The Selva

Despite the various bug bites, having my mole mistaken as a bug on my face, sleeping under a musky mosquito net, parasites in our tap water, cockroaches and frogs in our room, and the unknown rashes on my body, the jungle was an experience of a lifetime.

Wilson and I spent 5 days and 4 nights in Cuyobeno, a part of the Amazon jungle outside of Quito. The first night we got there, we went on an evening night tour. Unfortunately, we didn´t see much due to the rain. However, when we returned back, we saw a tarantula on the roof of one of the huts. This was the first time, I had ever seen a tarantula outside of a glass case. I thought I would have been freaked out but the tarantula, well, was a tarantula.

We saw a number of exotic animals that made this trip worthwhile. On our second day, we were pleasantly surprised to see an anaconda resting in a tree during our canoe ride. We also saw finger monkeys (you can literally put these things in your pocket), toucans from a distance, birds that looked like turkeys, spiders and ants of all shapes and sizes, a gigantic grass hopper, jungle cock roaches, a dart frog that is poisonous, and various other insects. It was also interesting to see how all the rich vegetation throughout the jungle.

The guide pointed out that the wooly and holler monkeys are often hunted for their meat because it “tasted just like beef” (not chicken!). Unfortunately, we did not try any of these monkeys during our meals in the jungle.

On the food front, Wilson was brave enough to eat some mini ants that apparently tasted like lemons. And the guide had everyone try this type of plant that he claimed would whiten your teeth. We questioned why indigenous people would want to whiten their teeth (isn't this more of a modern-day thing)? After he had us chew on a piece of plant for a couple seconds, he had us all stick out our tongue to see if it was blue. Unfortunately, no one in our group except for one gal and the guide had a blue tongue. I guess that was interesting...It was the chlorophyll in the plant that caused this reaction.

The guide also showed us a tree that was used to treat malaria in the jungle. You are supposed to boil the bark and drink it twice during the day to help cure this disease. Fortunately, none of us had to drink the potion!

We also visited a “shaman” (also known as a medicine man). We ate our boxed lunches at his house but unfortunately, he was not home to cure our bad spirits or sicknesses. So we went over to an indigenous community to meet some of the local folks and meet another medicine man who is 90 years old and in awesome shape. Unfortunately, he was a retired medicine man so he wasn't able to see us for remedies but instead, he showed us how the city yucca was harvested in his community.

On our last day in the jungle, we canoed upstream to the lake in a 5-man canoe. Canoeing is a lot harder than one may think. It took us nearly two hours to go upstream to the lake, which takes a mere 15 minutes in a motorized canoe. Our treat was we got to jump out of a tree into the lake.

This was definitely a trip we would take again. We saw a lot of different jungle things, met a number of great people and really enjoyed the overall experience.

Comings and Goings

After a brief respite in San Francisco for the funeral of Agnes's Great Uncle Francis, who passed away at 97, we're back in Ecuador.

We'll finally be off to the Amazon tomorrow for a week and then the Galapagos the week after. In the past few weeks, we've been working on our still horrible Spanish and just bumming around the city of Quito.

A few folks have inquired about the guinea pigs here, which are considered sort of an Andean delicacy. As mentioned in our previous posts, we did finally have some cuy, as its called here. Cuy is not really something people eat on a regular basis and many folks consider the consumption of a guinea pig to be no more appetizing than eating a rat. And it's a traditional cuisine of indigenous folks in the mountains. That said, it is still widely available in Finer Ecuadorian restaurants.

My cuy was served whole and deep fried. Much to my surprise, the meat was quite tender and moist. I had thought before that it might be sort of dry, like many rabbits I've eaten, but the texture and quality of the flesh was consistently inviting in a way that I suppose is only possible in a small animal, which likely cooks evenly.

The meat itself tasted like sort of a gamey chicken. Unfortunately, the batter on the outside of the carcass was very thick and overwhelmed the delicate flavor of the flesh. In fact, much of the cuy tasted a lot like pollo campero chicken, if you've ever had that (Pollo Campero is the KFC of Guatemala, though though are now opening franchises in the US). I would have enjoyed the meal more if I had had some buffalo wing sauce some ranch dressing on the side.

If I try cuy again, I´ll have it baked.


In other news, I got into a minor scuffle in a bar in Quito here. Every year, the streets in the capital fill with drunken revelers to celebrate the founding of the city. Our area, Mariscal Sucre, is especially chaotic with street stages pumping out live music all night for a week straight and people peeing all over sidewalk since they don´t supply nearly enough porta potties (I think I saw two). It´s like New Years Eve for a week straight.

Anyway, on Friday, at the peak of the festivities, some folks in a bar all started beating on our Ecuadorian friend, who is a former teacher at our school. I got the chance to rear back and really unload a series of rights into the skull of some poor fellow. I originally was just trying to hold him back from beating on Jorge, our buddy, but he wouldn´t stop coming, so I just beat him to the ground. I don´t think I´ve had such a pure moment of clarity in a long, long time, just unleashing maybe eight or ten shots with the full force of my weight into his head. I felt like Mike Tyson! (when he was younger and faster). Afterwards, my knuckles were quite sore. While beating on this guy, some knucklehead busted a bottle on my head.
The amazing thing was that it didn`t even hurt! Two things were working in my favor here, first, whoever hit me, was nice enough to do so on what must be the hardest part of my head, and second, I was wearing a bandana (which I rarely do, but some beer girls were passing them out), which prevented a gash from opening up on my scalp.

I´m not sure what precipitated the whole fracas but I believe Jorge was probably just hitting on the wrong girl. Before I got to engage the guy who blindsided me with a bottle, I got pulled away and we continued our festivities in another discoteca. The whole thing was actually pretty amusing, no one got hurt, and I found out that I must have a really hard head, which is not the type of discovery you make except under very specific circumstances.

Post fight, I´ve been asking a lot of people about bar fights here. People seem to fight a lot here when they drink. While I haven´t encountered any stats on the subject I have asked a few people about the frequency of such occurrences, and the consensus is that about 50% of guys in bars fight about once a year. One guy I talked to last night said he hates fighting but gets caught up in them just ´cause they happen. He dislikes the fact that most bar fights aren´t one on one. It all recalls an odd conversation I had with my Spanish teacher here when I first arrived in Quito. She thought it was highly unusual that I don´t fight in bars and that I hadn´t been in a scuffle since like third grade. I told her that I was just a little guy and there`s no upside in beating on a little guy.

Anyway, I don´t plan to getting into any more brawls, but considering that bar fights are quite common here, I`ll chalk it up as an Ecuadorian cultural experience.

Otavalo, Peleas de Gallos and More...

Wilson and I have been in Quito, Ecuador, for approximately 3 or so weeks now. And last weekend, we went to a little city North of Quito, Otavalo, which is known for its mercado (market) with tons of artesanías, animals (and typically not for pets) and crap. We had a great $2.50 lunch with pig and corn at the market, and of course, I bought some crap. After the mercado, we went to Cotacachi, known for their leather, and we both bought some stuff (not crap) for ourselves. More exciting, though, on Saturday evening, we went to our first “peleas de gallos” (cock fights).
As we all know, Wilson is fascinated with chickens (see entry on killing a chicken).

As the taxi cab was taking us up to this random, quiet, crooked street outside of Otavalo, I began to feel a little nervous. I knew this street wasn't frequented by tourists like us. When we arrived at this random, dark house on top of the hill, I was even more nervous. We kindly asked the taxi driver if it was easy to get a taxi back. He assured us that we should not have a problem finding a cab back.

We walked through this little man-made-cut-hole in a fence and was not sure what to expect. We saw something that resembled an arena and walked in. As soon as we walked in, everyone (all locals) turned and stared at us (now I know how the animals feel in the zoo). I, being my paranoid self, felt very uncomfortable. We had a beer at dinner so my nerves, although not completely calm, were a bit in check. We stared into the arena, not sure what was going on. There was no fight but merely 15 to 20 men in groups in the center with their gallos (chickens). I finally got the nerve to ask two locals “que paso?” The two kind locals, Pablo and not sure what the other guy's name was, told us that they were determining which chickens would fight each other. They where weighing the chickens by holding them by their legs. I guess it's kind of the same as wrestling, the UFC and boxing...the two with the same weight would fight each other.

After the decisions were made on who would fight who, a sharp razor was tied and burned with wax onto the chickens' patas (feet). I don't think this hurt the chickens since they didn't make any noise.

At last, a whistle was blown. The referee (assuming he was the ref although he wasn't in uniform like in the States), would set a large white clock to 8:46 or 8:47. If I understood correctly, the fights lasts for 12 minutes and a winner was determined when one of the chickens couldn't fight anymore.

The first fight began and I was afraid there would be a lot sangre (blood) everywhere but to my surprise, there was not much blood nor much noise (the chickens made more noise before the fight than during). I think there was a lot of blood but we couldn't tell because of the chicken's plumas (feathers). Although the fights weren't as violent or vicious as I thought, I was still sad when one of the chickens couldn't fight anymore (he'd merely put his head down on the ground), and the other won. How sad. The owner would take the chicken that lost and make make sure the chicken spat out the blood. Yuck.

We watched about 3 to 4 fights, and although interesting, weren't as excited as we thought it would be. We decided to try to call a cab from the store next door. When we arrived at the store, to our dismay, one of the guys at the store told us that they didn't have a phone (are you serious???). Anyway, don't remember exactly what happened next but what I do remember is that one of his aunts started giving Wilson and I shots of this local liquor made of sugar cane, through their metal door that separated them and us. It was good, sweet and not very strong, I think. The guy (see photo) said that unfortunately they didn't have a phone so they couldn't call a cab. Instead, he said one of the ladies in the arena had a car and worked nearby where we were staying, so she would give us a ride. Good ole locals! After some commotion, he said she wasn't ready to give us a ride, or something like that.

Anyway, after about 20 minutes or so they let us into their store, through the metal gate. We drank with them, talked, laughed and tried to understand everything that was said. The guy (nephew of the aunt) even proposed that Wilson become his son's padrino (God Father). Although he might have been joking, I think there was some truth to he wanting Wilson to be his God Father. Unfortunately, I had to break the news that he was not Catholic.

After about 2 hours, although the aunt kept saying it was dangerous for us to leave, we insisted that we had to leave. The guy walked (actually we ran because he said the street was dangerous) us to his house and he called us a cab.



What a great experience. Although I have to say I was scared s***less when we got there and alittle after the fights, it was all well worth it.

First Impressions of Ecuador

Off to Ecuador in Four Days

Just a short update entry.

After three months in Antigua, we are ready to move on...

We leave for Quito, Ecuador on Thursday, Oct. 30, arriving on Halloween Day. The little I/we know about Ecuador is quite promising. Ecuador has nearly everything you can ask for in a country about the size of Colorado, including a modern-day city, Quito, the Andes, the jungle, and the Galapagos Islands.

Wilson and I will study more spanish in Quito and travel around the country, including the Galapagos Islands. We'll update more upon on arrival.

Thugs and Buses

Well it's been nearly three months since we arrived here in Antigua and while our Spanish still stinks, at least we can muscle our way through the daily papers here. One item I've been following with equal parts horror and fascination is the saga of blood and violence that plays out routinely on the public bus system in Guatemala City.

Not surprisingly, after enduring a 36-year old civil war, the country suffers from a rash of problems that affect developing nations: extreme poverty, corruption, and crime. But while a certain amount of street crime can be expected anywhere, the delinquency here is at its worst in history. The police force is undermanned, underpaid, and according to most people you talk to, thoroughly corrupt. When locals encounter cops here on the street, they cross to the other side. Frequently, police are paid by gangs so that they can continue robbing folks in the street. It is very rare that criminals are brought to justice. Guatemala has a per capita murder rate roughly eight times that of the US, a figure that in and of itself is difficult to conceptualize in a concrete manner. But of the roughly 6,000 murders reported each year, roughly 2% result in jail time, showing that criminals are rarely brought to justice.

The best example of how crime infects the daily existence of Guatemaltecans is the public bus system in Guatemala City. According to the Association of Urban Transport Companies here, an average of 8,000 people get robbed everyday in the city transit system. With a daily ridership of 1,000,000, this suggests that if you ride the bus to work everyday, say 240 times a year, statistically speaking, you can expect to be robbed approximately 1.9 times annually. When discussing this figure with locals, they actually feel like it may be low.

Typically three to four kids will board and demand that the vehicle drive around until all money, cell phones and anything of value from all passengers is handed over. This occurs between 200 and 300 times daily in the capital, or at least one incident for every 15 buses in the city (If you count only the buses operating on a daily basis, the figure is even higher). Of course some bus routes are better than others, but in general people just don't wear jewelry, use cheap cell phones and obviously carry as little cash as possible. What cash they do carry is often hidden in different places all over their body.

And the next time you complain about your daily commute, think of the poor passengers who got robbed twice on the same bus. I'm not sure how often this happens, but I saw an article about an incident two years back when everyone was robbed at gunpoint and then were robbed again seven blocks later by a another group of thugs. Of course they didn't have anything left to give away so the kids just insulted the passengers for an hour or so and threatened to rape a couple people but finally ended up leaving empty-handed.

Armed robberies occur with such frequency that they rarely make the news unless a gunfight breaks out, or if someone is stabbed or raped, which thankfully doesn't happen as often, but still does occur with alarming frequency.

But even worse than being a passenger, driving a bus in the city has turned into one of the most dangerous occupations in the country. This year, the nation has had 255 drivers and fare collectors murdered while working (buses here are a two-man team, with a driver and 'ayudante' or fare collector). 40 drivers have been gunned down in the city, meaning that statistically speaking, 1 out of every 73 buses in the capital have had a driver murdered on the job in first nine and a half months of the year. Like the vast majority of businesses in Guatemala City, buses are forced to pay gang taxes in order to operate. This tax varies depending on the route but ranges generally between 50 and 100 quetzales per diem, or between roughly $7 and $14. If a drivers fails to pay, he risks a bullet to the head. This is also true for the fare collectors, who are routinely shot as well. Certain companies have threatened to stop service until a police officer is assigned full time to each bus. (Note that the buses here, while publicly accessible, are run by private companies). Other companies have had their buses strafed by moto-riding gunmen when failing to pay their taxes and other forms of extortion.

With the authorities powerless against the wave of crime here, folks have been taking things into their own hands. One incident that illustrates with vivid clarity the dramatic manner in which justice can play out occurred a couple of weeks ago in the town of San Pedro Yepocapa, which is about two hours from where we're staying. One evening, a bus was robbed by four gunmen, which isn't that unusual, but four women were also taken from the bus and raped in a coffee plantation. Two of the victims were minors.

Not surprisingly, the neighborhood was in an uproar and gathered to seek revenge on the perpetrators. But when they sought help from the police, they found that the personnel on duty were all drunk. In frustration, they burned down the police station. Afterwards, they found one of the robber/rapists and beat him until he revealed the identities of his accomplices. While being clubbed, he also admitted that the guns were borrowed from the police (many of whom are widely reputed to moonlight as criminals or rent out their weapons). Then the kid was given a final beating and killed in front of an audience of hundreds in the town square.

Public lynching is not super common in Guatemala, but there is a little more than one occurrence every other week or so. In the latest incident, two teenagers were clubbed and burned to death, while yesterday, two kids who had just shot a tuk-tuk driver were beaten and doused with gasoline before the authorities rescued them from certain doom.

While Agnes and I have ventured into the city only a handful of times (Guatemala City is about 45 mins. from Antigua) – once to the city's fantastic zoo, we generally take taxis once we're there. Not surprisingly, the locals we know generally take buses in the city as a last resort as well. The absence of security manifests itself in a zillion other ways even in tourist friendly Antigua, but it basically just comes down to people taking measures to protect themselves (armed guards in front of retail establishments, security bars everywhere (even sometimes between you and the server in an ice cream shop)). But until really getting into it, I sort of thought that all the advice we got about avoiding the city bus system were exaggerated warnings of the type all tourists get at one time or another, but after doing a little digging, I think this counsel is well worth heeding.

While I will concede an almost morbid fascination with the violence on the bus system, what would really be something to witness is the manner in which the epidemic of crime is finally contained, if ever. The nation faces so many other grim realities that are intertwined with delinquency that it's hard to see things truly improving for some time.

The chief of Police was recently replaced (by the first woman to ever hold the position) and she fired hundreds of officers and department heads for corruption. And if she can be successful in eradicating the culture of corruption and laziness in the national police force, it will be a great first step. And the current president is promising to nearly triple the size of the police department. But since the end of the civil war in 1996, Guatemala has never had confidence in the honesty of its national police.

There are frequent calls to employ the army to reinforce the nation's efforts against crime but they are undermanned and ill-equipped to handle such a task in a comprehensive manner either, since the size of the army was radically reduced as part of the peace accords to end the war. The army was responsible for a tremendous number of human rights abuses and atrocities during the conflict. And while an improved economy and increased opportunity for the poor would do wonders for the security situation, this is virtually impossible to achieve when people are so fearful for their physical safety. So while I tell my teachers here that I'd love to come back someday and safely ride a city bus, I'm not sure when that will be.

Another Week in Antigua

We just ended our eleventh week in Antigua with another 3 or so weeks to go. Our original plan was to stay here for 3-4 weeks but that has quickly turned into 2-3 months. In any case, we feel this is a good opportunity for us to really improve our Spanish before moving on to the other countries. I, Agnes, have to admit I'm getting a bit bored of this little town. However, I know this is one of those few opportunities we'll ever get in our lifetimes to receive one-on-one Spanish instruction for a mere $4.50 an hour. Try to beat that in the US.

And for these $4.50/hr lessons, I have learned many helpful words/phrases, some of which I'll share below:

1. Ciruela pasa: Prunes
* Yo tengo problemas... Donde estas la ciruela pasas?
I have problems...where are the prunes.
This goes without saying I encounter digestion problems when I travel, and just recently found this word to be helpful, and also I just like the word.

2. Gallo: A local beer (cereveza, not chicken)
* Nosotros queremos una litre de Gallo.
We want a liter of Gallo.

3. Bombas: Firecrackers
* Que es aquel ruido?
What is that noise?
The typical response is: “It's firecrackers.” Firecrackers are set-off throughout the day from 6 a.m. in the morning, which is not amusing for neither Wilson nor I, to the late evenings in celebration of birthdays, random Saint holidays, Independence Day, etc.

4. Bano: Bathroom (I think this one is obvious)

5. Cafe con leche aparte: Coffee with the milk separate
Much of the cafe con leche here is milk with a little coffee. Therefore it has been helpful for us to learn how to order black coffee with the milk on the side.

6. Miedo vs Mierdo: Scared vs Shit
When I first got here, I use to say "Yo tengo mierdo," trying to say "I was scared" (of getting words wrong, for instance). However, I quickly learned I was saying "I have shit." I can just now say it without the R: MIEDO.

More Random Updates
The weather here has been very wet. As a matter of fact, tonight (Wednesday, 9/30), we had some major thunder showers throughout the day, flooding some of the central streets. I saw a bus and several Tuk Tuks (little cars like bicycles, only with a covers and three wheels rather than two) get stuck in the flood.

Wilson and I also ate at a phenomenal Italian restaurant for the first time in Guatemala. The food is not bad here for what it is (beans, vegetables and rice) but it definitely is not something we'd crave back in the States. I think Wilson mentioned in an earlier entry that our house mom is a wonderful cook, and I'll have to second that motion. But many of the restaurants we've been to have been very disappointing. Fortunately, tonight we were pleasantly surprised by this little Italian restaurant “EL PUNTO.” The restaurant is advertised in a local magazine “Que Pasa” as the only Italian restaurant in Antigua with homemade pasta. Skeptical of self-promoting ads and based on our previous experiences, we did not have high-expectations for the food. But to our surprise, the pasta was al dente, delicious and definitely homemade. As a matter of fact, this was some of the best pasta I've ever tasted (on par with the ones in SF). Although the wine was a bit flat and tasteless, I have to say the pasta made up for the wine!

Before dinner, we went to a lecture on Gang Violence in Guatemala at a local cafe, owned by an ex-pat (I think), Rainbow Cafe. The lecture was held by Juan Carlos, a director of a local non-profit organization that helps troubled youths and ex-members of gangs fit into society. He briefly explained how some of the major gangs in Guatemala were started in the early 80s, during the Civil War, with the original members in Los Angeles. His organization has helped over 600 troubled youths and ex-gang members find normal lives in local communities. He also explained how parts of Guatemala, especially in the Capital, are controlled by major gang and their activities. Juan also explained that in this country (or just in the capital of Guatemala, I forgot) there are nearly 15 deaths a day, the same number as the people getting killed in Iraq and other war-driven countries. Wilson (and possibly I since I like to follow) was interested in volunteering at this non-profit organization but unfortunately the offices are only located in the Capital (Guatemala City) in a pretty dangerous Zona (district) and a little town about two hours from Antigua. Since neither of these two options appealed to us, we may just donate to this cause.

Semuc Champey

After many weeks of hiding out in Antigua, learning Spanish and not updating our blog, we've decided to come back from the dead.

Two weekends ago, we took our third “side trip” outside of Antigua (Volcan Pacaya and Guatemala City were the other two). We went with a group of nice Swiss girls who all had randomly met in Antigua. We went to Semuc Champey, a hidden town several hours outside of Copan.

We left late Friday evening and hit some traffic going through Guatemala City. This was a special weekend for the chapinos (local Guatemalans) since it was a weekend before their Independence Day on Monday, Sept. 15. Every year, during this time, local schools hold a racing event simply called the “Torch Run” where groups of kids run with their schools into their city, with one kid holding a torch. Traffic is held up as groups of kids run in front of a bus, with lines of cars following – and our car being one (imagine this in the States). Since there are more than just a few schools in town, you can imagine how many groups of kids are running during this weekend and what it does to traffic.

Anyway, after about six hours on the road, with lovely greenery almost the entire way there, we arrived in Copan, in search for our hotel. The agency that booked our hotel actually got this hotel out of the yellow pages, so Wilson and I had no idea what to expect. However, when we arrived at the hotel, we were delightfully surprised to find that for a 22-dollar-a-night hotel, this place was not bad. I believe it was called the Bosque Hotel. After washing up and some dinner, we hit the sack in hopes of a wild day tomorrow at Semuc Champey.

The ride to Semuc Champey was over two hours off the beaten track. After some very steep, rocky and windy turns, our driver got us all there safely.

When we arrived at Semuc Champey, we were greeted with a bunch of kids selling chocolate chip cookies, chocolate and other random items. Of course you couldn't help but feel sorry for them. We promised to buy some (chocolate chip cookies) later.

We trekked through the hills of Semuc Champey and made it halfway up to the “mirador,” a place where you could see the waterfall from the top of the mountain. More than half the group didn't want to go up and the other half didn't care so the choice was to go back down. Wilson was one of the first ones to hit the water and the rest of the girls, including me, were a bit skeptical to go in.

I (and as many of the other women I was with) felt very uncomfortable going into the water with our bikinis. I learned from my teacher later that many locals do not wear “ropa de bano” (also known as bathing suits in English) when they go into public water. Instead many of the women go into the water with their shirts and shorts on. As a matter of fact, we saw several women go in fully clothed. So, we (the ladies with Wilson as the guard) went into the water all together, disrobing our shirts and shorts nearby the water.

The water was cool and very refreshing. I (Agnes) was somehow a bit nervous when I jumped into the deeper parts of the pool (6 feet but still...). Not sure why I was scared but after some getting use to, I was fine.

As we were leaving the park, we bought two pieces of what we thought were chocolate chip cookies. To Wilson's surprise, the 'cookie' was hard, bitter and tasteless. He soon found out this 'cookie' was actually chocolate used to make hot chocolate (pretty random to be selling in front of a park on a hot day). As such, I gave mine to a little kid that was selling his services to hold your water cooler while you trekked down the mountain.

After we all had enough sun and water, we decided to head over to “Lanquin” - a nearby cave that houses thousands of bats. You can see from the photos, that there are many interesting, natural rock formations that have formed over the years (frog, tiger, etc.).
Unfortunately, we only saw one loner bat in the cave, as we arrived too early to catch the bats come back home. Typically it's recommended that you arrive right at sunset to witness all the bats flying home. Que lastima!

We headed back to our hotel in Copan after the caves. Since lunch was a bit light, we all washed up quickly and went back to the one-and-only restaurant in front of the hotel. I ordered this grilled chicken shish kabab and Wilson also ordered some chicken thing that was pretty dry. Before I finished my meal, the kind waiter brought us an extra chicken shish kabob, gratis (free). I tried a piece and insisted that Wilson try some since it was extremely soft and juicy. When there was one piece of chicken left, I noticed that it was not fully cooked (a bit red on the inside). I kept my fingers crossed that everything would be fine for the two of us tomorrow.

The next day, Wilson woke up complaining about flu-like symptoms. He knew immediately he had a slight case of food poisoning. Unfortunately, we had six or more hours ahead of us in a car on some windy roads so I knew the ride home for him would not be pleasant.

After we all packed into the shuttle, we stopped at a Bird Sanctuary before going home. Wilson was obviously not up to the hike so it was just the Swiss gals, the driver and me. Although the hike was quite pleasant and easy, we did not see a single bird. We did, however, see a nice small water fall at the top of the mountain.

On the way home, we hit yet more traffic with a land slide that occurred Friday evening and more torch runners running into Guatemala City and Antigua. I felt bad for Wilson since he was really beginning to feel dizzy, nausea and altogether awful.

We finally arrived in Antigua after about 5-6 hours on the road. We walked home and Wilson went straight to bed.

Overall, this was a nice trip but given the long-drive, bad traffic and food poisoning, perhaps we should have stayed in town to watch the Patriots beat the Jets.

And you will be happy to know that Wilson's appetite is back to normal and he's doing fine.

Dressing a Chicken

It's been some time since we've updated our Blog as we've been hunkered down studying. Our apologies for those of you who've been waiting at the edge of your seat. I, Wilson, also came down with a nasty bit of food poisoning last weekend.

Onward...
A few weeks ago we killed and dressed our first live chicken!

For about three weeks, we were fortunate to be in the company of Marta, a sweet gal from South Carolina who was in town brushing up on her Spanish grammar. She is currently teaching deaf children in El Salvador on a church mission. In addition to being able to sign and speak Spanish, she also an expert at killing and cleaning chickens. Her family in the States raises broilers and can house more than 200,000 at one time. So before she left, she was kind enough to impart her knowledge about this valuable skill to me. Three other missionaries lived at the house.

It's not imperative in this day and age to be able dress your own chicken, especially when we live in San Francisco. But oddly enough, one night Agnes and I discovered that we were the only folks at the dinner table never to have done so. All the missionaries had, and our house mother does it with some frequency. One of the missionaries, Karlyn, hunts for most of his meat near his home in Oregon. In fact, he hunts elk with a bow. After a successful hunt, he and his hunting partners will field dress the carcass and hump the meat out of the woods on their backs. He is also good with a rifle. Ranchers in Oregon sometimes struggle with coyote attacks on their cattle and allow hunters to hunt them on their land. Karlyn will often take out a coyote from 400 yards.

Anyway, feeling a little left out, we decided to exploit the expertise of our roommates. Our house mother, Hilda, I'm sure was happy to get the night off since I'd offered to cook. She was also kind enough to show me the best place in the market to purchase a bird I think she thought it was a little odd that I wanted to slaughter a chicken in her house. Also, upon hearing that we were simply making a soup out of it, she remarked that we should just buy a dead one (to take full advantage of a fresh chicken, I think you should roast it, but I thought it would be easier to feed a bunch of people with chicken soup).

Buying a chicken wasn't difficult but we did go sort of late in the day, and had to choose between the last two chickens in the market, which cost 50 Quetzales, or about $7. Hilda said I got ripped off and should not have been charged more than 40 or 45. But since we got to market so late in the afternoon and not much was left, I had no choice but to cough up the extra 5Q.

I suppose one reason chickens have been domesticated is that they are so calm. I thought perhaps after purchase, that I would be supplied with a carrier or box or something, but they just tie up the feet and you carry it home in your hands. The animal displayed no signs of alarm when being carried upside down by its feet, as if this were the preferred method of transport. That said, Hilda thought it better that I carry it right side up by it's wings. Not sure if this was for the chicken's comfort or mine. Once home, we tied it too a post and gave it some water. I asked if we should feed it since we weren't eating it until the next day, but was told that it's actually better not too feed it since it will just result in more shit to clean.

Killing and dressing a chicken is a really easy thing. You can either break its neck with your hands in one swift motion, or lop its head off. I chose the latter. Hilda thought that twisting the head of the chicken was cleaner but another of the missionaries offered that sometimes you aren't sure if it's really dead. Her cousin was dressing a chicken once and it came to life again when she was soaking it to remove the feathers.

Anyway, to lop its head off, Marta held the feet, I stretched its neck out and Agnes took pictures. One of my primary goals was to offer the bird a swift and painless death, as I think it's the least you can do for an animal you're about to eat. Unfortunately, I think I failed. My knife was a little on the dull side, and fearing that I'd chop off my own hand rather than the chicken's head, I took kind of a gingerly whack at it. And then another, and then I actually sort of ended up sawing the poor bird's head off while it flopped about in the sink. It's unclear to me how much of the flopping was done while the bird was alive and how much while dead, though I'm certain much of the struggling occurred after the head had been more or less removed (save for a few stringy bits). I considered letting the carcass run around a spell but I didn't want to muck up Hilda's kitchen.

Afterwards I held the bird upside down (the same way I carried it home) to let it drain. This doesn't take long since there's surprisingly little blood in a chicken. Then you soak it in hot water to loosen the feathers. These are easily removed and then you're left with something that more or less looks like it came from Safeway (though still with feet). To remove the innards, you make a small horizontal incision near it's bunghole and then just tear out everything on the inside with your hands. Marta helped me discern the useful bits from the waste. For instance, we saved the heart, liver and gizzard and discarded the intestines and a lot of gloopy purple stuff she was unable to identify. I never thought I'd say this but tearing the guts out of a freshly killed bird with your bare hands feels exactly like you'd think it would. Once you've done this and chopped off the feet (which we saved for the soup), you're all set to prepare whatever way you normally would.

One thing I do have to mention is that a bird looks a good deal larger with its feathers. In fact, I believe the chicken I killed must have been the smallest bird I've ever eaten. So if you plan on killing and eating a chicken, I suggest you buy a larger animal than you think you'll need.

In the end, we boiled the chicken with some vegetables and made an ok soup. I think with enough salt and pepper, anything can taste good.
Agnes also made cookies that I think went over even better than the chicken.

It should be noted that most people in Antigua do not dress their own chickens. They buy theirs at the market like most people we know (though the chickens are usually recently killed – save for the american imported chickens which come frozen). So killing a chicken wasn't one of those “When in Rome...” kinds of cultural experiences. But it just so happened that I lived two blocks from a market where live chickens are sold in a house where animals are occasionally slaughtered and we were in the company of an expert chicken cleaner. Clearly this was an opportunity not to be missed. I like the idea of better understanding where my food comes from and how it looks as it's being prepared for my dinner. Perhaps one day we'll be able to kill a boar and make prosciutto.

Little Differences

Click (or copy and paste the link into your Internet browser) to view more random photos from Antigua
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=32387&l=7ff63&id=545832350


Mercado

The “mercado” in Antigua is held every Monday, Thursday and Saturday. During these three days, you can find hundreds of vendors selling anything from beef, eggs, dried beans, fruit and vegetables to live chickens, underwear and mosquito repellent. During these three days, many locals (and foreigners) go to the “mercado” to get the best bargain for their shopping needs. Just the other day, we bought over 3 pounds of oranges for under a dollar (and toilet paper for 40 cents). It definitely beats Walmart!

Horses

We don't know a lot about horses nor do we ride them frequently. However, one obvious difference we noticed immediately is that horses here wear diapers (see photo). The diapers are made of corn or rice bags and hang directly under the horse's butt. We think this is a great idea and should be adopted in the US.


Toilet paper

The toilet paper here feels and acts the same but there is a one major difference: we can't toss toilet paper into the (toilet) bowl. Unfortunately, the pipes are not designed to process (toilet) paper so it must be thrown into a trash can. Although this was a hard concept for me (Agnes) to grasp at first, it's simply business as usual now. Que lastima!

Bugs

There are lots, especially mosquitoes and flies. Sometimes I wish I studied bugs and insects so I'd know how to keep the mosquitoes off. I've also seen (and continue to see) some of the largest cockroaches in my lifetime. Sorry the photo is awful but I typically do not have my camera when I encounter one.

Relationships

Just through sheer observation, we've noticed that more Guatemalan men here date foreign women. We have yet to see a Guatemalan woman with a foreign man. Not sure why that is but what we do know is that women tend to be more reserved here, since it's a very small town and word travels fast.

A Day in Antigua

Although some of our time here in Antigua is to observe and soak in the new culture, we've probably spent the bulk of our time just studying and living life as a student (despite what the photo suggests).

A typical day for us is as such:

Every morning, except Sundays, and when we don't want breakfast, we are woken up by a knock and jingle: “desayuno” (which means breakfast) by the cleaning lady. This means breakfast is ready and time for us to start our day. We'll struggle out of bed, put on layers of clothing so we are not bitten by mosquitoes during breakfast and head over to the dining room.

After breakfast, we head off to class for our first four hours of Spanish. Fortunately, class is held just across the street at our neighbor's patio. Although it is very convenient for us, there are several amusing aspects about having class here. First, the house is located right next to a tannery, a place where they make leather, so we are blessed every day with wild scents of dead animals. During our first week, I thought it was the parrot and canaries giving off these foul odors but I soon found out the smell was from next door. You have to love leather.

At 12 pm, we head back home, At approximately 12:15 or so, we get another knock and “almuerzo” (lunch). Almuerzo is typically the largest meal of the day in Guatemala. If we are served meat, this is typically the meal where it's served. We head off to class after lunch for an additional two hours (of Spanish conversation). Although we find it helpful, you can imagine how challenging it can be sometimes to find an interesting conversation for two full hours.

After class, we either study at a cafe or go to the gym.

(Although this week we've discontinued our additional two hours of Spanish in the afternoon for additional studies, and hopefully more blog entries.)

Approximately 6:15 pm, we receive one last knock and “cena” (dinner). Dinner typically consists of vegetables, frijoles, rice or pasta.

We have frequented some bars and clubs here, although, I (Agnes) still find it a bit unnerving to walk around in the dark with just the two of us. I'm getting use to it though. We will go out typically on Fridays and Saturdays, if at all.

Last Friday, we went to a local dance club “Sin Ventura.” As you can see from the photo(s), we had a great time. This is a bar/club where many locals (also known as 'Guatamaltecans') and tourists frequent. We went with several of our friends from school and met some locals as well.

As a side bar, here's some studying tips we (or at least, I, Agnes) have used:

Since it's been many years since we've last taken a class in anything that required memorization, I (Agnes) have forgotten how much work is required to learn a new language. I've learned new tricks to keep myself motivated. For instance, I'll reward myself with coffee or a shower (yes, I'm much dirtier now) only after I've conjugated a stack of my flash cards in future tense. I've also learned to stretch and do push-ups while I'm studying. Hope you find this helpful.

Playa Volcano

Last weekend we took our first day trip outside Antigua, to the volcano Pacaya. There are three volcanoes in the immediate vicinity: Agua, which last erupted in the 1500s and wrecked the previous capital of Central America with mudslides, but is now dormant; Fuego, which erupts brilliantly and suddenly; And Pacaya, which remains in a constant but low level of volcanic activity.

The tour starts in a little pueblo and requires about a 2.5 mile hike to the summit. The ascent wasn´t especially demanding but the footing proved a constant challenge on the way up. Endless piles of fresh horse shit also litter the path. Only when we reached the crater did the climb become more perilous, as the remains of an eruption two months prior left a jagged and uneven terrain. And climbing about with your bare hands could leave you with no shortage of shallow cuts and scrapes.

While the summit is otherwise cool (with an elevation above 8000 ft), the crater itself is quite warm, and some folks complained that their shoes were melting. Steam billowed out from narrow crevices and molten lava flowed just beneath us, glowing no more than about a foot below the surface. For whatever reason, many of us spent our time burning our wooden walking sticks, which were necessary for the hike up. Just putting your stick on the rocks next to the lava would ignite it. Some folks descended the mountain with considerably shorter sticks than they began with. Other folks brought marsh mellows and hot dogs to cook above the lava. I don't know if these things taste better when volcano roasted but I imagine the novelty wears thin soon. Many dogs from the village make the ascent with hikers to enjoy the food cooked above.



The descent was quite amusing. We hiked the volcano late in the afternoon, as the lava glow is more brilliant after the sun goes down. As such, you hike down in darkness (and in our case – in the rain). Unfortunately, one group of folks, which was in Antigua for a wedding, was not told that flashlights were necessary for the descent. As such, more than half our group made the slippery descent in the pitch black of night. It was hilarious. Two small children, who went up and down on a horse, cried the entire time. The folks without flashlights were good natured about their blind descent but generally swore the entire way down. For more than two miles, they baby stepped down the cavity strewn path and wet rocks. Fortunately, they were all pretty young and athletic. That said, a few of them slipped on the way and had horse crap up and down their legs. A group of dogs also followed us to the base, piggybacking off the glow of our flashlights. I guess they can't see at night either.

When we neared the small pueblo at the base of the volcano, children hide in the shadows, preparing to bounce out and rob you. Fortunately, our guide advised us of their presence and nobody lost anything. Hiding in the shadows is a good skill to have here in Guatemala since nothing is very well lit. Like the rest of the country, the volcano used to be crime ridden, but with so many tourists visiting, it is now well guarded by men with shotguns. (Men with shotguns are ubiquitous in Antigua – protecting government offices, banks, and even pharmacies).

Fireworks in Antigua

July 25th is an important holiday in Antigua, as it is the feast day for Antigua's patron saint. I don't know anything about this saint or what it means but they do have a weekend long celebration with parades, bands and outdoor concerts. All of these were quite pleasant, but what I found most exciting were the fireworks.

Not surprisingly, safety standards here are different than they are in the States. The rockets were shot from a spot no more than twenty feet from the crowd and often rained multicolored sparks on the folks below. I myself got bonked on the head by the cardboard remnants of one rocket (or perhaps someone threw a rock at me – not sure). In addition to skyrockets, there is a fellow who runs around on the ground with fireworks shooting out of a contraction on his back. Basically, it looks he's humping around a burning doghouse. Lights flare out in all directions as he runs around. Sometimes he zig zags through the crowd forcing people to scatter. I asked a local about this, who acknowledged that such a practice was dangerous but that you simply had to get out of the way. She did offer that small children might be ill equipped to dodge stray rockets.

Antigua

Folks say that Antigua is a very European looking city and Agnes and I would have to agree. The central part of the city lays out in a grid and all the streets are cobblestone. There are also a bunch of old municipal and church buildings dating back to colonial times. The Central Park in the middle of the city was once the focal point of social, religious and municipal activity in the city. The park is flanked on three sides by large colonial buildings, a cathedral, city hall, and the former residence of some Spanish captain or something. Restaurants and bars catering to tourists face the Park on the remaining side. The orientation of the buildings reminds me somewhat of civic center in San Francisco, where City Hall, the Federal Building, the Bill Graham, and Asian Art Museum surround the central plaza. However, several features conspire to make Antigua's Central Park more inviting than it's SF counterpart. In a nutshell, this area has been designed to invite people to stroll and linger. The buildings are shorter, which helps, but the design of the park, with it's generous tree canopies, benches and fountains draw folks inward and invite them to linger. What I've never understood about San Francisco is why the branches of the olive trees are trimmed in the Plaza (The ones by City Hall are trimmed so that the building's gold leaf show through). One thing you can say about San Francisco's civic center is that people (when they're present) almost look out of place, whereas Antigua's central Park would seem odd without them.

Antigua is a very quaint, walkable city. While the sidewalks are very narrow, forcing groups to stroll single file down the street, the auto traffic moves slowly enough so that you never feel like someone's going to crash into you. All the streets are cobblestone and it seems like the rocks have been deliberately cobbled together in a fashion to make vehicular traffic bumpy and uncomfortable. In addition, the streets are very narrow, sometimes no more than around 13 or 14 feet in width. As a result, everyone drives very slowly. Traffic control consists of stop signs plastered to building walls and these large cement structures that jut out of the street. If you're driving fast at night on one of Antugua's darkened streets, you may well wrap yourself around one of these things if you're not careful.

Our Shower

I do not know about hot water delivery systems generally in Guatemala, but in our house, there is no water heater. Instead, the shower has been rigged with an electric device that warms the water almost instantaneously when you turn on the faucet. A water heater is not needed, and I imagine that saves quite a bit of energy. But the device used in our house requires an electrical line directly into the device, which is attached to the shower head. Three naked wires dangle from the heater and worm their way into the wall. I've always been taught that water and electricity don't mix, but I suppose this is what you do if you don't have a gas water heater. I don't know if many people electrocute themselves when showering with these devices, but our housemate Ryan, indicates that he has been shocked when turning off the water after showering. Though it appears to be a problem when he's taken a long shower and water has accumulated up to his ankles. Perhaps the shock is a reminder that we should keep our baths short.