on buses

Yesterday I made the trek once again between Guate and Xela. The official motivation for this trip is a forum on Thursday concerning Guatemala’s femicide law and the efforts of a small group of lawyers here in Xela to get a few of the articles ruled unconstitutional as discriminatory towards male victims of violence. The forum is organized by an expanding group of women’s NGOs and lawyers. Should be very interesting and I hope I can more or less follow everything. I’m going to try and convince L, my friend and off and on again Spanish teacher to accompany me.

[Aside: I'm writing this in a cafe and the couple a few tables away are hardcore making out right now. Eek.]

But anyway, before being here, I had to bus here. So, as usual, this meant an early wake-up and a cab ride to the bus station. Bust ticket buying, waiting, etc was uneventful, so I’ll be skipping around. The first interesting thing which occurred was witnessing a man with an impressive mustache dressed in a purple shirt which read “Feelin’ Good!” with an enthusiastic sun, dry-shaving in the bus lot. Now, I don’t grow hair in the beard area, but this makes me think this guy is tough as hell.

While we were in Mixco (just outside of the city, arguably a part of it), we passed a city bus which had been billboard-ed to read on all sides: “Mujer: La violacion sexual es un emergencia de salud” (Woman: rape is a health emergency) and included information encouraging a visit to medical services. This is 1) striking to see information on rape displayed so publicly and 2) an interesting example of the worldwide tendency to treat rape and other forms of sexual violence as primarily a crisis of health. (I could write and write and write on this, but to be short: there is no mention of justice, only the politics-free space of medicine.)

Then, the en route film showing started– first some previews for some tourists-attacked-by-ancient-folklore-spirit thing and then some movie which seemed to be about learning lapdancing? I’m not sure. But then the real entertainment started with the airing of “La India Maria,” various tales of sweet and naive indigenous (you can tell by her black pigtails and “native” dress) girl-woman from rural Mexico and her confrontation with urban life. Now consulting the Wikipedia page, apparently the actress was trying to “represent” the lower social classes of Mexico at the time (1960s-1990s– I think I was treated to selections from the earlier period). Despite Maria Elena Velasco’s intent, the depiction of this “Indian” woman just seems hopefully racist and not unlike a minstrel show. As this was one of the higher end buses, the whole context just seemed jarring and I found myself wondering how the one woman in indigenous dress on the bus felt about it, but that seemed like a bizarre conversation to start with a stranger and she seemed to be sleeping through most of it anyway.

And on the bus, I finally started “Nothing to Declare” by Mary Morris, passed on to me by my stepdad (thanks N!) I don’t know why it took me so long to begin, it’s really quite incredible, if a wee bit self-involved. I just completed the section on her travels alone through Mexico, including a couple of the towns I’ll be stopping through at the end of the month, and I believe she moves on to Guatemala and Honduras next. Anyway, I just want to share a little quote from the book I really loved, to close this blog entry:

“I behaved like a hunted thing. It is not easy to move through the world alone, and it is never easy for a woman. You must keep your wits about you. You mustn’t get yourself into dark places you can’t get out of. Keep money you can get to, an exit behind you, and some language at your fingertips. You should know how to strike a proud pose, curse like a sailor, kick like a mule, and scream out your brother’s name, though he may be three thousand miles away. And you mustn’t be a fool” (10).

Oh, the privilege to be a fool…

coffee talk

Since I just realized that I have bought the same brand of sub-par coffee for the second time, I am going to make this blog double as my repository for my coffee reviews, so I don’t make this mistake again. So there.

El Cafetalito’s Café Regional: Cobán– First, I don’t think they actually ground it, but rather chewed it up and spit it into the bag. The grind is unbelievably inconsistent; it’s difficult to say if it is for drip or french press. Maybe they’re trying to cover both? Hard to say. The coffee is extremely light in color– I think it is under roasted, which I normally prefer to over roasted (french roast is THE WORST), but this coffee has been left somewhat flavorless, a problem increased by the grind: the water doesn’t fully saturate the grounds so I find myself having to use far more grounds than usual, which makes this coffee too expensive in addition to its mediocrity. But, on the other hand, at least it means I go through it faster. [I think I bought the Antigua variety last time and had the exact same opinion of it.]

Note to self: DO NOT buy again, for a third time. If you do, you are an idiot and deserve to drink crappy coffee.

from nowhere

Where I’m “from” is something I give thought to, every now and then. Each time I have moved (from south Florida to north Florida to North Carolina to Virginia to Maryland to Oregon to New York to Guatemala), the answer to questions of from-ness tends towards wherever it is I last called home. If I feel like someone is looking for “truth” more than idle conversation, I might opt for “I grew up in the Southeast.”

But now, I am confronted with this question in a different sense. Normally, I am asked because people are trying to figure out which country I’m from– usually correctly guessing the US, but with occasional deviations to European nations. Sometimes, they also want to know where I live and then the answer becomes complicated again. I live here. I live in Guatemala City. But, yet, I also sort of live in New York. I have an apartment there; my friends are there; my university is there. So then the answer becomes, “Well, I’m living here right now. But when I’m in the United States, I live in New York.”

Sometimes I envy people who have simple answers for these questions, but then I can also argue to myself that everyone’s everything is more complicated once you get past one word answers. And it’s really the complications that lead to stories and conversations with full sentences, even run-on ones. So maybe being from nowhere isn’t so bad, when it gives you something to talk about everywhere.

independence day: everyone loves a parade

Days like today I wish it felt like a good idea to carry around a camera when walking around alone. Today is the 190th anniversary of Guatemala’s independence from Spain and, like most (perhaps all) holidays in this country, it is marked by fireworks and marching bands. Now, the marching band is, of course, an inheritance of the Spanish military drills, so it’s interesting that this form is now representative of a separation from this presence. Regardless of their history, man oh man does this country love a marching band.

I wandered into the center of town to see the festivities and before I had even arrived at the central square, I came across 3 separate marching bands. The first two seemed to be high schoolers and were accompanied, as marching bands here often are, by inexplicable mascots, such as Donald Duck. Parades/ religious processions/ marching bands always seem to have people in seemingly-unrelated costumes. The best, however, was with the third marching band I came across: the Guatemalan army’s marching band was joined by various figures from Pirates of the Caribbean. Huh? I don’t know.

In addition to the marching bands, a stage was set up with live music and speakers extolling the virtues of the country (and I here note that nationalism seems less offensive when it’s not your own country, at least to me) and the central square was jam-packed with vendors selling snacks, drinks, and souvenirs. (I will probably go back later for some snackage. You know, for research.)

And, of course, most people have off of work today. When I stopped by the supermarket (I guess supermarket employees don’t have off for anything–they’re open 365 days a year) on the way home, there was a festive group of men standing around drinking beer. It seems there would be a nicer place to hang out like, say, the beautiful park across the street, but maybe this is the informal equivalent to the little sitting area for men in department stores– a little spot to drink beer with the guys while waiting for wives to shop?* Or perhaps just a prime location to ogle the primarily-female grocery shoppers.

Anyway, what this ultimately means is that the sound of marching bands will fill every ear today, all day. While I still find it sort of charming, by 2012 I think I’ll be ready to never hear another marching band again. Good thing that will be taken care of by the Mayan apocalypse.

*UPDATE: La Torre (the supermarket) just needs this.

telling time by thunder and lightning

Well, it seems that rainy season is finally full-force upon us. About a week ago, the rains became something that you could count upon each afternoon. As per the weather chart I posted before, thunderstorms are predicted at 50-70% nearly every day, but before this week, they never actually appeared–only threatening on the horizon with black skies before blowing onward. But now, nearly every day around this time, you can find me in a mental wrestling match over whether or not I can make some afternoon coffee, because there’s still some Portland in my blood which tells me that rain=coffee time. BUT, I also have a rule about afternoon caffeine, so what to do? At the moment I am drinking a nice, tall, and cool glass of hibiscus tea, listening to thunder, watching the quick flashes of light through my windows, and waiting for rain. But the sounds of the thunder are confused with the banging of the building super’s broom against the stairs, my windows are thick blocks of bubble glass which obscure the view, and the near-constant sound of indoor running water make it hard to know the rain begins. Maybe I will call rain when I give in and make that coffee… which should be any second now.

well, it is predictable at least…?

that’s right, i have this to look forward to.

sigh, the foreseeable future...

WEATHER.

In other news, I just ate black beans and eggs for dinner, by choice. I suppose I really do live here.

for better or worse: working mode

So now that I’m back and settled in and free of any house guests (boooooo), I really have nothing to do but work and go to the gym. There is actually quite a bit going on right now, project-wise: trials and meetings and conferences, all of which I am doing my best to attend (with social anxiety remaining a more significant obstacle than any other, sigh). Since I have little to think about apart from my project, other from looking forward to November’s quick jaunts through Mexico, the US, and Canada (reenacting NAFTA, anyone?), the lying awake with ideas jumping about and refusing to wait has returned. I still wake up at 6:30-7 every morning, but my bedtime is creep-creep-creeping past midnight these last few days. I’m trying out some trusty old solutions to this problem: 1) no coffee after noon and, more importantly perhaps, 2) keeping a notepad bedside. If I jot down ideas in the night, the hope is that my brain can let go, shut up, and let me get some rest. And hopefully this won’t go the way of the Seinfeld episode “The Heart Attack,” in which the idea which is so brilliant under cover of darkness is reduced to gibberish (first unreadable and then as nonsensical) in the light of day. (“Like flaming globes!!!”)