Guatemala

Antigua

Thursday, July 17, 2007

Antigua, Guatemala, a small, yet rich town nestled between three volcanoes, was founded in 1543 and has maintained its colonial, antique feel in many ways.

The cobblestone streets, the colorfully painted houses, the Spanish-style roofs, and the indigenous, beautifully designed clothes of the women all contribute to the maintenance of its rich mix of Spanish-Indian culture.  On the one hand, walking down the streets of Antigua is like stepping back in time five hundred years, as the architecture and atmosphere draw you back to the 1500’s.

On the other hand, this same aspect is what pulls in the masses of foreigners.  It might as well be renamed “Little Gringo-ville,’ since nearly every other person roaming its streets speaks not a lick of Spanish while proudly sporting their khaki white shorts, leather sandals, and rounded straw hat.  I just try to ignore them and not be bitter, since I myself happen to one of them, plaguing the streets. (Minus the whole crocodile Dundee get up J)  Though I have always thought of myself as a gringo outside-Latino inside, I guess anyone who saw me walking down the road wouldn’t know the difference.

I spent nearly all of my time in Antigua roaming the streets, exploring the ruins of enormous earthquake ruined cathedrals, wandering through the marketplace, talking with the Guatemalan locals, climbing mountains, and tasting new foods.  Obviously, I’m really suffering here!

I am sitting even now in a dimly lit, yet brightly colored restaurant where the air is thick with the smells and sounds of Peru.

The music is smooth, flowing with effervescent South American roots from the corner of the restaurant.  A group by the name of “Sol Latino” is setting the tone for the evening and doing a good job of it too. This is the life...

Guatemala

Tikal

Friday, July 18, 2007

The long twisted moss, hanging like old rags from the tree branches, grasps for the ground.  The sky is a rich color blue containing grey suspended puffs accompanied by wisps of white milky clouds.  The cries and sounds of birds and other jungle creatures come at me from all sides and monkeys are swinging from the branches over head.  Below, to my left and right lie the ancient Mayan ruins of a city known as Tikal, the greatest and most powerful city of Latin America in its time.  Directly in front of me stands the “Temple of the Grand Jaguar,” towering above the city as a tribute to King Moon-Double-Comb.  Small tomb-like stones dot the ground below, their shadows growing as the sun lowers to the horizon behind me, and I, even as I write, sit atop a great temple facing the “Jaguar.”

  The ruined city is spread out in all directions 100 feet below me. I spent the entire day exploring the palaces,

climbing the steps of the numerous stone pyramids,

 making my way through courtyard tunnels,

 and admiring the majestic panoramic view of the jungle from atop the tallest Mayan temples.

 Tikal, unlike other Mayan cities, was unique in that it was located deep in the jungle. While its many plazas are cleared of trees and vines, the walk between the different sections of the city have you passing under a dense rainforest canopy, with a rich and loamy smell of earth and plant life thick in the air.   It feels as though I have stepped onto hallowed ground and I’m even thinking of staying the night just outside the ruins of the city.  Even as I sit here atop this temple, I can feel it, there is something powerful… something almost mythical that nearly overwhelms my capacity to feel.  I feel kind of silly saying all this, but it’s true. 

 There is something about the way the stone towers reach up to the sky, the thick columns firmly grip the earth, the ancient monuments erected in their place, and the way the musty warm air echoes through the chambers and passageways. 

I am a spiritual creature who is wired, designed to worship something grand, something powerful, and something that humbles me in its presence.  Is it that these powerful spiritual urges, or yearnings, can even be awakened by an immense stone city?  I find it incredible that as I roam the dirt pathways and stand beneath the shadows of the temples, I feel an irrepressible need to worship something; to bite my lip and even bow my head.  This must be even more evidence, that I, as a human, must worship, must admire, must be in awe of something…anything.  I suppose that I used to quietly think it was irrational and even absurd that any civilization could worship the sun, the moon, the mountains, or even a statue.  But I think I can now see why they did it…why they needed to do it.  It may not have been a forced choice so much as a response to a real, immanent need put there by God Himself. But really, the society I live in is no different; only the object of worship has been altered. I’ve sensed the same breathe stopping emotion and even worshipful need when I have seen a ridiculously beautiful woman. How easy it is to go down the road of worship...In fact, I’m pretty much convinced that women are the prime object of worship in most men’s life. I wouldn’t pretend to really know what it is for ladies… :)  Every once in awhile I run across some place, some person, some song, some spot in nature, which could easily become an object of worship in my heart.  How important it is to take those gripping, almost paralyzing urges, and direct that worship that begins to well up in my heart toward Jesus.

“For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities: all things were created by Him and for Him.” – Colossians 1:16

    One quick observation…it’s obvious that I am nearing the wonderful land of Mexico. Most the men are wearing their bushy mustaches and the polka music is being blared from all directions…

Mexico, I'm on my way!

Guatemala

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere

Sunday, July 21, 2007

Now this is the kind of lifestyle I really love…  I woke up yesterday morning with one goal on my mind: Get to Mexico while avoiding all the tourists possible.    I took the bus from Flores, Guatemala, with the intention of crossing the border into Mexico, but on the way I met a young man who was trying to learn English, and his father, a lifelong farmer.  In the back of my mind, I thought of how great it would be to just get off the bus somewhere around their farming community and just…see what would happen.  They got off the bus and I was left sitting there, wrestling inside with what to do.  Within a few minutes of driving, I convinced myself to take the chance and see if anyone would take me in.  I told the driver to stop because I was going to get off. I took my bags, stepped down and was left there alone, without a hotel for miles.  First, let me describe the scene:  I was on a reddish dirt road which cut through a farming community; one that probably had never seen a gringo in its streets.  (I found out later that I was the first gringo to visit).  That being the case, it was as if an alien had entered the territory by the looks on some people's faces. 

The sun was pounding down on my head, concentrated and hot; It brilliantly illuminated the entire countryside.

  The farmland was rich and as green as I had ever seen, punctuated by lone palm trees poking their heads through the corn and other crops.

 As a backdrop, the hills, full of vegetation, rolled on for miles.  I swear that I have never seen a sky so blue or grass so green my life.  The entire place had been photo-shopped and saturated with color.  It didn’t even look real and could have been taken from a storybook.  I began walking down the road, looking at the townspeople, trying to guess who might take me in.

 But before I got far, I saw the boy from the bus walking toward me.  “No, dis no es Bethel. No es Bethel!” (Where I was originally supposed to get off the bus)  He thought I was confused and that I had gotten off at the wrong stop.  I, of course, gladly followed him when he led me to the house. “Let go my house.”   We walked through a field and came to a brightly painted, peeling church building, with a house to the side.

  Sitting outside the house, and swinging in a hammock between two nearby trees was an entire family, looking at me with a bit of confusion in their eyes.  They soon realized that I was “lost” and assured me of another bus which was to pass by soon.  It was then that I took my chance by asking if I could camp out until tomorrow.  With typical Latin hospitality and much enthusiasm, they agreed and began to fix dinner.

 In the meantime, the sons of the family asked if I wanted to swim in the lagoon. 

We made our way through the dirty pathways, into the jungle-like woods and came to the spot.  Many of the people of the village were there bathing and playing in the water.

 One little fella was floating around on an old log, and so I thought I would see if he was up for some good ol’ fashioned log rolling.  Soon, nearly all the boys were involved.  

    Freddy, the oldest son, then led us on a tour through the woods and shared with me his dreams of learning English, becoming a tour guide and even transforming this area of the jungle into a tourist spot.  Of course, I am cringing at the thought of turning this peaceful haven into a tourist trap, yet nod my head as his enthusiasm contagiously drives his dream.  Back at the house, we feasted on potatoes, tortillas and homemade lemonade. 

At “misa” that night, (catholic Mass) we sang and prayed until the end when I sang a few songs for the church.  Afterwards, we sat around under the single light bulb which illuminated their dirt porch and we talked.  After awhile we turned in for the night, the family into their one-room house, their cousins to the hammocks, and me to the dirt floor of the Catholic church.   The next morning I headed off for the corner where the bus was to pick me up. As I waited for the bus, some children gathered around.

I mounted the bus, then a motorized canoe, and finally cross the border into Mexico.

  On my way through the southern tip of Mexico, en rout to the small town of Palenque, I met a lively couple from Norway, who I would end up spending the next day with.

Mexico

Palenque

Monday, July 23, 2007

I’m in a 15-passenger bus, headed back to town from a great day of…well, I guess I gave up on my great determination to avoid tourism and gave in for a day and... I took a tour package with my Norwegian friends to the Mayan ruins of Palenque, along with two impressive waterfalls—Misol-ha and Agua Azul.  It ended up being a great day and well worth the extra cash I spent to do it.

 The Mayan ruins could have been an illusion…the temple grounds, complex mazes of city, and the ruined Mayan homes were in the most dream-like exotic setting you could ever have imagined.

 Situated on the side of the mountains, surrounded by a thick rainforest, the “jungle palace” was dream-like, as the morning mist floated among its towers and temples.  It would be an understatement to say that the place I experienced this morning is one of the great marvels of Mexico.

  Next were the waterfalls.  “Cascada Misol-ha” was impressive but seemed to lose its natural appeal, thanks to the throngs of tourists who over-ran the grounds.

  After a short time there, we drove another hour to the most spectacular waterfalls I had ever seen, the “Cascadas Aguas Azules.”

 Incredible amounts of water tumbled continually over a wide line of rocks, forming a massive white wall, stretching many meters across.  The breathtaking sight made it easy to squander away several blissful hours near its myriad tropical pools.  A perfect day...a perfect life…

Tuesday, July 4, 2007

I am twenty hours into what will be a 40-hour final leg through the enormous country of Mexico.  The further we travel north, the more desert-like the terrain becomes.   The dusty outlines of a long mountain range fade off to the east as the orange sun prepares for its descent, leaving our bus alone on the drawn-out, single lane highway, to slowly inch our way toward the border of Texas. The further we drive into the reddening desert, away from the lush green countryside of Central America, the more I feel the land is reminding me of what I am leaving behind.

 Soon I will be back in Iowa, a normal student at the university,  and all this, which I have lived for the last seven months, will only seem like a dream…a very, very good dream.  I sit here, taken aback when I realize what this time has been, and am still in a slight sense of disbelief that it actually happened.   While I don’t know in this very moment just how, I can say I am a different person after it all. I can say that my whole perspective of reality is changed and I am thankful for it.  It has been said that two things pierce the human heart:  pain and beauty.  And if this is true, then Central America has left me lying on the ground, pierced from all sides, taken out by the blows.  The culture and the way of life have both challenged me by their strong bond and reverence.  The people have inspired me by their humility, work, and kindness. Yet, at the same time, I have felt the disillusionment heaped on by the people’s ever-present struggle with poverty.  Their power in unity has impressed me; their perseverance in belief has amazed me; their contentment despite adversity has inspired me, and their hospitality has spoiled me rotten.  The rich abundance of natural beauty is almost hypnotic and the possibilities of adventure within this small strip of land, endless.  And as with any culture, the good has always been in company with the bad.  I have seen how fear can cripple those who allow it to do its work; how war can impoverish an entire country, both physically and mentally, even years after its end; and finally, how passivity holds the potential of leaving an entire people without dreams or ambition, apart from eating, drinking, and dying.  I’ve seen how the Word of God has transformed lives and brought hope where there was nothing but seemingly impoverished futures.   I have met numerous people who have taken their call from God seriously, and truly are making a change around them.

All that being said, if you have had the chance to follow me along this journey for the last seven months, I hope you were able to experience a little of what I did through these pictures and writings.  I suppose my fierce dedication to the “xanga world” will really let up now that this trip is over, but thanks so much for all the encouraging comments and letters that many of you sent.  One part about this trip that has been a little difficult was not having any of my friends or family there to experience and share it all with…in some way, xanga has been a way to bring you all along with me, and for me to better express what I experienced.