At night the streets of Xela are owned by the dogs. Their sounds are haunting. Often animal noises in the city are a topic of discussion over breakfast. For the first time in my life I am afraid of dogs.
In the morning the dogs roam the streets scrambling to find garbage, something to eat, to nourish their scrawny bodies.The treatment of animals here--their overall lack of care-- upsets me.
Sarah refuses to go on horseback riding excursions or any touristy thing that involves animals. Indeed, she has announced that she won't eat beef or drink milk here after seeing how badly malnourished cows are...tied to short slices of rope on bushes at the edge of roadways.
Today, when we get into the red van most of the group are leaving Xela for good. Only Tom and Rita will come back. They still have stoves to document, family names to record, family photos to take that will be sent to donors.
This isn't a really productive day. We aren't building anything or helping anyone. Today, and the few days to follow, are for our weary, somewhat bacteria infested souls.
We are on our way to San Pedro on Lake Atitlan, romanitcally referred to by travellers worldwide as "The Lake".
San Pedro sits at the base of a volcano by the same name, at an elevation of 1,610m, with a population of 10,000. It is an amusing mix of indiginous Guatemalan's and wayward/new generation American hippies.
To get to San Pedro we defy death more than once. The roads are narrow, laden with hairpin turns and "loco" switch-backs. I close my eyes. If I were a praying kinda girl I would pray. There are no seatbelts. I'm fairly confident that Jose has maintained the brakes on the van, but I'm much less confident that the rusty pick-ups crammed with greasey looking men and homemade bits and peices have any brakes at all. And this drive is up and down mountain sides!
Guatemalan love their car horns. They are unabashed honkers. Canadians think before they honk. We don't want to offend. At the very least, we believe in controling noise pollution. I've probably mentioned this. So, it is that they honk at every corner to announce themselves. Really what they are doing is announcing that they are on the wrong side of the road, driving blindly into oncoming traffic. To be a driver in Guatemala takes balls. Let's just leave it at that...
We make two stops on our way to the serenity of "The Lake".
The first is a health clinic in San Jaun. One of the smuggled GSP medical supply packs came here. (If there are any border guard types reading this please ignore the aforementioned reference to smuggling. We are just a bunch of boring work-day taxpayer's and no laws were harmed in the squishing of vitamin bottles between our underwear and work socks.)
This clinic is a first time recipient of the medical supplies. Rita and Tom have brought us here so that we can check it out before offering more support.
The clinic is down a dirty back alley. Of course -- I don't want to give the wrong impression -- the orange and avacado trees that line the path are magnificent examples of nature at its best. Unfortunately, the ground surrounding them is a horrendous example of human negligence and ignorance at its worst. Disease carrying garbage is everywhere. This familiar sight has become more than a passing pet peeve for me.
However, the clinic is ample and clean. Mary is the 20-something girl who greets us and shows us around. She explains that renovating this old building was a project she undertook with her brother and sister. It opened to the public in 2009. They employ a Guatemalan nurse. They are funded entirely by donations and the small stipend patients pay when they can. Volunteer doctors and dentists come regularly. In fact, on the second floor the clinic sports a well-equiped dental office. Dentist's are desperately needed for the same reason doctor's are: Guatemalan's have an insatiable sweet tooth!. Or, perhaps the argument could be made that it isn't sugar that motivates them as much as American "good life" propoganda. Yes, that's it. Ban TV and concentrate on their own unique heritage, and life would likely progress as it is meant to...hmmm...
Upstairs a garden of herbs overlooks a brand spanking new "football" field. This is the government's work. Mary says our trek down back alleyways to get to her door is the result of this field. The government closed off the road to the clinic to build the sports stadium. Priorities gone arwy?
We also make a stop at a relocated town.A decade ago these folks lived in a village that was destroyed in an earthquake. Survivors were brought here and a town was built to house them. It is a flat town, an unusual site in these parts. It lacks the spit and polich of any young town I have ever seen. We mosey down the street looking for a Bano. We find one. An old wrinkled man sits guard with his hand out. It costs 2Q to pee here. (When I was a kid I vaguely remember my mother getting us to crawl under the door stalls in public bathrooms because there was a coin collector on the door and she didn't have handy the 25cents required to open the damn thing.)
I'm not sure this guy could stop me if I didn't pay. I can tell you in all certainty that I would NEVER consider crawling under the stall. No need anyway because none of the doors actually close and hitch. the other women from the van enter and stay. I make a hasty retreat without even attempting to squat. Rita says she managed to do her business without touching a thing. Unfotunately my rocky digestion protests and before I can make it to the van I am running back, paying another 2Q and braving the worst Bano in Guatemala.
The town is called Alaska.
While I struggle with the Bano Paul is visiting his sponsored child. This is really why we are here; in this town that remotely reminds me of an old western movie set. For several years Paul and his wife have sponsored a girl from this town. Their support has helped her finish high school. Soon she will be a K'ishe teacher. The girl lives with an older sister. There are no parents. Paul's financial contribution has kept the girls going. Today he is here not only for a visit but to bring her a few necessities, and of course, to let her know how important she is to him, that she matters.
Really, this is what we are all doing here in Guatemala...letting other human beings know that they are not forgotten.
By the time we get to San Pedro is is 2ish. We check into Casa de Sol, which seems to us now (after Casa Argentina) an upscale motel. It is basic but clean and it has a porch outside with deck chairs overlooking a garden.There is toilet paper!Oh the luxury! I am in heaven!
Stove building is officially over for 2011...for the volunteers at least, the masons will continue to finish the 150 stove GSP has brought the funds for... so we head over to the Mikaso for lunch and a defief with Tom.
There is a sense around the table that we have earned this relaxation.
Enjoy that beer you deserve it!
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