In short, the Chichi market was amazing. I got to go in the churches there, which are beautiful. Also, we encountered a woman who sppoke perfect english who said she was from Pennsylvania, but lived in Guatemala and worked bringing groups to Lago Attitlan to volunteer at the schools there. Her email is sarahmatzar@yahoo.com, and you can learn about her project at mayanfamilies.com.
However, Everywhere we go, Dad makes enemies by taking pictures. Ive heard that for a while, tourists were stealing children during the Guatemalan Adoption Craze, and now, whenever someone takes a picture of someone or touches a child, people associate them with a kidnapper. This was confirmed today when we met, in Todos Santos, a woman from Switzerland named Sylvana, who said that she was approached by a woman in San Pedro who asked her why she was there, if she liked children, and after saying that she was a secretary on vacation, the woman said No, you work with children. CREEPPYYYYYYY....
The Mayans also won´t let you take their picture because they believe you´re taking a part of them away. For some reason, I can really relate to that, and think it´s almost beautiful. When I take a picture, I don´t feel like it´s mine. It seems more like it belongs to the person or thing I took it of.
On our way from Chichi to Nebaj, I became carsick and tired of travel. And after switching buses for the third time in one day and encountering a particularly insane bus driver, I was totally burned out. We were in this one minibus with at least 25 other people, where it overheated and died after 2 hours, about a half hour from Nebaj. They assured us that there was another bus coming, but after a half hour, no such bus. The only things that passed were trucks, motorcycles, or other overcrowded minibus. And by minibus, I mean minivan with extra seats. So by the time our van and its people had been sitting there for over an hour, I was hopeless. Finally, a chicken bus came along that was three to a seat. But by this point, i would have hopped in the back of a pickup just to get there. i was seated next to a Peace Core volunteer named Kate who worked in a village named Xix near Nebaj. she was trying to make a hiking trail through the woods there to attrack more tourists. Finally, we arrived, and it was pouring. We came across in Nebaj a Hotel-Restaurant called Popi´s, which was very nice and had delicious Gringo food. A plus was that all proceeds went to various non-profits. In my humble opinion, Nebaj was relatively boring, with a normal, small market in the center of town. If I had to decide on something I enjoyed most about the place, it would probably be the weavings. Nebaj has a unique staple design in huipils and other weavings, which is various birds, giraffes and other animals, hidden amongst the purple, yellow, green and black threads. Also, all the women there wear a headdresss tied into there hair with pom-poms bobbling on the top, traditional solely to Nebaj.
In the Artisans´Market in Nebaj, there was a woman weaving on a backstrap loom. But, of course, she wouldn´t let us take her picture unless we bought something full price. SHe drove a hard bargain, but inb truth, she was a really nice woman, trying her hardest to provide for her family. Her name was Maria, and some day I hope to return those pictures.
Boy, have I got alot to say about Todos Santos!!! First of all, because the highlands are so impoverished, its impossible to eat fruit. Everything is rice and beans. So when Dad wanted a fruit salad and couldn´t find it anywhere, he went to the market and bought a pineapple and bananas. WE then brought them to this little old Comedor called Comedor "Katy". It was totally adorable, and run by this little old lady named Tina. It was hilarious because they couldnt figure it out that we wanted them to make us fruit salads. it was like unheard of to buy fruit, I wasn´t even sure if they had ever seen a pineapple before. And to top it off, they couldnt figure out how to cut it, it required like three people. But eventually, even pineapple and banana couldn´t cure the fact that we were TOOOTALLY sick of beans and rice. One night, dad said to me "how about tonight, we mix things up: lets not have beans and rice. Instead, we can try something new, and have rice and beans." My reply: "WOAH. Big step."
When we went hiking out of the town and into the mountains, we met a man named Gabriel Pablo Carlmo, who was sitting by the side of the road when we were passing by, comeing from some small Mayan ruins nearby. He was very friendly and kind, telling us about his daugters, and his family living in California. He surprisingly let us take his picture. He gave us his address, so I am planning to send those pictures back to him. While we were taking to him, a girl walked up, coming from town. I assumed they were neighbors, because they seemed very nice to each other, like friends. We decided to keep walking up the mountain with her, even though we were both just about out of breath. She told us her name was Natalia. We chatted alot about what she was doing in town (selling huipils she made) and where we were from. However, I came to learn that her parents lived and worked in San Francisco, and she was left in Todos Santos to take came of her brothers (how many, I do not know) and her grandmother. To top it off, they couldn´t return because they had had a child there, that the rest of the family hadn´t even met. Also, they didn´t want anyone else in the family to move out there because it was so hard to find jobs. I couldn´t even imagine. But she was so nice, letting us hike with her and telling us about the town, so politely. I took a picture of her, and I REALLY want to return and give it to her.
When driving through the mountains, it really gives you perspective on how small and insignificant you truly are. Sometimes, it feels like the world will stop turning because you feel so broken hearted. But when you just look around, you´ll see that there is sooo much else out there, and practically nothing has to do with you.
The last thing we encountered in Todos Santos was a mid-sized black stray dog with a tint of white on his/her paws and piercing topaz eyes whom I later named Xela after a nearby city. He/She began to follow us around when we first arrived, and after feeding her some crumbs of bread, she kept following us. I hope some day, when I return to Todos Santos, I can bring her back to the States, because she was a nice dog, like the rest of the strays there, and deserves better, as a citizen of the planet.
The thing I miss most about home is the stars. Here, you can´t see the stars because she clouds cover them. The stars have always reminded me of a kind of guiding light, and I think that represents something: when I´m home, I can see where I´m going. Here, everything is grey....
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