No more dogs!

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.

Street dogs.

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.

One of 6 puppies we've so far been unable to catch, in its "home" at one of the coffee plantations

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.

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.

Luca, Monster, Saudi and me, Honduras

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.

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.

Tessa and Gerson with cats in recovery

When Linda Green made her dogs rescue efforts official in 2010 with the NGO Unidos para los Animales, 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 Unidos para los Animales 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.

Linda and her paharmacy

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.

The logistics for today’s clinic were in the capable hands of the Dirección de la Mujer (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.

Our strongman of the day

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 Unidos para los Animales. Not that the dogs or cats don’t care, but we humans do.

People and patients waiting for their turn

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 Unidos para los Animales, it is in close collaboration with Tessa and Gerson of WOOF Guatemala and Francesca of Patitas.

Volunteers Jimmy and Bobbie

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.

If you’d like to contribute towards the sterilisation program, please visit the following websites. Thank you!

USA, Canada, Guatemala, Europe: Unidos para los Animales

Holland: WOOF Guatemala

 

*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.

 

 

 

A Christmassy Thing for Dogs

 

‘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.

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.

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.

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. 

On our way to "the end of the world..."

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.

Cristy at the shelter

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.

Cristy had to stop on the way back to buy some food for some street dogs we encountered.

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!

Puppy Sweater, design by Cristy Velasco!

Dog bed and red collar approved!!!

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: MuralArt Guate.

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.

Today's donations.

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: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/sanmartindogs?fbclid=IwAR3xy3CqLuRQkBsbSxWEL9NlLfi2zP7h__szn4J74E6ci3X_qBJ0-VW9XwI

 

Donations pup approved!

One very tired but lucky puppy....

Thank you so much!

Wooof!!!

 

 

Where You Can Expect the Unexpected – An Ode to la Bodegona

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 (“Chatarraaaaaaaa!!!!!”), 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.

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!

Now that I'm travelling back to Antigua next week, something I am 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 experience. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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...

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...

But maybe best of all are the”atados”, 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!

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.

Talking about the Weather

Asturias beach in September

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.)

Spanish Bougainvillea

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!!!

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.


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!

The Chicken Bus Experience

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.

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 ayudantes 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.

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…

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!!!

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: Explosión de Amor. Let’s assume Angela is the legal wife or girlfriend in this case, not the driver’s little girl.

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.

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.

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.

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 Buenos días 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: Servidos! And then you get up, pay the driver and get off with well wishes to and fro.  

And after a day in town the bus is waiting for you at its regular spot. Always and every day.

Remembering the Dead in Full Colour

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.

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.

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?  For just a few Quetzalitos your grandfather’s eternal resting place is as good as new.

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.

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.

Antigua Cemetery

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. 

 

Sumpango Cemetery

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.

 

Sumpango Cemetery

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. 

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.

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.

Day of the Dead is my very favourite holiday.

 

Sumpango Cemetery

A Market Full of Magic

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 around the market. Around the back of the market, depending on which side you consider the front of the market.

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.

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 real market…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 mostly clothing, along with anything else.

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…

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 atol 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.

As always I find it hard to leave this labyrinth of colours, this maze of things familiar and unknown,  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.

What a world! I’ve never enjoyed shopping so much.

The Circus Was In Town

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.

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.

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.

So becoming a clown was about the only option. Now that 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.

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.

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.

“It sounds like a lion,” I said.

“Don’t be crazy, it must be a cow in heat,” a colleague answered.

But it was 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!

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…

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.

Even in the small, shabby circuses, things are way harder than they look and I think the artists deserve a tremendous respect. Especially 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…

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.

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.

But one day I woke up and the circus was gone.

Just like that, gone, leaving only a yellow patch of grass and some trash behind.

They hadn’t warned me, they vanished into the night the way they had come.

So yet again I missed my chance to run off with the circus.

*Local cell phone companies

Five Stomach-based Reasons Why Copán Ruinas Totally Rocks

1. Coffee!

Central America is worldwide renowned for its coffee production, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you can get a decent cup for breakfast. The Honduran style of drinking coffee, at least in the mountain villages around Copán, is to boil a pot full of water and adding a little coffee and tons of sugar that is then strained to a cheesecloth filter. It’s sweet and weak and doesn’t do a thing to get me going in the morning. Guatemala is even worse: coffee = Nescafé. Only in places frequented by tourists can you get a real espresso, cappuccino or just a regular that actually tastes like coffee. And luckily enough there are plenty of these places in Copán! You can get delicious locally grown and freshly ground coffee at La Casa de Todo, Café San Rafael, Café Ixchel, Macaw Mountain and Café Welchez. Don’t forget to bring a few pounds of coffee home with you!

2. Cheese!

My life took a humungous turn for the better when Carlos René Guerra started making cheese a couple of years ago at Café San Rafael. Not even in Antigua Guatemala will you find such an incredible and delicious variety of cheeses, from spiced cream cheese to mozzarella, edam, brie, camembert, pepper jack and a whole bunch of other cheeses that Carlos invented himself. All cheeses are made of milk coming from the family farm. You should not visit Copán without dropping by at Café San Rafael. If you’re not into cheese, then at least try their coffee (also from their own family run farm) or any item on the menu of their lovely open-door café. Oh, did I mention the yoghurt? The fresh milk? Their homemade chili sauce? Total delight!

3. Bread!

The time that you could only get Bimbo bread in Copán is long gone and that’s a good thing. Bimbo bread -what else could you expect with such a name- is soggy, tasteless and gross. It actually does live up to one half of its publicity slogan (Siempre rico, siempre fresco –Always delicious, always fresh) because it never gets hard or green or moldy. Thanks to huge amount of ingredients that have nothing to do with bread.

But you can now forget about Bimbo and go to La Casa de Todo for freshly baked garlic bread or baguettes. The Via Via sells a great whole wheat bread as well as regular loaves. And if you like really dark bread, contact Muriel through La Casa del Café. Healthy and delicious!

4. Booze!

When I first came to Copán there were only three kinds of nationally brewed beers and that was about it. We would get overexcited if one of the stores would accidentally have a bottle of wine in stock, usually overpriced and pure vinegar, but nonetheless wine. At least according to the label. Now there’s plenty of variety of wine in the liquor stores for reasonable prices. Café Via Via sells Belgium beers that are actually cheaper than in a bar in Belgium, as well as local beers and a Happy Hour for rum drinks (2 for 1 for $1,50!!). Beer lovers must visit Sol de Copán, a small German owned beer brewery. Great drafts!

5. Local veggies you’ve never seen in your life before!

The market in the centre of town sells a great variety of the regular fruit and vegetables, but when in Copán, and in the right season, make sure you don’t miss out on lorroco, a small green/white flower with a delicious nutty taste; or chufles, something best described as a crossover between asparagus and artichoke. Ayote (squash) flowers are delicious as well as very decorative as you will experience if you book a romantic dinner at Hacienda San Lucas. Flor de izote has a somewhat bitter taste and surprising texture. Berro can be compared to watercress and in order to be big and strong when I grow up, I eat tons of mostaza or mustard leaf, something I had never tasted before coming to Copán. Raw or cooked, it tastes amazing and is full of the good stuff.

And those are just five reasons why to come and stay in Copán Ruinas. There are plenty more!