Before I left Peten (I am writing this from Antigua), I sat and talked to Papatulo for a while. Well, he did the talking, and I tried to pay attention. What kept me from doing that was not the topic of conversation, but rather the ant.
See, an ant had found its way to Papatulo's t-shirt collar, and was walking around the circumference of his neck about twice a minute. No real progress, just the impression of progress. Over and over.
What Papatulo was saying was important, and I was not the only one listening, and it would have been gauche of me to flick off the offending insect. So I tried to pay attention and watched the ant do lap after lap around Don Jorge's neck.
Guess who has been playing the part of that ant for the past week?
After waiting in Peten for a week, sitting and organizing and trying to make time move faster, Miguelito and I finally hit the road to Guatemala. At the outset of the trip, however, he put his finger on the one thing that was going to trip us up.
"The paperwork says," he intoned, "that the artifacts are going straight to the Office of Monuments in the capital."
We talked about the possibilities for a while. I laid out that I would do whatever Miguelito said, but that I would rather get into Antigua after our 8 hour drive, take a shower and relax a little, put together the other box of artifacts being shipped out, and then go into the capital a little more calmly. We left it that we would call the boss in the capital as soon as we got into range.
We got into range, and told Gustavo that we would be getting to the capital around 6, that we were stuck in traffic, and that we would just go into Antigua and bring the artifacts another day.
He said he would wait for us - that we should bring them straight in.
Miguelito and I talked about our options, one of which involved going straight to Antigua anyway, and then calling very late and saying we would not be able to make it. But finally we caved, and decided to drive on over to Monumentos and do what was requested.
An hour later, we were involved in one of the worst examples of being thoroughly lost that I have ever experienced. We were close - we had found Zone 1 (not the safest place in the capital) and we were ticking down the avenues that would lead us to 12th.
After vulturing for a half hour, returning to the same spot over and over as we repeatedly circled the t-shirt collar of Zone 1, we asked for directions.
We received wild hand gestures, each sending us in opposite directions. Which led me to add a new rule in my rulebook for surviving Latin America:
Rule #46: When in an urban area with numerous one-way streets, NEVER ask directions from a pedestrian.
Three episodes of chicken-entrails divination later, we arrived at the IDAEH offices, unloaded the boxes, and drove the extra hour to Antigua, where we arrived hungry, sore, tired, sweaty and very dirty. But we arrived.
After Miguelito left early the next morning, I started the process of requesting permission to export the artifacts I needed to study for my use-wear analysis. In terms of the total collection, it is not much - a mere eight boxes out of a total of about 150 - but those boxes are full of rocks, so the weight becomes an issue.
But the guys at DHL were really nice, and talked to me about the issues. At their recommendation, I bought heavy plastic boxes to use instead of the wooden tomato crates I had originally placed them in (current US import laws require that all wood being brought into the country be treated - at a price of $15 per box; new plastic boxes cost ~$10 each).
The only real snag, as far as we can tell, is that DHL needs a copy of the export permit before they can give me a firm flight number and time for arrival and departure.
And IDAEH needs the flight information before they can issue the export permit. I suggest that the two communicate, and leave me out of it. But, of course, the IDAEH guy is not in the office, and won't be for hours.
And away this ant goes, around a bureaucratic collar.
After settling some difficulties, the guy at DHL made a really awful phone call. According to the guy in charge of such things, exporting cargo this requires an exporter's license, along with a copy of the receipt I got when I purchased them. Yeah, like I am going to buy rocks to export.
So the whole thing gets revised, and the current quote for shipping goes from $700 to over $1500. And for a guy who has been out of work for a year and a half, that really hits hard. I am looking into some other options, but they seem unlikely to pan out.
As for the humorous bit for the week, on the trip, Miguelito and I stopped at every roadside vendor to buy some of the local delicacy, whatever it was that that pueblo produced. At one we bought fresh-pressed cane juice, and at another, we bought fresh pineapple. But the part I always look forward to the most on this trip was the beautiful, fat, juicy grapes that one community near the capital sells.
Miguelito asks, as we are watching her weigh out my half pound of cold grapes, "So, I am looking around, and I don't see any vines. Where are the vineyards?"
"There aren't any," was the reply.
"What!?" We both looked at each other in surprise.
"These grapes are imported from California."
Totally duped. I was so tickled to be buying luscious grapes from a local family, supporting small-scale producers who sell their produce at a roadside stand. Instead, I was buying cast-offs shipped from California to Guatemala City, and then shipped down the road to this out-of-the-way brace of roadside stands that made it look like it was local produce. "Why here, then?" I asked.
"Because this is where the truck from the capital stops."
No matter how long I am here, it never seems to sink in that Guatemala is not a capitalist society.
I will be in Puerto Rico for the SAAs - the archaeological society meetings - a week from today, and then I head back to months of microscope work. I can't wait to be home. Wish me luck.
See, an ant had found its way to Papatulo's t-shirt collar, and was walking around the circumference of his neck about twice a minute. No real progress, just the impression of progress. Over and over.
What Papatulo was saying was important, and I was not the only one listening, and it would have been gauche of me to flick off the offending insect. So I tried to pay attention and watched the ant do lap after lap around Don Jorge's neck.
Guess who has been playing the part of that ant for the past week?
After waiting in Peten for a week, sitting and organizing and trying to make time move faster, Miguelito and I finally hit the road to Guatemala. At the outset of the trip, however, he put his finger on the one thing that was going to trip us up.
"The paperwork says," he intoned, "that the artifacts are going straight to the Office of Monuments in the capital."
We talked about the possibilities for a while. I laid out that I would do whatever Miguelito said, but that I would rather get into Antigua after our 8 hour drive, take a shower and relax a little, put together the other box of artifacts being shipped out, and then go into the capital a little more calmly. We left it that we would call the boss in the capital as soon as we got into range.
We got into range, and told Gustavo that we would be getting to the capital around 6, that we were stuck in traffic, and that we would just go into Antigua and bring the artifacts another day.
He said he would wait for us - that we should bring them straight in.
Miguelito and I talked about our options, one of which involved going straight to Antigua anyway, and then calling very late and saying we would not be able to make it. But finally we caved, and decided to drive on over to Monumentos and do what was requested.
An hour later, we were involved in one of the worst examples of being thoroughly lost that I have ever experienced. We were close - we had found Zone 1 (not the safest place in the capital) and we were ticking down the avenues that would lead us to 12th.
After vulturing for a half hour, returning to the same spot over and over as we repeatedly circled the t-shirt collar of Zone 1, we asked for directions.
We received wild hand gestures, each sending us in opposite directions. Which led me to add a new rule in my rulebook for surviving Latin America:
Rule #46: When in an urban area with numerous one-way streets, NEVER ask directions from a pedestrian.
Three episodes of chicken-entrails divination later, we arrived at the IDAEH offices, unloaded the boxes, and drove the extra hour to Antigua, where we arrived hungry, sore, tired, sweaty and very dirty. But we arrived.
After Miguelito left early the next morning, I started the process of requesting permission to export the artifacts I needed to study for my use-wear analysis. In terms of the total collection, it is not much - a mere eight boxes out of a total of about 150 - but those boxes are full of rocks, so the weight becomes an issue.
But the guys at DHL were really nice, and talked to me about the issues. At their recommendation, I bought heavy plastic boxes to use instead of the wooden tomato crates I had originally placed them in (current US import laws require that all wood being brought into the country be treated - at a price of $15 per box; new plastic boxes cost ~$10 each).
The only real snag, as far as we can tell, is that DHL needs a copy of the export permit before they can give me a firm flight number and time for arrival and departure.
And IDAEH needs the flight information before they can issue the export permit. I suggest that the two communicate, and leave me out of it. But, of course, the IDAEH guy is not in the office, and won't be for hours.
And away this ant goes, around a bureaucratic collar.
After settling some difficulties, the guy at DHL made a really awful phone call. According to the guy in charge of such things, exporting cargo this requires an exporter's license, along with a copy of the receipt I got when I purchased them. Yeah, like I am going to buy rocks to export.
So the whole thing gets revised, and the current quote for shipping goes from $700 to over $1500. And for a guy who has been out of work for a year and a half, that really hits hard. I am looking into some other options, but they seem unlikely to pan out.
As for the humorous bit for the week, on the trip, Miguelito and I stopped at every roadside vendor to buy some of the local delicacy, whatever it was that that pueblo produced. At one we bought fresh-pressed cane juice, and at another, we bought fresh pineapple. But the part I always look forward to the most on this trip was the beautiful, fat, juicy grapes that one community near the capital sells.
Miguelito asks, as we are watching her weigh out my half pound of cold grapes, "So, I am looking around, and I don't see any vines. Where are the vineyards?"
"There aren't any," was the reply.
"What!?" We both looked at each other in surprise.
"These grapes are imported from California."
Totally duped. I was so tickled to be buying luscious grapes from a local family, supporting small-scale producers who sell their produce at a roadside stand. Instead, I was buying cast-offs shipped from California to Guatemala City, and then shipped down the road to this out-of-the-way brace of roadside stands that made it look like it was local produce. "Why here, then?" I asked.
"Because this is where the truck from the capital stops."
No matter how long I am here, it never seems to sink in that Guatemala is not a capitalist society.
I will be in Puerto Rico for the SAAs - the archaeological society meetings - a week from today, and then I head back to months of microscope work. I can't wait to be home. Wish me luck.
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