Tales of Guate III: Off-Highway Robbery, Lockouts, Sloths, and Other Mischief
The cab drivers here never have change.
The biggest bill a passenger might have is 100 quetzales, which sounds like a lot but it actually amounts to about 13 bucks. The taxi drivers can't ever break it. I haven't quite made sense of this yet. They drive the taxi all day long and people are constantly paying them 25 or 30 quetzales for a ride, so youd think at the end of the day, theyd have a bunch of fives and such, but they never do. I have a friend who has a theory that they just like to hoard their sencillios, or small money, out of greed or principle. Today, a taxi driver actually took 5 quetzales less from me for a fare because I didnt have enough in small bills and he said he had no change for my larger one. I imagine, as he drove off, that he opened his glove compartment and stared with secret admiration at a hidden stash of tens wrapped tightly with a pink rubberband.
And if the cabbies never have change, then they have much in common with my luck.
Luck is one of those things that comes in big and strange doses. Bad luck, in particular, likes to make itself known and rarely trickles or sprinkles or tinkles. It just drops. And often, it just keeps dropping.
Finally when the parasites and fleas were gone and the bank account was back in order and life, for a moment, at least, was seeming somewhat stable, I decided to take my first vacation since I've been here -- off to Costa Rica to spend eight days in the rainforests and on the beaches. I planned to travel with another fellow, like myself, who was teaching in CR. We had met in DC right before our fellowships began, and had decided to spend Semana Santa the week of Easter exploring the treasures of Central America's most traveled nation. Yet, on day two, my traveling companion and I were robbed of everything we had. In her case, this included three hundred dollars in cash and two major credit cards and, in my case, equaled an unfortunately large quantity of possessions, which could be best described as some really good stuff.
We were robbed by three women, who pretended to be nurses, who broke into our hotel room, swiped all of our things, and made haste in a blue 4X4 getaway car. It was very quick and happened while we were in town. They stole the key from the front desk, and just wiped us out. No note or forwarding address. No Hey, we realized your favorite and only bathing suit is of absolutely no value to us, so we are leaving it for you folded neatly on your bed. No We've decided to leave you some toiletries in case you actually want to shower and smell good again. They just took it all, from my toothpaste to my underwear to my favorite summer clothes and sandals and jeans, and all of my prized REI gear. Years of clothing acquired just for traveling gone without a moment's notice, not to mention a new cell phone and my treasured Creative Zen Nano Plus Ipod-knock off, which Jen so lovingly programmed. If you have ever been robbed like this, you are probably familiar with the associated feelings of denial, shock, and pure mourning. It's strange, because it is all just stuff. And I really feel like I shouldnt have an attachment to stuff like such. And yet it felt like a small death somehow, followed by periods of deep sadness, attempts to fill the holes now left by this material lacking, and periodic dreams of my Nike sports sandals.
There's irony, too, in all of this. Costa Rica, also known as the land of "pura vida," is supposedly the safest country in Central America . I have been living, these past three months, in what is supposedly the most dangerous. So despite my constant minding of my security on the hard, cold streets of Guatemala City, I had to get robbed in a Costa Rican hotel, with a lock on the door, and only three other guests at the entire place who, unfortunately, had probably seen Thelma and Louise too many times.
We spent the first four of our eight glorious days in CR at the police station, the U.S. Embassy, and the godawful shopping malls of San Jose, the nation's capital, trying to replace what little we could. It was less than successful. What I did learn was that:
1) electric blue and baby pink are the only two colors of the season,
2) jeans are not considered a good fit here unless theyre giving you a massive wedgie and
3) it is morally, ethically, and fashionably unacceptable to live without sparkles, rhinestones, sequins, or cute little English-language slogans about what a naughty girl one is sprawled across ones bosom. Drowned by seas of spandex and thongs, and really bad shampoo choices, my mind was forced to drift toward strange fantasies of Crossroads, Target, H&M, and, dare I say, Macy's.
After the ordeal of reporting what had happened to the police (my Spanish is really improving -- now I know the words for fleas and thieves) and wasting money on poorly dyed threads, we spent the final four days traveling through the tourist-infested country warding off other potential thieves, crooks, and English-speaking con artists. After years of wanting to visit the land of "pura vida," I have to say that I prefer the dingy streets of Guatemala's Zona Viva. For one, though you still can get robbed in Guate, at least it will be in Spanish. And the crooks here are equal opportunity, meaning that they'll rob a local just as quickly as a non-local, perhaps because there are so few of us gringos residing here in the city.
The trip to Costa Rica wasn't a complete disaster. We did get to see the impressive Arenal volcano and do a canopy tour in Manuel Antonio, which was ridiculously fun (harnessed to a mid-air cable, you fly hundreds of feet above the forest from tree to tree). In Manuel Antonio, we stayed at a hotel that was obnoxiously expensive, I suspect, because of the added bonus of having enormous live crabs attempt to crawl through your air conditioner. Here, we also went to the National Park where I got to see a few sloth up close and personal, one even defecating, on the forest floor (apparently a rare treat.) In general, the movements of the sloth are slow as shit unless they actually have to do just that; then they really book from tree branch to tree trunk, eventually parking it on the dirt to have eight million tourists flash digital cameras in their faces while they are trying to take care of business. Sloth are not pretty creatures, but they sure can teach us a lesson about patience.
Guatemalans also teach us a lesson about patience, but in a slightly different way. Everyone here functions on what they call Chapin time, which means arriving at least 30 minutes late to everything, probably even their own births and funerals. For a teacher, it means that sometimes the class ends before it even begins. The embassy wants to know ways I can measure the progress of my students; my students want to know ways they can show up 30 minutes late, leave 20 minutes early, take a 15-minute break, and still get an A.
There is talk in the air about the possible extension of my position, but we are in a holding pattern at the moment, which is not surprising because it is the US government that would be forking over the money and we all know funds are low these days because tanks and machine guns and other big military playthings dont come cheap. I will keep you all posted, though it looks to me like either way I will be visiting the States in the June-July time period, 1) because I want to see everyone and 2) because I need to replace my backpack and my socks with the frogs and dogs and rabbits on them.
After all that has happened, you may be wondering why I am even considering an extension. The truth is that I feel, somehow, like I still havent accomplished what I set out to do here. A friend did ask me yesterday, however, if I knew the meaning of the expression "glutton for punishment." I avoided giving a direct answer.
Apartment and weather still continue to be pleasant, as do the friendships I've forged here, and I am always appreciative and wondrous of these things.
I live on the side of the building where the sun rises. That means I never get to see it set. I do, however, get to see a lot of fog , though it wafts only in the distance where the mountains claim to be, and rarely comes up and kisses my eighth floor wall of windows. Im still not sure which is better, fog hanging in the distance or clouding your immediate view. Either way, youre not seeing the whole picture, but when it lingers only in the distance, sometime you think you are.
Ellen was out here for 5 amazing days, in which we scaled an active volcano called Pacaya, which was actually roaring and shooting out bits of lava right in front of us (do not try this at home.) My mom was also here for a visit (we did NOT scale a volcano), during which we sojourned to a most remarkable luxury hotel in nearby Antigua , which was built from an old convent and contains several in-tact and totally creepy crypts right there on site. Back in Guate, on my mom's third night here, we had a particularly memorable experience as I decidedly locked us out of my apartment after an already exhausting day spent, in an effort to replace some of my belongings, pretending that we actually like to shop. (We, by the way, do not like to shop.) Embarrassing to say the very least, we were forced to spend the night in the local Marriot, which is in viewing distance of my apartment, sans toothbrushes or a change of clothes. In all fairness, it was only a week after I was robbed in CR and I was still somewhat mentally off-kilter. But then, I realize it has been some time since I have been mentally on-kilter. Perhaps if I knew what a kilter was, I could figure out how to finally climb aboard.
There is a saying here called lluve sobre mojado, which roughly means "rain over wet floor" which roughly means "enough already." The floor is wet, the rain continues damn, if only I had those Nike sport sandals.
I could go on, but I'd just as soon keep the few friends I have left, as I might need to call on you when I get thrown in jail (which just seems, somehow, like a logical progression of events.) Take care of yourselves, and keep the emails coming. I do love hearing about both the big and little events that are happening back home.
Big abrazos, Karen
The biggest bill a passenger might have is 100 quetzales, which sounds like a lot but it actually amounts to about 13 bucks. The taxi drivers can't ever break it. I haven't quite made sense of this yet. They drive the taxi all day long and people are constantly paying them 25 or 30 quetzales for a ride, so youd think at the end of the day, theyd have a bunch of fives and such, but they never do. I have a friend who has a theory that they just like to hoard their sencillios, or small money, out of greed or principle. Today, a taxi driver actually took 5 quetzales less from me for a fare because I didnt have enough in small bills and he said he had no change for my larger one. I imagine, as he drove off, that he opened his glove compartment and stared with secret admiration at a hidden stash of tens wrapped tightly with a pink rubberband.
And if the cabbies never have change, then they have much in common with my luck.
Luck is one of those things that comes in big and strange doses. Bad luck, in particular, likes to make itself known and rarely trickles or sprinkles or tinkles. It just drops. And often, it just keeps dropping.
Finally when the parasites and fleas were gone and the bank account was back in order and life, for a moment, at least, was seeming somewhat stable, I decided to take my first vacation since I've been here -- off to Costa Rica to spend eight days in the rainforests and on the beaches. I planned to travel with another fellow, like myself, who was teaching in CR. We had met in DC right before our fellowships began, and had decided to spend Semana Santa the week of Easter exploring the treasures of Central America's most traveled nation. Yet, on day two, my traveling companion and I were robbed of everything we had. In her case, this included three hundred dollars in cash and two major credit cards and, in my case, equaled an unfortunately large quantity of possessions, which could be best described as some really good stuff.
We were robbed by three women, who pretended to be nurses, who broke into our hotel room, swiped all of our things, and made haste in a blue 4X4 getaway car. It was very quick and happened while we were in town. They stole the key from the front desk, and just wiped us out. No note or forwarding address. No Hey, we realized your favorite and only bathing suit is of absolutely no value to us, so we are leaving it for you folded neatly on your bed. No We've decided to leave you some toiletries in case you actually want to shower and smell good again. They just took it all, from my toothpaste to my underwear to my favorite summer clothes and sandals and jeans, and all of my prized REI gear. Years of clothing acquired just for traveling gone without a moment's notice, not to mention a new cell phone and my treasured Creative Zen Nano Plus Ipod-knock off, which Jen so lovingly programmed. If you have ever been robbed like this, you are probably familiar with the associated feelings of denial, shock, and pure mourning. It's strange, because it is all just stuff. And I really feel like I shouldnt have an attachment to stuff like such. And yet it felt like a small death somehow, followed by periods of deep sadness, attempts to fill the holes now left by this material lacking, and periodic dreams of my Nike sports sandals.
There's irony, too, in all of this. Costa Rica, also known as the land of "pura vida," is supposedly the safest country in Central America . I have been living, these past three months, in what is supposedly the most dangerous. So despite my constant minding of my security on the hard, cold streets of Guatemala City, I had to get robbed in a Costa Rican hotel, with a lock on the door, and only three other guests at the entire place who, unfortunately, had probably seen Thelma and Louise too many times.
We spent the first four of our eight glorious days in CR at the police station, the U.S. Embassy, and the godawful shopping malls of San Jose, the nation's capital, trying to replace what little we could. It was less than successful. What I did learn was that:
1) electric blue and baby pink are the only two colors of the season,
2) jeans are not considered a good fit here unless theyre giving you a massive wedgie and
3) it is morally, ethically, and fashionably unacceptable to live without sparkles, rhinestones, sequins, or cute little English-language slogans about what a naughty girl one is sprawled across ones bosom. Drowned by seas of spandex and thongs, and really bad shampoo choices, my mind was forced to drift toward strange fantasies of Crossroads, Target, H&M, and, dare I say, Macy's.
After the ordeal of reporting what had happened to the police (my Spanish is really improving -- now I know the words for fleas and thieves) and wasting money on poorly dyed threads, we spent the final four days traveling through the tourist-infested country warding off other potential thieves, crooks, and English-speaking con artists. After years of wanting to visit the land of "pura vida," I have to say that I prefer the dingy streets of Guatemala's Zona Viva. For one, though you still can get robbed in Guate, at least it will be in Spanish. And the crooks here are equal opportunity, meaning that they'll rob a local just as quickly as a non-local, perhaps because there are so few of us gringos residing here in the city.
The trip to Costa Rica wasn't a complete disaster. We did get to see the impressive Arenal volcano and do a canopy tour in Manuel Antonio, which was ridiculously fun (harnessed to a mid-air cable, you fly hundreds of feet above the forest from tree to tree). In Manuel Antonio, we stayed at a hotel that was obnoxiously expensive, I suspect, because of the added bonus of having enormous live crabs attempt to crawl through your air conditioner. Here, we also went to the National Park where I got to see a few sloth up close and personal, one even defecating, on the forest floor (apparently a rare treat.) In general, the movements of the sloth are slow as shit unless they actually have to do just that; then they really book from tree branch to tree trunk, eventually parking it on the dirt to have eight million tourists flash digital cameras in their faces while they are trying to take care of business. Sloth are not pretty creatures, but they sure can teach us a lesson about patience.
Guatemalans also teach us a lesson about patience, but in a slightly different way. Everyone here functions on what they call Chapin time, which means arriving at least 30 minutes late to everything, probably even their own births and funerals. For a teacher, it means that sometimes the class ends before it even begins. The embassy wants to know ways I can measure the progress of my students; my students want to know ways they can show up 30 minutes late, leave 20 minutes early, take a 15-minute break, and still get an A.
There is talk in the air about the possible extension of my position, but we are in a holding pattern at the moment, which is not surprising because it is the US government that would be forking over the money and we all know funds are low these days because tanks and machine guns and other big military playthings dont come cheap. I will keep you all posted, though it looks to me like either way I will be visiting the States in the June-July time period, 1) because I want to see everyone and 2) because I need to replace my backpack and my socks with the frogs and dogs and rabbits on them.
After all that has happened, you may be wondering why I am even considering an extension. The truth is that I feel, somehow, like I still havent accomplished what I set out to do here. A friend did ask me yesterday, however, if I knew the meaning of the expression "glutton for punishment." I avoided giving a direct answer.
Apartment and weather still continue to be pleasant, as do the friendships I've forged here, and I am always appreciative and wondrous of these things.
I live on the side of the building where the sun rises. That means I never get to see it set. I do, however, get to see a lot of fog , though it wafts only in the distance where the mountains claim to be, and rarely comes up and kisses my eighth floor wall of windows. Im still not sure which is better, fog hanging in the distance or clouding your immediate view. Either way, youre not seeing the whole picture, but when it lingers only in the distance, sometime you think you are.
Ellen was out here for 5 amazing days, in which we scaled an active volcano called Pacaya, which was actually roaring and shooting out bits of lava right in front of us (do not try this at home.) My mom was also here for a visit (we did NOT scale a volcano), during which we sojourned to a most remarkable luxury hotel in nearby Antigua , which was built from an old convent and contains several in-tact and totally creepy crypts right there on site. Back in Guate, on my mom's third night here, we had a particularly memorable experience as I decidedly locked us out of my apartment after an already exhausting day spent, in an effort to replace some of my belongings, pretending that we actually like to shop. (We, by the way, do not like to shop.) Embarrassing to say the very least, we were forced to spend the night in the local Marriot, which is in viewing distance of my apartment, sans toothbrushes or a change of clothes. In all fairness, it was only a week after I was robbed in CR and I was still somewhat mentally off-kilter. But then, I realize it has been some time since I have been mentally on-kilter. Perhaps if I knew what a kilter was, I could figure out how to finally climb aboard.
There is a saying here called lluve sobre mojado, which roughly means "rain over wet floor" which roughly means "enough already." The floor is wet, the rain continues damn, if only I had those Nike sport sandals.
I could go on, but I'd just as soon keep the few friends I have left, as I might need to call on you when I get thrown in jail (which just seems, somehow, like a logical progression of events.) Take care of yourselves, and keep the emails coming. I do love hearing about both the big and little events that are happening back home.
Big abrazos, Karen
posted by Karen Macklin at 1:01 AM
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