. However, those celebrations usually last for a just few hours after the game, not all the way through the next day. I mean, one can only drink so much. Not that a day off to nurture the hangover isn’t welcome, but is it really necessary?

As happy as I am that Honduras will go to Brazil next year, I think it’s a bit over the top to declare the day after a victory a national holiday (it wasn’t even a real victory, the game ended in a tie). Would the president have done that in my home country Holland, he’d probably get his butt sued. Imagine: parents, whether working in the public sector or not, all of a sudden have to stay home with their kids because the schools are closed. Scheduled meetings, carefully planned events and long awaited appointments all postponed. And what about the personnel at public hospitals? Fire fighters? The police force?  Public transportation? All off celebrating? Or if at work, will they receive double pay for working on a holiday?

An unexpected holiday in Holland would probably paralyze the economy completely and but a handful of die hard hooligans would appreciate the gesture. But in Honduras it was already half-heartily expected (because the president has done so before), so people almost see it as a right. And as for the impact?  Well, the country seems to be running as normal, without all too much ado, just hop scotching along as it always does. 

I love football, especially the frenzy around important games between national teams. I think that football could actually play a huge role in the development of a country (more about that tomorrow). But I don’t see how a last-minute declaration of a national holiday attributes to much. Except for the actual players, of course, who really deserve their day off.

So the morning of the Day After, I left at 7.30am to teach an art class. And oh, was I happy to see all my students show up, holiday or not!